Episode #6: Light Of Dey

Summary: Lois and Clark face an almost impossible task of helping
to solve a series of grisly murders, and Superman faces an enemy
from humanity's darkest nightmares! Episode # 6 of The Unaired
Fifth Season)

***

The night was charged with electricity. As thunder rolled like a
symphony orchestra gone mad, lightning flashed across the
heavens, throwing streaks of bristling energy over the tallest
towers in Metropolis. The news that night on LNN would later
report that Lex Towers would sustain no less than three dozen
strikes, a record.

Over at Metropolis Airport, commercial flights were stranded and
left circling high above the clouds shrouding the landing strips,
leaving Superman with the task of bringing in each plane one at a
time to prevent collisions and crashes.

Before midnight, the heavens finally opened up to pour upon the
city. The rain fell hard and fast and cold, and late-night
revelers ran for cover from the pounding, stinging drops.

In one dark alleyway, however, a solitary figure stood silent and
still. Rain sluiced off his hooded cloak, puddling beneath him.
At his feet lay a heavy-set man. Despite the chill, the man on
the ground wore a short-sleeved t-shirt; his arms were covered
with tattoos, making identification later by the police very
easy.

The silent figure, draped in heavy black wool, paused only long
enough to make sure his victim would rise no more, before turning
and striding out of the alley. In the darkness which followed,
the rain continued to beat down upon the victim, and thin, red
rivulets of blood were washed away from the torn throat, to float
down the alley and end up in the drainage tunnels beneath the
city.

***

THE UNAIRED FIFTH SEASON

Episode #6

"LIGHT OF DEY"

Written by Linda Mooney

***

"Hey, C.K.! Did your cable go out last night?" Jimmy sauntered
over to Clark's desk first thing the following morning.

"Yeah," Clark acknowledged. "I remember Lois mentioning
something about the power going out ... just as her favorite TV
show was about to air."

"You mean 'The Young Doctors'? Hey, I love that show! Don't
you watch it?"

Clark smiled. "I was busy last night. Had other things to do."

"Betcha it was hard doing them in the dark, though, huh?" asked
Jimmy.

Giving a little shake of his head, Clark answered, "Somewhat,
but the lightning brightened things up a bit every now and
then." His eye caught the sight of his wife heading straight for
him; her heels clicked on the linoleum floor in a staccato
rhythm. "What's up?" he intercepted before she had a chance to
speak.

"A biggie!" She waved a fax in front of his nose. "Let's
go!"

"Go where?"

"Police station! There was another murder last night!"

"The Midnight Slasher?" Jimmy inquired, and was disappointed
when the couple hurried away without an answer. Sighing, he went
back to the errand Perry White had initially sent him on.

"What's this make? Three?" Clark jumped to his feet and
followed her to the elevator.

"All males. All scum of the earth. Same M.O.," she reaffirmed.

They emerged from the Daily Planet into bright sunlight. The
previous night's storm had precipitated the first real cold
front of the season, dropping the daytime temperatures from the
low nineties to the mid-seventies. The air was warm but smelled
of crispness -- a perfect fall day.

Taking a taxi was easier than moving the car from the parking
garage, and in less than ten minutes the couple were at the
precinct where Inspector Henderson was waiting for them. Clark
and the officer shook hands in greeting. "What 'cha got for
us?"

"White male, thirty-eight years of age. Name's Ernest Sinclair,
but goes by the name of 'Rambo'," Henderson told them.

"How original," Lois remarked dryly.

"You I.D.ed the body pretty quickly this time," Clark noticed.

"Guy was a walking billboard of tattoos. Made it relatively
simple."

"Where was our Rambo found?" Lois inquired.

"In the alley behind the Hard Eight Club."

"Hard Eight? Near the wharf? Why do murderers always pick the
seediest, roughest part of town to do their dirty work?"

"Maybe it's because it's the seediest, roughest part of town,
Lois," her husband half-teased. "People there tend to look the
other way, and in most cases they consider their form of justice
to be superior to the law."

"Was the throat slashed like the previous two victims?" asked
Lois, turning back to Henderson.

The officer nodded. "To all intents and purposes, it looks like
we have a serial killer on our hands ... but you didn't hear
that from me." He handed them a Polaroid of close-ups of all
three bodies.

"Gotcha," Clark reassured him, passing the photos over to Lois.
"So ... is there any pattern as yet to the killings? Any idea
who's behind them? Have background checks on the victims given
you any clues as to why they were singled out?"

Henderson cocked his head and gave them a serious look. "That
was what I was hoping you could help me with. As you know, City
Council cut our budget by a third during their last meeting. I
had to hatchet overtime to practically nil. I haven't the
manpower, nor the hours, nor the money now to do my job as it is.
If it weren't for Superman, we'd be in a lot worse shape than
we already are."

Lois looked grim. "Yeah. Shame the council would do such a
thing. Don't they realize Superman can't do everything? Just
because he's instrumental in the fact that the crime rate has
dropped by nearly seventy percent doesn't give the council the
right to downsize the police department!"

"Exactly," Clark added. "Superman may have made Metropolis his
home, but he also helps other cities and countries all over the
world."

"Well, we appreciate the series you did on our account. Just
wanted to let you know."

"No trouble, Inspector. Now, how exactly how can we help?"

"For one, see what you can find out about the victims. We're
gathering all the clues we can at the murder sites, scouting out
possible eye-witnesses, and scouring the bars and nightclubs that
might have seen them last. Anything you can get from background
checks will help."

"No problem," Clark said. "We'll get on it right away."

The reporters left the police station, prepared to head back to
the office, when Lois unexpectedly asked, "Can we stop at the
Fudge Castle on the way back? I'm hungry."

"Seems like you're always hungry," Clark said. He glanced at
his watch. "It's not even nine-thirty. Didn't you have
breakfast?"

Pouting prettily, Lois replied, "Yes, but I guess my sweet tooth
has kicked into overdrive. Besides, it won't take us five
minutes to just run in and run out."

Sighing, Clark acquiesced before asking the taxi driver to make a
side-stop.

Back at the Planet, Jimmy was waiting for them. The eager
expression on his face told the couple that he already had some
news for them. Clark raised his eyebrows in question. "What
'cha got for us?"

"After you called me, I got on the 'net and searched through
the police files."

"I thought those files were locked," Clark interrupted.

Jimmy hesitated slightly. "Well ... they are. To most people."
He grinned and continued. "Anyway, I found out something very
strange about the second victim. His name was Billy Overteen, but
his stage name was 'Bouncing Billy'."

"The retired pro-wrestler! I remember him," Clark mused. "Used
to bounce his opponents off his stomach. He was a big guy; had to
have taken either a very strong man to overcome him, or more than
one person is in on this."

"Yeah, but you haven't heard the best part. Seems our Bouncing
Billy was also Bad Boy Billy. Police had him under suspicion for
dealing."

"Drugs?" Lois piped in.

"Not the hard stuff, just prescription meds obtained from
crooked doctors and pharmacists."

Clark nodded. "Good job. Anything else?"

"Not yet," Jimmy admitted. "I have a name for numbers one and
three, but so far I haven't been able to get any sort of
backgrounds on them."

"Who was the first one? We'll keep an eye open during our
investigation."

Pulling a folded piece of pink paper from a While You Were Out
pad from his shirt pocket, Jimmy glanced at what he'd scribbled.
"Richard LaMesa. From Detroit."

"Not even a native," Lois observed, crossing her arms.
"Interesting."

"Seems as though our serial killer or killers is choosing his
victims at random," added Clark. "That's highly unusual.
Jimmy, when you dig up what you can about LaMesa, beep us." He
took his wife by the elbow and started toward the elevators.

"Where we going?" she asked.

"To the closest Chinese restaurant."

"Oh, good! I'm still starved."

"Not for you," Clark grinned. "I think it's time we called on
Bobby Big Mouth to find out what's the word on the streets.
Maybe he can give us more info on Bouncing Billy."

***

"Bouncing Billy Overteen," Bobby mumbled around a mouthful of
Szechuswan shrimp. "Forced into retirement when he was caught
handing out amfeds to the pro wrestling federation, their
grandmothers, and just about anyone else who could ante up the
money." Opening up another carton, he looked up at the couple in
the front seat and grimaced. "What's this? Fried noodles? You
couldn't get me something with a little more meat in it?"

Clark handed him another carton. "Try the sweet and sour pork.
We already know that much about Overteen. What else do you have
on him?"

"Rumor says he worked for a guy name of Stu Porter."

"Stuart Porter? Wasn't he the one who was accused of running
numbers on the professional sports events?" Lois asked her
husband.

"Among other things that weren't brought to trial because he
pleaded to a lesser offense and got eight months. Bobby, ever
heard of a guy named Richard LaMesa? From Detroit?"

"Nope. Did you bring me any eggrolls? What's Chinese without
eggrolls?" He grinned when Lois presented the sack, took a huge
bite out of the first one, and rolled his eyes with delight.
"Heavenly. Now, about Rambo. Ex-marine. Worked the docks for
Bayside Industries, loading and unloading cargo. My little birdie
says he played the pits during his off hours."

"Played the pits?" Clark shook his head in confusion.

"Pit bulls. Dog fights. There's a group that meets every third
Saturday night of the month over on the east side, but you
didn't hear that from me." Bobby scooted over to the door of
the Jeep, crates of uneaten food in one arm. "Hey, thanks for
the snack. If there's ever anything else you need ..."

"If you hear something abut LaMesa, give us a holler," Clark
asked.

"I'll see what I can find out. But it'll cost ya dessert. I'm
in the mood for torte. Ta-ta!" A minute later, he was gone.

Lois sighed. "Okay, we have an ex-marine and a retired
professional wrestler, two very strong, very able-bodied men.
Their killer had to be ... almost a Superman."

At that moment Clark's beeper went off. He glanced at the
readout. "It's Jimmy."

"Want to head back to the Planet?"

"No, there's a pay phone over there. I'll be right back."
Clark rushed over to the kiosk. A short while later he was back.
"Richard LaMesa worked for Digital Technologies, once a
subsidiary of Lex Labs. Was here on business, but that's not
what's interesting. It appears our Mr. LaMesa was a womanizer.
One of his "ladies" just walked into the police station over on
Decker and gave a statement. She said she and LaMesa had had a
rendezvous which lasted until one a.m. LaMesa had dropped her off
at the Slap Happy Bar and Grill about one-thirty. Coroner's
report places the death around two."

"Why is she just now coming forth with the information?"

"I don't know," Clark admitted, "but Henderson passed along
her address in case we wanted to talk to her."

"Sounds good to me," Lois said, and started up the vehicle.

***

The prostitute yielded no clues as to LaMesa's death, but she
freely admitted that she had been scared to death to find out her
last customer had met such a grisly end, hence her initial
reluctance to come forward. However, she did give them one tidbit
to pursue. LaMesa had originally met her at the Hard Eight.

"Looks like we're due a visit to the Hard Eight," Lois
commented.

"I'd rather I go it alone," Clark began.

"If you think you can stop me ..."

"But I know better than to suggest it," he finished.

Late that night, they dressed accordingly, hoping to blend in
with the rest of the riffraff that frequented the bar, and spent
a useless four hours nursing beers and mingling carefully among
the dregs of humanity. They didn't get home until well after
midnight, whereupon Lois tossed her red leather bustier upon the
couch and plopped down next to it. "I'm going to have a talk
with that dry cleaners about what they've done to my clothes,"
she muttered. "That's the second outfit this week they've
shrunk where I can barely get into it."

Clark leaned over the back of the sofa, grinning. "It's still a
killer outfit," he whispered.

Lois playfully slapped the hand that had begun to slip off her
shoulder and head south. "Well, that was time well-spent
tonight, don't you think?" she remarked sarcastically.

"Any one of those men could have been who we were looking for,"
said Clark, rising and walking over to the fireplace. "One
thing's for certain, though ... whoever is doing the killing is
finding their prey at that club. We just have to stake it out
until the murderer tries to play his hand again."

Lois watched as her husband proceeded to speed-spin into his
Superman uniform. Clark gave her a warm smile, noticing how
exhausted she looked. "Are you going to be all right?" he
asked.

"Yeah. Just tired, as usual. Think I'll take a quick shower.
Want me to wait up for you?"

"I may be all night," he told her.

"Still, wake me up when you get in so I won't worry about
someone spiking your drink with a Kryptonite Fly." She wearily
got to her feet and walked over to kiss him. After he had flown
out the window, she pickup up her bustier and started up the
stairs.

***

Despite another three-hour vigil watching the Hard Eight,
Superman failed to notice anyone suspicious, or anyone looking as
though he might be following another with the intent to cause
harm. He took another hour flying over Metropolis, alert to
anything out of the ordinary, but again he ended up
empty-handed.

The next morning when they entered the newsroom, they were met
with a summons to report to Henderson ASAP. There had been
another murder.

Unlike the first three murders, the latest one took place on the
north side of town, far from the dockside area. When they
arrived, the meat wagon had just loaded the stiff, and the police
had cordoned off the alley where the body had been found by a
group of boys taking a shortcut on their way to school.

Henderson met them as they were allowed past the tape. "Thanks
for the information you faxed," he began.

"Glad to do it," Clark acknowledged. "Any clues yet?"

"None," the inspector shook his head. "But it's our guy, no
doubt about it."

"Mind if we look around?" Lois asked.

"Just remember -- "

"Don't touch anything," the couple chorused. Once they had
removed themselves some distance from the crowd and the
investigating officers, Lois shielded her husband as he ran his
x-ray vision over the area.

"Anything?"

"Maybe." He walked over to the far wall, several feet from
where the body had laid, and squatted, digging under a pile of
trash. He pulled an object from the pile, wiped it off, and
handed it to her.

"What is this? A button?"

"Not just a button," Clark whispered. "It's twenty-four karat
gold."

"Get out!" Lois said surprised. She stared at the button a
moment longer. "Think it's connected to the murders?"

"No telling. It could have already been here, for all we know.
But at this point, anything's worth checking out."

"What's ... what's this on the top? It looks like a crest of
some sort."

"I saw that, too." Clark took it from her to examine it
further. "We can get Jimmy to run a check on family crests. Then
again, it could just be a manufacturer's stamp from the company
who made it."

As they left the scene, a dark figure watched from the alley some
distance away. He was breathing heavily from his exertions --
from the trill of the hunt -- and he had to strain his already
keen hearing to take in what was said between the two reporters.

He had heard how good they were. He had been warned to stay as
far away from them as possible. He'd even heard they were close
friends to the one called Superman, and Superman as one person to
avoid at all costs.

Pulling his hat down over his face, the figure pulled back
further into the shadows. Less than a heartbeat later, a bag lady
pushing a loaded shopping cart wheeled her goods into the alley
for a brief respite. The narrow passage was empty, but she gasped
in alarm to see two bloody footprints on the asphalt near where
she stood. Hurriedly, she left for the sanctuary of another,
safer alley, never mentioning her find to anyone, afraid to get
involved.

***

"This is getting frustrating," Clark admitted.

Lois looked up from her computer. Her husband was chewing on the
end of a pencil, unaware that he was shredding it finer than a
feather brush. She pointed to her mouth, then to his, and Clark
sheepishly dumped the pencil in the trash. "I don't doubt it.
You sure you didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary
last night?"

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
"Nothing. I even took in that section of town! I have every
sense on full alert. How on earth could I not have heard the
attack?"

"Well ... maybe the murderer is a ghost," Lois said.

Clark glanced at her and saw the pixie twinkle in her eye. "At
this point, I'm willing to entertain any idea," he said
soberly. "But I have been wondering if we're looking for
someone new to the city. Think about it ... all of a sudden we
have this wave of gruesome murders."

"It's either someone new in town, or someone just released from
prison, you think?"

By way of answering, Clark pulled up a list of recently paroled
inmates from Metropolis Penitentiary. That was a dead end,
unfortunately.

"Don't worry, Clark. You'll catch him, or them, sooner or
later," she tried to reassure him.

"Yeah, but how many more people have to lose their lives before
I do?"

***

After notifying Henderson of the fact that they might have a
lead, they took the button to S.T.A.R. Labs for analysis, and
continued to investigate the backgrounds of the previous
victims.

However, they could find nothing to tie them together. More and
more it was looking like a series of unrelated killings. More
determined than ever, Superman patrolled the city again that
night, determined more than ever to find the murderer.

Late night, as Lois sat at her secretary paying bills, she
received a phone call from Jimmy, who apologized for the time.
"What are you doing at the Planet this time of night?" she
asked, half-jokingly and half-serious.

"Oh, they're fumigating my apartment, so the Chief told me I
could bunk out on the couch in his office until the place was
habitable again. Sure beats having roaches crawl over you in the
middle of the night," he laughed.

Lois shivered as he continued.

"Anyway, the reason I called is because it's too quiet in here,
so I thought I'd get some work done ... maybe pull in some comp
time while I was at it. And a fax came in from S.T.A.R. Labs."

"The button?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd like to hear about it now instead of
waiting until morning. Clark was right; it's made of solid gold,
and the picture on the top is a crest. I checked this website I
know that has a list of old family crests from Europe and
England, and guess what? It's of an old family from
pre-Revolutionary Russia!"

"Russia?"

"Yeah! Ain't that a trip? And you're not going to believe this
next thing ..."

"The Goodwill Exchange," Lois interrupted before Jimmy could
say it.

There was an appreciative pause on the other end of the line.
"Anyone ever tell you you're good?"

"Pull up everything you can on this Assistant Secretary, Jimmy.
I especially want to know his itinerary, and if the date of his
arrival in town preceded the first murder."

"You got it."

"Oh, and one more thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," she smiled.

"No problem. See you tomorrow morning."

Hanging up the receiver, Lois stared unseeing at the far wall of
the apartment, her mind going a hundred miles an hour as she
chewed on this latest development. She couldn't wait until Clark
returned from patrol to tell him of her discovery.

***

The weatherman had predicted an early snow for the area. Already
bits of frost hung from the eves of the tallest buildings in
town, and Superman could see the homeless drawing in their
shelters of cardboard and lumber scraps like a wagon train
converging, in an attempt to ward off the coming winter.

Tonight he was determined not to let even the smallest noise go
without being inspected. Whoever the killer was, he was strong
and silent, leaving virtually no clues. With all his great
strength and powers, Superman knew he could defeat this person if
he could only catch him in the act. And if it took night after
night of endless patrolling, he promised himself he'd bring the
murderer to justice.

He was sailing over the north side of town, close to the power
and light company, when his super-hearing caught a sound he was
not familiar with. It wasn't very loud, but it was suspicious in
its difference. Normally he would have ignored such a sound --
there were lots of new and unusual things he was discovering
every day from living in the big city -- but now, because of
recent circumstances, he flew down to check out the cause of the
noise.

He landed near a building where a pile of old transmitters
awaited the recycling plant. A dark-clad figure was struggling
with a man Superman recognized as a hired contract killer he had
tracked last year, only to give up when the man went underground,
virtually disappearing from the face of the earth. He started to
rush over and stop them when, with a thick, audible snap, the
contract killer's neck was broken, and the dark figure slashed
the man's throat with a single swipe of his arm.

Stunned, Superman paused for a heartbeat, then tried to grab the
killer. Before he was aware, the killer simply shrugged, and the
Man of Steel was thrown a good thirty feet into the air, landing
amid the mountain of transmitters.

He shook his head with bewilderment as he got to his feet, and
saw the killer hunched over his victim. A split-second later, the
killer arose and disappeared around the corner of the building.
Superman followed, and stopped dead in his tracks. The killer had
vanished -- had simply disappeared, almost in thin air.

Using his super senses, Superman could find no trace of the
killer, not a scent, nor a footprint. Unable to believe what had
just happened, he flew to the nearest precinct to report the
crime, then returned home. The Midnight Slasher had claimed his
victim for the night, and Metropolis's superhero had been
helpless to stop him.

***

"I had him in my hands! I saw him kill! And he tossed me away
like a wadded up newspaper!"

"Maybe he caught you off-guard," Lois suggested.

"No way," Clark snapped, angry at himself and his inability to
stop the crime. He whirled into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt,
and accepted the can of soda his wife placed in his hands. "This
man ... his strength was incredible!"

"Maybe he works out. Or maybe it's just hereditary."

Giving her a cautious eye, he wondered what she was implying by
that cryptic remark. "What do you mean, hereditary?" Lois told
him about the phone call from Jimmy, about the gold button, and
the crest stamped on it. Clark froze, mentally recalling every
minute detail of that night. "The killer wore a dark wool cloak
with a hood. I distinctly remember it fastened with gold buttons,
but I didn't pay close enough attention to see if they bore the
same crest. I was too busy trying to stop him."

"Is there anything else you remember?"

"Only that between the time he threw me into that pile of metal
and I was able to get my hands on him again, all the blood had
been drained out of the victim." Clark looked up at her.
"We're talking about the space of a second, no more than
two."

Lois got to her feet and began to pace across the living room
rug. Initially it was her husband's habit, and now she'd taken
it to herself. Strangely, she found she was able to concentrate
between when she was up and moving. "Okay, let's see what we
have so far. One, we have a sold gold button bearing the crest of
an old Russian family. Second, we know that the victims' bodies
were drained of blood, as there wasn't enough blood around them
to support them bleeding to death. Next, we know that the attacks
take place only at night ..."

Clark immediately saw where this was heading and interrupted.
"And we know that this guy is incredibly strong ... as strong as
Superman. Lois, you don't think our murderer is a vampire, do
you?"

His wife gave him a look as if he'd suddenly gone off the deep
end. "A vampire?"

"Okay, okay, I know it sound ludicrous ..."

"Clark, there are no such things as vampires. They're fairy
tales! How on earth could you possibly believe such a thing, much
less bring it up?"

Clark shrugged, giving her a weary smile. "Five years ago, Lois,
you would have sworn there were no such things as aliens from
outer space, either," he pointed out.

***

As they expected, the next morning as they entered the newsroom,
Lois and Clark were met with the report that another victim had
been found the night before. They hurried over to the coroner's
office to confirm that it, too, matched the M.O. of the previous
victims. "He bled to death due to extreme lacerations to the
throat and upper chest," Dr. Walden told them.

"Do you think it could be the same killer?" Lois asked, taking
notes. Although she knew her husband had no need to write
anything down, what with his super memory, she had learned long
ago not rely on him being there for her when she needed some
pertinent information. Besides, she'd gotten into the habit of
jotting everything down -- just because she was married to a
walking encyclopedia of information didn't give her reason to
forego tradition.

Dr. Walden pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
"In my opinion, yes, it is."

"Not a copycat?" Clark emphasized, needing to be absolutely
certain.

"In my expert opinion," Dr. Walden repeated, "it's the mark
of the same man."

They thanked the coroner and left the morgue. "Okay, now what?"
Lois asked as they decided to walk the six blocks back to the
Daily Planet. "We're at a dead-end except for that stupid
button."

She looked over and noticed a very serious expression on Clark's
face, an expression she knew well. "What?"

Sighing, he dug his hands into his pants' pockets. "Lois, now
may not be the time nor the place to bring it up, but these past
few weeks have been so busy, what with Trask and Mxyzptlk, and
the other cases. But I've been doing some heavy thinking ..."

"Wait, wait." Lois held up a hand, stopping in her tracks.
"You're not going to bring up that artificial insemination
argument again, are you?"

"Lois ..."

She reached out and grabbed the lapels of his jacket and jerked
him toward her. "Listen up, big guy," she growled, yet Clark
could tell she was trying to make light of the situation. "I
told you before, and I'll keep telling you until you get it
through that thick skull of yours ... I don't want another
man's child. I want your child. All you."

"But, Lois, I ... you know I can't father children. Not with a
woman from Earth, at least."

Letting go, she turned and continued down the sidewalk.
"Discussion is closed, as far as I'm concerned."

Clark hustled to catch up to her long-legged stride. "Very well.
Consider it closed. But we never fully delved into the adoption
angle ..."

"Clark ..." Facing him again, Lois suddenly wrapped her arms
about his neck and gave him a warm but brief kiss. Pulling back
slightly so she could look him eye-to-eye, she said, "Yes, I
want children. So badly I can taste it. No, erase that. Bad
choice of words. I want to have your child grow inside me." Her
voice dropped an octave, becoming soft with emotion. "We'll get
through this. Maybe it's a phase we're going through. After
all, we're still basically newlyweds. Maybe we're trying to
rush things."

"Do you honestly think we're trying to rush things, Lois?"

She sighed and bowed her head. "I don't know what to think
anymore. I'm tired, and I'm cranky ... Look, let's just drop
it for now and go back to the office."

"The subject isn't over," he reminded her gently.

Lois nodded. "As far as I'm concerned, it is. Now, can we just
get back to talking about serial killers?"

Giving a small sigh of resignation, Clark smiled gently at her.
"Okay. Deal. No more baby talk while there's murder afoot."

"Thank you, Sherlock Kent."

Returning to the Planet, they found that Jimmy had spent most of
the night finding out what Lois had asked for. As he bowed his
head, smiling as Lois fussed at him like a foster mother, he
explained that Perry's couch in the office was way to
uncomfortable, and the empty newsroom had given him the quiet he
needed to do some uninterrupted research. "You're going to give
me big pat on the back when you hear this. It seems the first
three victims did sort of have a connection. You remember Richard
LaMesa, our guy from Detroit. Well, telephone records show he
placed six calls to an unlisted number here in Metropolis. Get
this ... phone company released that information. The number
belongs to one Stuart Wayne Porter."

Lois's eyes lit up. "And Bouncing Billy was also connected to
Porter!"

"What about our Rambo?" Clark asked.

"Ditto on his connection with Porter. My guess is LaMesa was
working for Porter and dealing for him in Detroit," Jimmy
surmised.

Clark clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Excellent
detective work, Jimmy. Any word yet on our latest victim?"

Lois looked at her husband. "Looks like we're due a visit to
Mr. Porter."

Jimmy stared at them in confusion. "You mean you guys don't
know?"

"Know what?" asked Lois.

"The body they found this morning over by the power plant was
Stuart Porter!"

Lois and Clark looked at each other, and a haunted, painful
expression crossed Clark's face. Scratch one lead, one definite
suspect, and possibly a quick solution to these ghastly murders.

***

The short, swarthy-faced man looked up from his desk when his
associate gently knocked at the door. "Come in."

The young man entered the room, bowed before his desk, and
apologized for the interruption. "Forgive the intrusion,
Comrade, but two reporters from the Daily Planet are here to
speak with you. They do not have appointments, but they say they
are here to speak with you about a legal matter."

The older man inclined his head slightly, then dismissed the
young man with a wave of his hand. Presently, he followed the
associate to the outer room where his entourage met with guests
and fellow dignitaries.

Lois stood as the Assistant Secretary entered the room; her keen
eye took in the man's short but well-built, muscular stature.
Pasting a smile on her face, she held out her hand, which the
gentleman took and unexpectedly placed a kiss on the back of it.
"Secretary Deyavich?" she began, tongue tripping slightly over
the Russian syllables.

"Deyavichnirova," the man correctly good-naturedly. "You can
call me 'Dey'. It is a form of, how do you say it? Nickname.
And you are ..."

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," she concluded, finding herself
charmed despite herself.

"And you are most lovely," Secretary Dey completed. He turned
to the man standing beside and slightly behind her. Lois
introduced them.

"My husband and my partner, Clark Kent."

A flash of anger, so brief and intense, darkened the Secretary's
eyes, but was gone in less than a heartbeat. For a moment Clark
wondered if he'd imagined it as the two of them shook hands.

Showing the couple to a pair of wing-backed chairs beside a sofa,
the Secretary invited them to sit, then ordered his associate to
bring tea. "I hope you will join me," he said to the two
reporters.

"I miss my homeland; this is one of my few connections left, my
tea time. Are you familiar with our tea, Mr. Kent?"

Something was very wrong with the entire scenario. It ran in tiny
volts of electricity up his spine, flashing warning lights in his
brain brighter than downtown Las Vegas. Secretary Dey was someone
to avoid, someone to keep an eye on ... someone to be afraid of.
Steeling himself against the shiver that threatened to crawl up
his spine, Clark politely answered, "In fact, I have, Secretary.
Several years ago I spent six months in the Ukraine."

"Are you from the Soviet Union, or from one of the provinces?"
Lois inquired.

"Actually my family lines can be traced back to thirteenth
century Romania."

"Isn't Romania part of Transylvania?" Clark interrupted.

"It borders Transylvania, yes. Near Hungary." Secretary Dey
turned his attention back to Lois. "My associate said you were
here about a legal matter?"

Putting on her professional face, Lois went to the meat of the
matter. "You and your party are visiting the United States on
what the White House is calling the Good Will Exchange Tour, is
that correct?"

Secretary Dey bowed his head slightly. "Correct. After I am
finished here, I will travel on to Chicago, then Washington D.C.
before returning to Russia. Your Vice-President is in my country,
also touring several of our cities and countries."

"Are you also aware that a series of very brutal murders has
taken place in Metropolis, all by the same killer, and all
coinciding with the arrival of your entourage?"

A strange smile passed over Dey's face. "Forgive me; I fail to
see your point."

Lois stood firm. "Then I'll try to be clearer. We feel that the
murders and your presence are related."

"You believe someone in my company is committing these crimes?"
Dey paraphrased.

"Can you account for your actions and those of your group every
night this past week?" she pursued relentlessly.

As his wife battered the Russian diplomat with her barrage of
questions, Clark moved protectively closer to her -- more of an
instinctive gesture because of his uneasiness about the secretary
-- and unobtrusively examined the room of the suite where they
sat. Sliding down his glasses, he x-rayed the adjacent rooms,
concentrating directly on the bedrooms and closets. In the
largest bedroom presently occupied by the secretary, he zeroed in
on the partially-open closet door where a dark swath of material
hung from an inner hook. It was a dark, navy- blue, nearly black
wool cloak, with gold buttons -- twenty-four karat buttons
bearing the exact same crest as the button he'd found in the
alley near Stu Porter's body. One more zoom in, and he could see
the frayed threads around the bottom hole where the last button
was missing.

"... if you're accusing me or one of my people of murder, let
me remind you, Miss Lane, that you have, as they say in your
country, your work cut out for you. We are guaranteed asylum
under the laws of diplomatic immunity," Dey said darkly.

Clark broke in. "That may be true, but foreigners who are found
to have committed acts can have their visas revoked, and
themselves extradited back to their own countries."

Dey straightened his shoulders, and a wall of invisible power
seemed to rise between them. The man was more than formidable,
Clark realized, his doubts vanishing with each passing minute. He
was pure evil.

"I believe this pleasant chat must end here," the Secretary
announced, rising to make his point.

"Petrov, would you be so kind as to escort our guests to the
door?" he called out to his associate. The young man half-bowed
from where he stood by the door, ready to show them out.
Secretary Dey again took Lois's hand, hesitated a moment as he
held it, then touched it gently to his forehead. "It has been a
pleasure."

"This isn't the end of it," Lois replied firmly, softly.

"Yes, it is," Dey answered. He stood watching them until the
door was safely closed behind them. The associate walked back
over to where his mentor waited with a ramrod stiff posture.

"Shall I place the call for you?" he asked quietly.

Dey shook his head. "No, not yet. She will call me soon enough
with the name of another she wants dispatched. I will tell her
then."

"And then?" the associate inquired.

"And then ... we shall see."

***

As they emerged into the late afternoon sunlight, Lois dryly
remarked, "So much for your vampire theory, Mr. Kent. Look ..."
She held out her arms to prove her point. "Sun is shining
brightly, it's almost four o'clock ... why wasn't Secretary
Dey inside his coffin, waiting for nighttime?"

"Lois, didn't that man give you the creeps?"

"He was ... different."

"Well, while you were busy, I looked around the hotel room. That
cloak I saw our suspect wear last night is hanging in his bedroom
closet. And it's missing one of its buttons ..."

"An exact match of the one we have," she finished, smiling.

"Exactly."

"Then let's call Inspector Henderson."

"No, not yet." Clark held her arm to give her pause. "Look,
what do we have? A button, and a coat with missing the same
button? I -- I can't prove it was Dey at the power plant. I
didn't get that good a look at him. And we can't prove Dey was
in the alley when he lost the button. He could claim one of his
people was wearing the coat that night. Plus the fact that the
man has diplomatic immunity is also creating a major road
block."

"What do you suggest we do, then, Clark?"

"Let me stick with him tonight. He may break his pattern, now
that we've alerted him that we're on to him, or he may just be
cocky enough to think he's above impunity, and go ahead and seek
another victim. Let's hope it's the latter."

"What about you?" Lois asked softly, concerned.

Clark smiled lovingly, cupping her face in his palm. "I'll be
all right. He may be strong, but he's still no Superman."

Lois touched his hand and smiled in return, lost in the in wonder
of her love for him, when a sudden lancing pain gripped her. The
spasm caught her unaware, and she bent forward, clutching her
stomach as she shuddered and nearly fell if Clark hadn't pulled
her into his arms.

"LOIS?"

She tried to tell him what hurt, how badly it hurt, but she was
unable to breathe. The pain ripped from her stomach, and tears
welled in her eyes. The suddenness frightened her like nothing
before -- her whole being focused on the knife slowly tearing
through her belly, unconscious of her husband as he called out to
her, begging her to tell him what was wrong. She tried to say his
name, but just a moan escaped her lips, and within seconds Clark
whisked her away from the front of the hotel to the nearest
hospital.

***

After a small series of tests, the doctors proclaimed it to be a
mild case of food poisoning, especially after Lois gave the nurse
a complete listing of what she'd eaten within the past
twenty-four hours. After promising to lay off the raspberry and
pistachio ice cream ("I thought you loved chocolate," Clark
said, more than surprised to find out what she'd been putting
away when he wasn't home. "I do," his wife replied, pouting
prettily, "but every now and then I get a craving for something
... different ... know what I mean?") they went home where Clark
immediately put her to bed to rest.

"Where are you going?" Lois grabbed his arm as he turned to
leave.

"Remember? I need to stake out the hotel if we plan to catch Dey
in the act." As he noticed the familiar gleam in her eyes, Clark
started to nip that thought in the bud. "Uh-uh! No way! You
listen to me, Lois Lane Kent. You're staying tonight in bed.
You're not at a hundred percent, and even if you were, I would
tell you you have no business going after Dey ..."

"What are you going to do? Chain me up? You need someone to
watch at street level for you! Besides, I'm feeling much better
now that I've taken that, blech!, paregoric."

"Lois ..."

"We're partners, for crying out loud! You told me yourself that
being married wasn't going to affect our partnership," she
continued to argue.

"Look, this isn't some petty criminal we're tracking."

"Don't tell me you think he's a vampire again!" she frowned.

"You read the autopsy reports same as I. All the victims'
bodies had been practically drained of blood. I saw the man
myself bending over Porter's body."

"Clark, how many times do I have to tell you ..."

"Well, whatever he is, he's dangerous."

"He's attacking the scum of the earth! I'm your ordinary --
all right, I'm not ordinary -- but I'm not your average,
tatooed, drug- trafficking dock worker cum dog fight manager.
I'll be perfectly safe!"

"Lois!"

"Okay, okay, okay!" She leaned back against the pillows plumped
at the headboard. "But do me a favor? When you catch this guy,
call me?"

"Promise," Clark sighed, relieved. He leaned over the bed to
give her a kiss, then straightened up to whirl into his Superman
outfit. Walking over to the window, he looked back and wagged a
finger at her. "Remember, rest up. I have a feeling Dey isn't
going to stop when he's batting a thousand."

Lois smiled and waved, and watched her husband speed off into the
night. When she was absolutely certain he was gone, she threw
back the covers and climbed out of bed, tip-toed over to the
closet to pull out a pair of black jeans and a shirt, and began
to pull them on over her pajamas.

***

Lois parked the Jeep across the street from the hotel where Dey
was staying, but on a feeder street in case Superman should pay
attention to the surrounding area. She hoped he wouldn't spot
the vehicle before Dey made his move.

Three hours passed quietly. Bored, Lois peeled the polish from
her fingernails, then scolded herself. It took a lot of willpower
not to peer up through her windshield to see if Superman was
circling overhead, which she knew he would do at intervals.

The evening wore on, monotonous and uneventful. Several times
Lois almost dozed off at the wheel, and she was sorely tempted to
lie down for a few minutes across the front seat and catch a
little shut-eye. But she knew the moment she did, she wouldn't
be able to wake up before morning. She sang every song she could
think of, then tried to sing some of them backwards. Then she
tried to name every employee at the Planet, the entire menu
(which she thought she knew like the back of her hand) at her
Uncle Mike's restaurant, and when that didn't work, she
attempted to recall every item of food she'd ever bought for
Bobby Big Mouth. (Oddly enough, she could do this!)

At nearly half-past four a long dark limousine slid to a stop in
front of the hotel. Even the rich and prestigious had to go to
bed sometime, but Lois felt that this time she was about to hit
the jackpot. Sure enough, a hooded figure emerged from the
revolving doors and slipped into the back seat, and the limo took
off.

She tailed the vehicle, which was child's play to keep in sight
due to the diminished traffic on the streets. The car wove its
way, sometimes circling a block or two before ending up back on
the main thoroughfare it had been on originally and continued in
a northerly direction. It looked as though it was heading for the
new construction area where an old apartment building had been
razed for the development of a new mall -- part of the city
council's attempts to revitalize that section of Metropolis. Ten
minutes later, Lois's assumption was confirmed, and the limo
parked behind a row of dumpsters, out of sight of the street.

She continued on for a couple more blocks, coming up behind the
construction on the opposite side of the limo. Carefully she
climbed out of the car, making sure the door didn't slam behind
her and attract attention. Glancing up, Lois peered into the
night sky, hoping to spot her husband overhead, but she could
neither see nor hear him.

She maneuvered her way closer to the limo, when another car wound
its way around the line of dumpsters, nearly catching her in the
glare of the headlights. Lois dove for cover behind a pile of
discarded lumber, and fought off a series of sneezes from the
cloud of sawdust particles stirred up by her presence. She craned
her neck to see if she could recognize the man stepping out of
the caddy, but couldn't make out anything at that distance in
the dark. Biting her lower lip, Lois tried to get closer.

The hooded figure, nearly invisible, got out of the limo, and the
man from the Cadillac approached him. They exchanged words -- the
man obviously irritated, gesturing angrily, the hooded figure
calm and barely moving. Then, without warning, the hooded figure
reached up and grabbed the man by the neck; the sound of
vertebrae snapping was like a gunshot in the still air.

Lois gasped in shock as a red and blue blur streaked down from
the sky, knocking the hooded figure off its feet, the lifeless
body of the Cadillac man slumping to a pile in the dirt. As the
figure stood back up, the cowl slipped to its shoulders, and in
the periphery of light the face of Secretary Dey was like the
mask of death.

"Give it up, Dey!" Superman's voice boomed. "Your kind is not
wanted here."

"My kind?" Dey's face took on a look of intense hatred. "What
do you know about my kind? Out of my way, man of strength like
steel. By tomorrow I shall be gone from your city, and you will
not have me to deal with any longer."

Superman crossed his arms, determined not to fail this time. "I
can't do that, Dey. You've murdered too many people for me to
just forget all about it."

"They were not worth the air they breathed. Even their blood was
tainted. Now, let me finish what I started." Dey started toward
the body of the dead man, but Superman again rushed the
foreigner. With an almost nonchalant wave of his arm, Dey swung
around, catching Superman across the chest, and sending the
superhero crashing into the side of the stretch limousine. The
car crumpled like tinfoil, glass shattering like ice crystals.

Superman frowned, exasperated. Dey saw the look, nodding slightly
in acknowledgment. "I must complete my mission. If you leave me
be, I give you my word this will be my last kill," he began.

"You are not to be trusted," Superman spat back, crouching and
rushing in again like a linebacker. He caught Dey around the
waist, and the two tumbled end-over-end in the refuse of building
materials. Instantly they were both back on their feet, nimbly
circling each other, studying and evaluating their opponent.

By now Lois had moved close enough to get a good view of the
fight and hear what was being said between the two men. She tried
to signal to Superman that she was nearby -- her plan failed when
Dey turned and glared directly at her. Staring into his eyes,
mesmerized for some inexplicable reason, she never knew when the
man reached over and drew her out from behind her cover, circled
her throat with one arm, and poised his other hand out in front
of them.

Cold dread froze Superman where he stood at the sudden change of
events. "LOIS!"

"Superman! I -- I'm sorry!"

"LET HER GO, DEY!"

"Forgive me, but I cannot. I must complete my assignment before
I leave your fair city."

"What assignment, Dey? What mission?" Superman demanded. He
tried to remain calm and clear-headed. Here was a man who could
snap Lois's neck quicker than he could move to save her, and the
realization was nearly paralyzing.

"Let me be. Let me go my way, and you can go your way with her.
Give me your word; I will trust you," Dey insisted. His grip
never changed; his hand never wavered.

"Superman, don't give in to this blackmailer!" Lois cried out,
more angry than scared.

Slowly Superman shook his head. "I can't let you go, Dey. I
can't let you kill again."

"Even if it means her life?"

Frantically, Superman looked around, searching for anything he
could use to help Lois get out of the clutches of the foreigner.
Far to the left behind him was a pile of lumber, some of it
turned and shaped for some future purpose. Could he use some of
it to make a makeshift cross? Or stake? If he had to, could he
drive a piece of wood into the man's heart?

"It doesn't matter, Dey, if you leave Metropolis or the United
States altogether. Killing is wrong, and I will hunt you until
the end of my days until you've been stopped."

Dey glanced at the woman in his arms, his grip never wavering.
Overhead, beyond the roofs of the nearby buildings, the first
faint rays of dawn painted the sky. Suddenly, without warning, he
released her and shoved her toward Superman. Lois stumbled,
nearly falling, as she crashed into her husband. Taken by
surprise, Superman grabbed her, knocked backwards by the force of
the impact.

"I only kill those deserving," Dey voiced darkly, drawing his
cloak tighter about him. "Yet I will not touch life-bearers.
Even those of my kind are not total monsters as you make us out
to be." Then he turned and ran around the side of the building.

Superman turned to Lois, who waved off his question, giving him a
little push in the bargain, before he said it. "I'm fine! Go
after him! I'll call the police."

He flew off, leaping over the partially constructed walls, but
there was no sign of Dey. A quick scan over the area revealed the
foreigner running towards the outer limits of the city, away from
the downtown area. He was moving incredibly fast, forcing
Superman to put on an extra burst of speed to catch up.

He cornered him near the abandoned marketplace, diving in a neat
flying tackle, bringing Dey to the ground. They wrestled briefly
as Dey struggled to extradict himself from Superman's hold.
Growling softly, the foreigner managed to free one arm, and
slashed the superhero's upper shoulder, ripping the suit and
breaking the skin. Astonished, Superman stared at the thin
droplets of blood oozing from the scratches, until his unique
healing system closed the wound.

'How in the ...'

Dey got to his feet, but Superman launched himself at him again,
tagging one leg. All bets were off now; picking up the shorter
man, Superman whirled the man like a topsy-turvy, and threw him
against the wall. Plaster and brick crumbled, exploding outward
with the repercussion. Dey shook his head, pulling himself from
the mess. He was moving slower, as though he was weakening or
growing tired. For a second Superman wondered if it was because
of the fight, the fact that dawn was approaching, or because he
hadn't "fed" that evening. In either case, everything would be
over soon.

Again the man tried to collect himself and flee, but found his
escape blocked by a brightly colored figure. "I can last a lot
longer than you can," Superman told him.

Dey glared up at him, and to Superman's horror, the man's face
twisted, contorted, until a mask of the blackest evil stared back
at him. The blood-rimmed mouth hissed, cursing him in a tongue he
could not understand. The hands, more talons than human, raised
up to attack him, and Dey charged at his enemy.

Nimbly Superman sidestepped, grabbed the edges of the woolen
cloak, and swung the man away from him. Centrifugal force took
over, launching the man up and away, hurling him into a concrete
pillar. The pillar cracked and tilted, but did not fall. Dey
again shook himself like a dog throwing off water, glared at his
enemy, and once more charged. This time, however, he feinted at
the last possible micro-second, and his shoulder rammed into
Superman's stomach full force.

The Man of Steel grunted as the air rushed from his lungs, and he
flew backwards, directly into a plate glass door. The
double-insulated panes fell in huge chunks around him as a
stunned Superman tried to catch his breath. He looked up to see
Dey standing, heaving from the exertion, ready to charge again.

A single ray of sunlight peeked over the edge of the roof. The
brilliant beam struck Superman across his s-shield and across the
sheets of broken plate glass. The light turned golden white,
making the glass glow like huge puddles of liquid fire. One of
the largest portions, a V- shaped section sitting at an angle
near Superman's legs, was tilted upward, catching the light, and
the instant the sun's rays hit it, they were reflected back
toward Dey, striking him fully across the face and chest.

Dey screamed, throwing his arms up to protect himself. He pivoted
around, but the sunlight caught the back of his uncovered head. A
puff of smoke erupted from his skull and the neck of his cloak.
Blinded, he howled again and tried to run, but he tripped on a
rock of plaster and brick, sending him to his knees. The vapor
was pouring now from his neck and sleeves, billowing in the early
morning breeze like a smokestack. There was a soft pop!, and the
cloak suddenly dropped to the ground, flat and motionless.

For several long minutes Superman remained where he was, lying
atop the pile of glass and debris, and stared silently at the
remains of Secretary Dey. The sunshine across his chest and face
felt good -- warm and full of vibrant strength. Slowly, finally,
he got to his feet, dusting himself off. Without approaching the
pile of dark wool, he flew away to let the police discover for
themselves what had happened in the nearly demolished
construction site.

***

He found Lois wide awake and nervously pacing the floor of their
townhouse. He entered noiselessly, but she saw him from the
corner of her eye and rushed into his embrace where they melded,
seeking comfort and relief in each other's arms and lips. She
never asked if Dey was dead -- she had no need to. And Superman
was glad not to have to answer questions.

Wordlessly they walked upstairs, hand in hand, and crawled into
bed to catch the last hours remaining until it was time to go to
work.

***

"This is just incredible," Perry White noted, tossing the
latest edition across Clark's desk. "What I don't understand,
though, is why he did it. I mean, what could drive a man of
position like Assistant Secretary Deya ... Deyav ... oh, hell's
bells, that Russian diplomat, to kill those men?"

"Superman said that Dey mentioned something about a mission',"
Clark explained.

"Unfortunately, Dey got away before Superman could find out what
that mission was." He looked across the aisle to see his wife
slowly sauntering over to join them. They had spent nearly an
hour arguing over the fine points of the story, debating on
whether to use Clark's vampire angle, or to let the story sit as
a missing person's report as the police were calling it. At his
wife's pleading insistence, they went with the latter.

"Well, it's the damndest thing I ever read. Man comes from
another country on a diplomatic visit, kills some of the
toughest, meanest, ornriest no-goodniks this city had to offer,
and then just disappears into thin air. Henderson called a few
minutes ago to let me know that Interpol has its men stationed at
every airport and road leading back into the country. If this
Deyawhatshisface guy shows even a hair on his head, they'll get
him."

Lois crossed her arms, smiling softly. "I don't know, Perry. If
Superman can't find him ..."

Clark broke in. "I think we won't be seeing or hearing any more
from Secretary Dey."

"How can you be so sure?" Jimmy spoke up.

"I don't know." Clark shrugged. "Call it ... a hunch?
Reporter's instincts?" He grinned, and the others smiled back.

"Well, let me say once more this is another fine job you two
pulled off. I wouldn't be surprised if you both got a Pulitzer
and a Kerth nomination for it." Perry started to walk back to
his desk, when he noticed Clark's unusual pallor. "Say, Son,
why don't you and the missus take off the rest of the day and go
soak up some rays? You deserve a little R and R. You're as pale
as a ghost!"

Lois and Clark turned to each other and shared a secretive little
smile. "I think I'd like that," Clark replied.

After Perry and Jimmy had walked out of earshot, Clark draped an
arm over his wife's shoulders, and they headed up the ramp for
the elevators. "Thank you," Lois said simply.

"For what?"

"For not mentioning the V-word."

Clark gently shook his head. "I'm still left with more
questions than answers. Like, how else could you explain that
guy's incredible strength? He tore right through my suit and dug
furrows in my shoulders."

"But he let me go," she reminded him. "He couldn't have been
all bad. Maybe he was on a 'mission' of sorts ... a mission to
rid Metropolis of human vermin."

"Yeah, but how do you explain that strange remark he made.
'Life- bearers'?" Clark turned to face her as they waited for
the doors to open.

"I dunno. Maybe men are more chivalrous toward their women over
in Batsylvania!"

Laughing, Lois nimbly leapt through the elevator doors, playfully
teasing. Clark sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward as he
followed her, knowing he would never hear the last of it as long
as he lived. Somehow, though, it was not something he
particularly dreaded.

It was eleven-fifteen on a brisk, sunny, November morning. And
the day wasn't over YET.

THE END