Alex would text Kibbel.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't there to do anything but apologize, but I'll let you in next time. What do we know about this parahuman blowing stuff up?
Kibbel steps out of the bistro and walks up to you, looking miffed.
"Apology tentatively accepted, and we know he was blowing stuff up at the Friday stadium debacle. Why he was doing that or what exactly happened in there is tough to say at this point, so it's not a lot to go on. Thing is, we know he's active, and Edwardstown isn't very big. So he shouldn't be hard to pin down with a little detective work."
Find a knife or something sharp, slash his tires. If nothing sharp arrives, try a knifehand.
Hm... sharp. Broken glass is sharp, you guess. And you've always wanted to try something. And nobody's likely to hear, either, especially not the guy in the basement. So you decide on a simple plan, and do a power-assisted punch on the least nice-looking window of the house, producing a whole bunch of handy shards to slash things with.
Your hand, however, did start bleeding in the process. A bunch of lacerations. The amount of blood is, well, not inconsiderable, though it's nothing life-threatening. You'd probably like to bandage this. It hurts a little. It hurts a little more when you accidentally cut your other hand picking up a shard. Now both of your hands are bleeding. Crap. You do a quick look around. Nobody seems to be perturbed in a 50 meter radius... except the basement guy. Damn. You think he heard something. He's going for the staircase to the ground floor. Well, you think. You wait a few seconds in real time and then look again. Ayup, he's coming up.
Slightly irritated by the airborne hobo's disregard for his attempt to garner his attention Steven pulls out his gun and makes a show of checking that its loaded before sliding it back in his pants and giving the man a pointed stare.
Pigeonface, once again, does not appear to object much. Maybe he's just trying to annoy you. Your gun's loaded, though, so that's cool.