CHAPTER 7

Paul had taken John to the hotel's physician who checked his wound and, seeing the no concussion was evident, told John to get some sleep. After making sure that John went straight to bed, Paul had gone to his room and flicked on the lights.

The sight was depressing: a typical hotel room with a bed, two chairs, a desk, and a small black and white television set. Off to one side of the entrance was a tiny bathroom. Putting the "do not disturb" sign on the door, Paul picked his way through the clutter left from earlier that day and turned on the television. Finding that all the stations were either off the air or with poor reception, Paul turned the set off and fell back onto the bed.

Although he felt exhausted from the events of that night, his heart was pounding in his chest and his eyes were wide. Pulling the Talisman from his pocket, he studied it, turning it over and over in his hands. It did not pulse or glow as it had done earlier, for now it was just a simple ornament. Blowing a lung-full of air out, Paul placed the Talisman on the bedside table.

Staring at the ceiling, he though about all the things that had happened that day and night. Turning on his side, his eyes wandered over the clutter of the room until they came to rest on a small pile of comics Gene had left in the room earlier that day. Paul sat up and reached over, sifting through the comics.

He had no idea why. He had never been that crazy about the things, even as a kid. Still, he needed something to pass the time.

Finally, he came across one with the title, THOR, printed on the cover. It was a series that Gene always mentioned when discussing comics. Paul had never really listened to him, but he figured it wouldn't hurt him to give it a try.

He picked up the book and laid back, propping his head up with a pillow. The cover depicted a caped crusader, with long golden hair and a giant hammer, fighting off a hoard of ugly monsters on a rainbow bridge. Paul laughed quietly.

"Might give me some tips," he muttered as he began to read.

It was morning, and Gene sat waiting patiently in the lobby for Peter, who was supposed to meet him for breakfast. Paul came out of the elevator, a folded piece of paper in his hands. He spotted Gene.

"Hi," Paul said as he approached. "How did things go after I left last night?"

"Fine," Gene answered, not meeting his gaze.

"I guess you guys did a lot of talking about last night."

"Yeah."

"What did you decide?"

For the first time that morning, Gene looked at Paul. "We decided to see what happens. We don't know why we were chosen for this, or what we are supposed to do with these powers in the long run. As a matter of fact, we're not sure what the full spectrum of our powers is."

"Any idea what you can do, so far?"

At this question, Gene began to get excited as he relayed the information. "Well, besides my being able to do things with fire, I've got some sort of super-strength. You could tell that by the way I hit that wall and was able to get up with no problems. Peter seems to have the proportional strength of a cat. Like he was bitten by a radioactive feline and became the Amazing Catman!"

Paul starred quizzically at Gene, not understanding the joke. Gene frowned.

"Never mind. Anyway, all we can figure out about Ace is that he has teleportation abilities. It's a bit unnerving too. He might be able to do more, but we couldn't get him to stop teleporting long enough to find out."

"That's good. That's good." Paul looked down at the floor. "I found out I have some sort of hypnotic control over people with that eye-ray I have. I think I have some super-strength too."

Gene started to laugh.

"I've just noticed how stupid this all sounds," he said as Paul raised his head. His laughter stopped when he noticed Paul's somber expression. "What have you decided?"

"I don't know if I want to be able to bend steel in my bare hands, but . . . if you guys are going to try this out . . . count me in. For the moment."

"Great!" Gene smiled. "I knew you'd come around. We might never have to use these powers, but . . . . "

"Right." Paul agreed to what Gene had said. He also agreed with what Gene had intended to say, yet was almost afraid to say.

Gene glanced down at the paper in Paul's hand. "What's that?"

"Oh, nothing really," Paul answered, handing the paper to Gene.

Gene unfolded it and began to read. Then, he looked up with one eyebrow arched questioningly.

"God of Thunder?"

"It's just a rough draft. It might turn into åGod of Kleenex' by the time I'm through with it." Paul smirked.

As Gene tried to think of a good comeback, Peter and Ace entered the lobby and snuck up behind him.

"Hello, Curly!" Ace said at the top of his lungs.

Startled, Gene turned to see his two band mates.

"Peter! Where have you been? I've been waiting for almost half an hour."

"Sorry, sorry." Peter raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I was delayed by my associate here." He pointed at Ace.

"Oh, sure. Blame it on me."

"Okay."

Ace opened his mouth to retaliate, but Peter was not waiting for a reply. He instead focused his attention on Paul.

"Did you get a chance to think things over Paul?"

"Yes, and like I was just telling Gene, I'm willing to try if you are."

"Alright! The greatest super hero team in the universe -- The All-Curly Squadron!"

Everyone ignored Ace's outburst.

"By the way," Peter pulled a letter from his back pocket, "this came this morning by registered mail."

Ace interrupted. "As opposed to registered nurse."

Slowly, the three others turned to star at Ace. Gene sneered. Ace, deciding it was not worth it, became silent. After a sturdy glare at Ace, Peter continued.

"Looks like things are starting to pick up already. This guy says he's heard us and thinks we're really something special. He says we've got plenty of potential and power."

"If only he knew," Gene sighed.

"Anyway, it says here:" Peter skimmed over the letter, giving the basic gist of it. "å. . . wish to meet with you . . . considering promotional subjects . . . help you become a bigger success than you are with Casablanca . . .' On and on." He looked at the others. "Well, what do you think?"

"We might as well see the man," Paul answered. "Who knows? Maybe he can help us out of this slump."

"Fine," said Gene. "But how åbout we get something to eat? Now! I'm starved."

"Right, Curly."

The four of them left the hotel and started up the street, looking for a restaurant. Gene looked over at Peter as they walked.

"What this guy's name, anyway?"

"That's the best part, Gene. I've heard of this guy. It's Blackwell. The big record guy! He's had nothing but hits for the past year or so."

"I wonder if he can do anything for us?" Ace said.

As they walked, the sky darkened, as if to rain.

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