By Debby Stark
Summary: Lex Luthor plots to kill Superman with a secret weapon,
"Wanda Detroit" sings the blues at a dockside pub, and Punkin
Kent finds a friend in Superman.
It was almost two o'clock on a quiet Saturday morning.
Clark Kent searched through his closet and chest of drawers for
clothing that he hadn't worn in quite some time and that no one,
least of all Lex Luthor, would recognize. It had to look like
clothing worn by a desperate mad scientist facing poverty.
He settled on black, which was beginning to match his mood. He
considered taking along the supersuit, wearing it under this
disguise, but it seemed risky so he left it behind. He didn't
need Superman: the guy hadn't been pulling his weight around here
lately anyhow.
He dressed, locked up his apartment, and then sat on the steps
outside, facing the still, silent street. About 15 minutes
earlier he had, in the suit and at superspeed, loosened and
extinguished the bulb in the nearest street light. There was
still plenty of light from the other fixtures along the avenue to
give the neighborhood the illusion of safety, but his particular
little corner of the world was plunged into darkness.
Again, he thought, appropriate.
This escapade better work...
Inspector Henderson drove up in one of the most bland, four- door
sedans that Clark had ever seen and almost didn't see, its
arrival being quiet and unobtrusive. The man reached over and
unlocked the passenger-side door. "Good choice of clothes," he
said. "We're going to my house. I've got the makeup and my wife
knows how to apply it. I have a hat you can borrow, too, just
don't lose it if you can help it."
"I'll try not to," Clark said and then thought, I've lost too
many things already... "And the weapon?"
"No problem. Betty captured Harbert and it's a good thing because
she's been on edge since yesterday morning when the Clone--
Punkin?"
"Yes."
"Interesting name... when Punkin got away. She delivered the gun
to me first, so the Mrs. and I got a look at him before she took
him to the station to book him. He's about your size, but you're
broader and tanner. It won't matter in the darkness. I asked
Betty to come by if she's done before 4, but she doesn't know
what we're doing. If you pass her inspection, I'll have no choice
but to let you try this foolhardy plan of yours."
Clark noted the twinkle in the man's eye. The Inspector was
really excited about this. Clark almost said "Ours, *our* plan,"
but reminded himself that he had been planning to do all this
originally, with or without help, so it wouldn't be fair to try
to share blame if things went wrong. He decided instead to say,
"Well, I'm good at disguises usually," to coax the man into
hinting how much he suspected about that.
"We'll see..." Henderson said simply. He said no more as they
drove through the quiet streets to the suburban location of the
Inspector's home.
Mrs. Henderson was a gracious, quiet woman with a gleam in her
eye equal to that of her husband's; it told Clark that she was
glad she'd been invited to help. After accepting a cup of coffee
and talking with her for a few minutes in her kitchen, Clark saw
that she was in complete control of the household. Henderson took
a secondary role and apparently enjoyed it, sitting when she told
him to, or rushing to fetch a towel or find a different hat.
Mrs. Henderson explained that she had graduated from beauty
college and run her own salon for a few years. She also helped
out in the makeup department of the local playhouse, so she not
only had the skill to change a person's appearance but had been
able to borrow the necessities which the Metropolis Police
Department could not provide.
She was glad Clark had shaved recently (his beard grew slowly but
he didn't mention that) and that his hair was rather short
(though she thought he'd look more charming if he let it grow a
little longer). This made it easier to apply the fake reddish
beard, scraggly moustache and poorly-cut wig, all last worn by a
villain in some melodrama put on at the playhouse.
"You'll look like a hard-traveling fugitive from the law. Just
don't try twiddling the moustache while you go nar-har-har!" she
warned, imitating of Snideley Whiplash. The fake hair wouldn't
come off easily though, she added, in case he found himself in
the middle of a fight. She paused and raised an eyebrow at her
husband; it was clear she already felt protective toward Clark.
"He won't get into any fights," Henderson assured her. "We'll be
watching very carefully."
"If I do," Clark said, "I have some back up." He glanced at
Henderson. "You know: Back. Up."
Henderson, who had insisted on this very thing two days earlier
but for Superman, cracked a barely visible smile.
Clark felt a little better.
He also didn't recognize himself almost 45 minutes later when she
showed him to the big mirror over the dresser in the master
bedroom. "Wow, this is great..." He touched the moustache. It
looked like someone else touching it, but this really was his own
face his fingers felt. "This is going to work just fine."
"Those contacts look good, too. Let me know if they hurt your
eyes."
"They don't." He had claimed he wanted to see everything she did
and had made sure he was well bearded before taking off his
glasses and letting her slip the blue contacts in.
"You can see all right?" Henderson asked.
"Ah, things are blurry out beyond about ten feet, I think." He
had once heard his mom say this; he added the vague wave she had
used to indicate the uncertain distance. "But that's okay, it
won't be for long. What did Harbert talk like? What tone of voice
did he use? After all, he might have talked to Luthor or Asabi
over the phone to arrange their meeting."
Henderson agreed. Harbert had been terse and breathless,
melodramatic and angry, but probably not only because he'd been
caught. It seemed like his natural method of communication--
overbearing. "Like Lois when she's in a snit, I bet," he said,
"but less believable and with a lower, whiny-er voice."
Like Mom says I get sometimes, Clark sighed. Not anymore...
Anyhow, Henderson said, they'd confirm this with Betty when she
returned. Did Clark want to see the gun?
"Sure. Is there--was there Kryptonite in it?" It had to have been
"was" for hadn't felt any in the immediate vicinity.
"Yes, but our son John removed it," Mrs. Henderson said proudly.
"He's a genius at that kind of thing. He works at Star Labs now,
did you know that? He has his own lab, too, it's fascinating. Do
you want to see the Kryptonite? It's really very pretty for as
dangerous as it is..." she said as she walked out of the room
back toward the front of the house before Clark could think of a
polite way to interrupt and say "No thanks!"
"I don't really want to waste any time seeing that stuff," he
told Henderson quietly. "I mean, I've seen other Kryptonite
before so I'd rather see the gun, and try to figure out how it
was supposed to work."
"Oh, it was just a little piece. We've stored it for now in an
antique lead box."
Having retrieved the box, Mrs. Henderson met them half way, in
the darkened hall. She had said something earlier about not
turning on unnecessary lights, an energy-saving habit they had
adopted when their children had lived at home.
In preparation, Clark tried to imperceptibly lean back against
the wall as she opened the box and she and her husband marveled
at the half-finger-sized chunk of glowing green death. John, they
said, would store it at Star Labs with the other pieces they had,
but he wouldn't come back for it until later that morning when
there was less security to worry about at the Labs.
Clark felt himself begin to sweat. The pain was incredible and it
seeped through his body at an agonizing, unstoppable pace. He
reminded himself he had experienced much worse in the past, and
her eventual closing of the box lid did put an end to the
immediate drain on his spirit and vitality. He felt pale now,
then told himself that was okay for a person disguised as a
red-head.
The weakening effects of the toxic stone hung on, though, even as
the woman turned away to put the box wherever they were keeping
it. He reached to straighten his glasses in a covering, self
comforting move, but realized he wasn't wearing them. Funny (or
maybe not) how his vision was blurry... He noted Henderson giving
him what he hoped wasn't a speculative look.
"You look tired."
"I *am* tired..."
"If you don't want to go through with this, if it's catching up
with you--"
"No, I'm just fine." Clark stiffened his back through the dull
feeling and tried to look ready to go. "Where's the weapon?"
It was on Henderson's workbench in his playroom, as Mrs.
Henderson called the big basement space. She pointed out the
scale-model railroad countryside diorama stored vertically on the
east wall and the shelves all around stuffed with railroad cars,
engines and other paraphernalia of a true hobbyist. Clark was
impressed.
"Sit," Henderson pointed.
Clark took the high stool in front of the table with the weapon,
glad to be off his feet for a moment, hoping this didn't show.
"Have you eaten anything recently?" Mrs. Henderson asked on the
tail of this thought. "I have some oatmeal cookies I think you'd
like, and I think I'll fix you fellows more coffee, too," she
said and she headed upstairs again.
"Her cookies are great, eat all you can," Henderson confided.
"I'll try," though he just wasn't hungry yet.
"Also, she doesn't like guns." He took a grimy white bath towel
off a large object on his workbench. "And this is quite some
gun."
It sure was, Clark thought. It looked like the one used by
Lucille and Nell Newtrich to beam Red Kryptonite at him, but more
sophisticated considering the resources of some clandestine
government lab behind it. Henderson indicated the cartridge his
son had opened to find the Kryptonite that was used to enhance
the rays emitted through the wide barrel of the gun. He didn't
reopen it; Clark hoped there was no Kryptonite residue, if
Kryptonite left residue.
"John replaced the Kryptonite with something he said was harmless
even though it's a little radioactive. He said the results would
look impressive if the gun was ever used."
"Did he actually try it though?"
"Yes, he had demonstrated it on the couch, then ran that Geiger
counter over it and even sat on it. It acted just a couch should,
though it still glowed a little. That's my boy," Henderson said,
almost smiling, "always showing off."
Clark picked up the weapon; it felt rather heavy. It shouldn't
have. Come on, Kryptonite, wear off already... He aimed it.
"Shoot the *couch,*" Henderson said.
Clark tried. "I'm not very experienced with guns..."
"Or furniture. You might want to consider putting your glasses
back on. That was the recliner."
"Oh, sorry. The upholstery glowed nicely, didn't it, heh..." What
was nicer, though, what with his vision clearing up, he had seen
what the beam looked like. He could extrapolate to the effects a
real weapon might have on Superman, for there was no doubt that
Luthor, once he had it, would try to use it. It was just a matter
of fooling the villain so he'd take that chance.
"John left this behind..." Henderson broke out the Geiger
counter. "And here, see? Not radioactive, nothing more than
ambient background radiation. That's what he called it."
"Okay. Does it have a--"
"Hold it right there, buster!"
Clark froze. He was facing Henderson, who said nothing, but even
without prompting, Clark could not fail to recognize the southern
drawl that accented Betty Reed's commanding voice.
She said clearly and concisely: "Put that thing down and turn
around with your arms up... easy, easy.... Wait a minute..." She
approached, frowning. "You were in jail, bawling your heart
out... nah... All right..." She frowned at Henderson. "Who *is*
this guy, his twin brother...?"
"Say something whiny, Clark."
"Clark?"
"'Something whiny.'"
"Oh, *Clark,* yeah, it is you, isn't it?" She put her gun back in
its holster under her fashionable vest and came closer, peering
at him. "Well, I'll be..." She shook her head and smiled a little
now. "You do look like him, no kidding. I'm surprised. You're a
little bigger than him and tanner, aren't you?"
"Am I?"
"Yep, but not much. No one will notice in the dark anyhow, and
hardly anyone knows he's in town, let alone in jail. He didn't
want to call a lawyer, not that I would have let him right away,
seeing he's in high security lockup and there's all that
paperwork that got lost..." She considered Clark again
thoughtfully. "You don't have his whine right, but I can help you
with that..."
***
Wanda Detroit couldn't sleep any more. Her head hurt, but not
like it had when she had fallen asleep after eating what she
could of Bibbo's fix 'em-up-fast chicken noodle soup.
She sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to remember anything
what she had been doing before Red had guided her into his truck,
but nothing would come. This didn't seem worrisome, though she
wondered vaguely why something so important as remembering her
past didn't seem to be a top priority.
"I want to sing the blues..." she heard herself whisper.
She couldn't sing the blues looking like a refugee from a...
whatever she was sure she looked like a refugee from. She rose on
unsteady bare feet and began to explore the room.
The closet was full of marvelous clothing. She tried on several
dresses, the pleasant distraction helping her grow confident with
her balance. She found a striking, smoky-brown dress that she
liked, wiggled into it, and then sat down before the mirror over
the vanity and saw a woman with short, tossed-about dark hair and
strained, tear-reddened eyes.
"Were you crying in your sleep or something, honey?" she asked
the pathetic apparition she saw there. "Well, you can forget
*that*, you're not me, you're a loser." She smiled haughtily; the
mirror reflected this, good. "Wanda Detroit is in charge now, and
we're going places..."
She looked over the makeup packed away in the drawers and decided
to experiment with this, too. She began to hum to herself, a sad,
heart-felt song that would knock 'em dead in the nightclubs she
knew would fill her life from now on...
***
Henderson dropped Clark off fifteen minutes early and three
blocks away from the alley where Harbert was supposed to meet Lex
Luthor. Henderson assured him that at nightfall on the previous
evening, his spy-wannabe insurance agent brother-in-law had
peppered the area with cameras and other devices. Clark hadn't
asked for details. If Henderson wanted to recruit his relatives
into a private secret police force, it was probably a good thing
that a prize-winning investigative journalist didn't find out too
much about that right now.
Clark walked to his destination taking long, nervous strides and
muttering unintelligibly to himself, keeping to the shadows and
making his moves as obvious as he could as he sneaked up to the
alley. He hugged the weapon to his chest in a paranoid fashion,
this action surely accentuated by his wearing of Harbert's large
sunglasses. (Over the contacts, he had laughed when he had first
put the sunglasses on, but there was always the chance the
glasses might come off in a struggle and Luthor might recognize
his brown eyes.)
As he the alley, he looked around it and eased in, passing and
keeping his back turned to the darkened doorway where Lex Luthor
was standing, watching and breathing shallowly.
The villain's heart-rate rapid with anticipation when he stepped
out into a cold ray of light from the streetlight at the end of
the alley. "I see you brought me a gift..."
Clark turned abruptly and slowly considered the tall, thin,
dark-dressed man. Lex was also wearing a wig, a stylish one that
closely resembled his original hair. Why wasn't he wearing a
disguise of some sort like he had at the bank the afternoon
before--unless he wanted to be sure that Harbert recognized him.
It could easily have been simple vanity, or both those things.
Clark grabbed hold of himself mentally. This was no time for
speculation. Into the act. "It's not a gift!" he growled tersely,
adding nasal tones for the whine. "It's my freedom!" Harbert was
reportedly "insipidly dramatic" in his discourse.
"Yes, quite. Let's see what I'm going to trade this," Luthor
hefted the brief case he carried, the one Clark had last seen
held by Punkin, "considerable sum of money for."
"Ah, yes! That's more like it!"
There was a low-slung dumpster nearby and Clark put the weapon in
its carrier on the closed top. He opened the bag to display the
impressive device. Its well polished parts gleamed dangerously.
He showed Luthor how it worked. He strongly disliked being this
close to the man who had ruined his wedding day and done who knew
what to Lois. I should just nab him now, he told himself--but
Luthor always had tricks up his sleeve. Sticking to this
complicated plan had to be a better idea... he hoped. He
commended himself for his restraint, for not grabbing his enemy
and choking him to within an inch of his rotten life.
"You have enough Kryptonite in here for two shots," he and
Henderson had decided to say. It sounded reasonable. "The
mineral-- it's powerful, it's alien--and we don't know why it
wears out so quickly when we use for this kind of thing."
"It sounds like your weapon needs time to recharge."
"Oh, yeah, well..." Clark shrugged the idea off. "A little
time..."
Luthor pounced on this. "*How* long between these precious two
shots?"
"Ah? Not long, not long at all--"
Luthor pressed, both mentally and physically. "HOW long?"
Clark cringed appropriately. "About, oh..." They hadn't been able
to agree on how much time to give Luthor, so Clark decided to use
the figure that had struck him as being right--then, reviewing
his personal-best record for the past 24 hours, he substituted
Henderson's guess, "about eight hours..."
"Eight hours? Is that all?"
Did that mean he--or Henderson this time--*they* had played into
Luthor's hand again? He hoped not. "That's all usually."
"Usually?"
"We tested it with other 14.5-ounce pieces of Kryptonite," an odd
figure pulled out of the air, "This was the last piece--I stole
it--They have no idea, the cretins."
"Good for you. Fortunately, I do have some I can use."
"You do?" He did? It was entirely possible, knowing Luthor.
"They..." *Think* of something! "They better be pure crystals,
cut to size..." if there was such a thing as pure Kryptonite, if
it could be cut.
"Oh?" unadulterated skepticism.
"Or have someone you dislike try working on the gun because all
the prototypes except this one blew up and contaminated several
laboratories out in Area 51."
"Oh. I see..." and perhaps he did for he said that in a somewhat
subdued manner. "But this version..."
"I tested it myself, several times. It's tricky--but I'm *the*
expert."
"Good for you. Perhaps the one piece of Kryptonite will be
sufficient if I use the wide beam... It takes more power than the
narrow, I suppose..."
"Considerably more."
"And it will kill Superman?"
"The... unsuspecting fool," for that's what he'd been, "won't
know what hit him."
"You're certain?"
"I'm certain of everything, I know what I'm doing. Look, the
Newtrich sisters--did you hear about them while you were in
jail?"
"I had ways of keeping in touch with the outside world. What
about those two failures?"
"They had a good idea, a gun something like this one--but I'm
surprised it remained stable as long as it did! It nearly
crippled Superman, we have it all on tape," or someone probably
did. He and Lois had hoped that only the sisters realized the
real effect of their gun; so far there was no word from Bobby or
anyone else of their having talked about it. "But he overcame the
effects. I studied the tapes, improved on a few of their ideas
and machined this gun myself." He patted it fondly, hoping he
looked like a gun aficionado. "Then I loaded the Kryptonite
myself each time on this very model. My..." He decided to pour on
the melodrama, spitting out "*employers* didn't listen to me, the
fools! They kept pouring money into other versions--and their
lackies died *horribly,* *writhing* in pain when their feeble
attempts blew up in their faces!"
Luthor looked like he was stifling a yawn. "I see."
Clark/Harbert raised his arms in triumph. "It *will* work!"
"Yes, yes, yes..." Luthor said calmly. "It sounds like what I
need." He picked up the device carefully and shouldered it. He
reconfirmed the weapon's settings, poking at this button and
that, and he aimed it in a testing manner around the alley, at
trash cans, at piles of rags.
At Clark.
Clark began to back up. "No, now, stop joking..."
"I never joke."
"You *can't*..." Yet in the back of his mind he had expected this
remote possibility. He shouldn't, he told himself, have thought
it would be remote but entirely likely. Not that there was
anything to worry about except how to make Luthor think the
device worked, how to "writhe in pain," something maybe he should
have practiced...
"What are you afraid of, Harbert? If it doesn't work, you'll be
out a lot of money, true, but this will make a nice
paperweight."
"It works!"
"Of course, if it *doesn't* work, if you're an impostor, I'll
kill you anyway with good, old-fashioned bullets."
"It *works!*--And you only have two shots!"
"Then I better make this one count, wouldn't you say?"
Clark turned and began to run at human speed. This wasn't fast
enough and nervous shock threw off any coordination. He ran into
a trash can and then into a grimy wall, finding no escape. He
felt a tingle on his back, wondered if this was what the couch
and recliner had experienced, and held his breath.
***
Martha Kent was pacing her kitchen floor. Jonathan Kent was
sitting at the table, watching her. Both were used to being up
early, but neither had gotten much sleep during the night.
"We shouldn't be here, Jonathan! Clark needs us!"
"He needs us to be here where we're safe, where Rachel's deputy
can keep an eye on us. I think Clark was right, Lex Luthor would
try to harm us if he could. He'd probably try to beat me up and
Lord knows what he'd do to you."
She made a fist. "I'd thrash him!"
"I'm sure you'd try, but look where it's gotten Lois, and Lois
knows karate."
"Lois... Lois needs us, too."
"Lois has her folks right now, and Clark and the FBI and the
Marines and the Metropolis Police and everyone in the newsroom.
Look, Martha, let's both go out and plow a few fields, it's not
too early in the morning and you know how that always makes *me*
feel better..."
***
Sam Lane was pacing the front room of his suite at the old Lexor
Hotel. "We can't just do *nothing!*"
"Certainly not. For one thing, you can stop pacing--you're
keeping me awake!" his ex-wife snarled from her "bed" on the
couch.
"You didn't *have* to come over here!"
"Yes, I did. It was for Lucy's sake. I think she wanted to flirt
with that cute policeman guarding her, so she asked me to keep an
eye on you."
"On me? When Lois needs us?"
"Lois needs us to keep calm heads because it's clear that
everyone else has *no* idea what's going on!"
"You're right about that--so that's why we should be out there,"
he waved his arm at the window and the heart of downtown
Metropolis beyond it, "searching for her!"
"Sure, go out there! Slip past the guards--they'll never see you.
Get yourself killed by some hoodlum!"
"We owe her that much--to look for her!"
"You? Owe her anything? Like a little love and respect?"
"Don't start with me, I gave her some of the best years of my
life."
"Best *minutes*, when you could schedule her *in*!"
"And your minutes were between fifths of scotch!"
"Well, at least I attended her graduation!"
"That was *Lucy's* graduation you managed to stumble into."
"At great personal expense--and you with the latest floozy you'd
picked out of the trash."
"I *like* floozies--they remind me of you!"
They glared at each other.
Then their shoulders slumped simultaneously.
"I don't want to fight, I'm too tired."
"And I'm too worried."
"Why does it take this kind of thing to bring us together?"
"I don't know... I just want it to be over."
They turned away from each other so neither could see the other's
tears.
***
Though he hadn't tested it in any other manner, Clark thought it
was probably easiest to vibrate his molecules at superspeed
starting at his hands and moving inward toward his chest. He
could concentrate more easily on his hands, too, concentrate past
the incredible pain and let the idea of what he was doing (and
who he was ultimately doing it for) flow over him.
With this in mind and remembering he was putting on a show as
well and had to be convincing, he turned back toward Luthor so
that the effect the gun appeared to be having on him would look
more dramatic. He also let out his breath when he realized it
would be a good idea to scream with fear and pain; that might
substitute acceptably for writhing. As it was the first chance
he'd had to really express himself about this whole horrible mess
and since this hurt so much anyhow, the scream was heartfelt.
It also occurred to some more calm part of his mind that he
couldn't stay here in the alley. If he didn't mess up and
disperse completely (a not unlikely possibility since there was a
light breeze), he could recoalesce right back here. He would be
unable to stop Luthor from doing anything to him, such as
checking for a pulse, finding one, and killing him--or trying
to--with a regular bullet to his head. If he managed to regain
invulnerability quickly, again not a given, Luthor would discover
his true identities. That could not be allowed.
So Clark willed his disassociating molecules to float upward,
cloudlike into the night. Probably, he thought, the last thing
visible from ground level would be his rapidly disappearing legs.
It was a scary thought, like something from a horror movie, which
was one reason he avoided that kind of entertainment.
He then worried about how high he would rise, if he could control
his altitude and horizontal movement. And if--no, when he fell,
would he land back in the alley anyhow? Right back in front of
Luthor despite all this agonizing effort?
After some obscure amount of time, though, he stopped worrying
mainly because it became just about impossible to think.
Except he thought about Lois and how doing absolutely anything to
rescue her was worth all the effort.
Oh, and add to that, she wouldn't very well want to marry a loose
association of atoms if he didn't get his act together again.
He regained consciousness on what he decided wasn't the ground in
the alley or out in the middle of some sidewalk or street
somewhere. He decided he was probably on a roof. That was nice.
He closed his eyes again. He had no idea of the time, but it was
still dark. He thought probably it was the same day, early in the
morning. He wondered how long he could spend thinking about this
and other trivial things and trying to ignore his jangled nerve
endings. They were screeching at him but cooling down, too. He
felt with-it, together again, barely.
He hadn't thought to worry about how he'd have to reassociate the
clothing and the whole disguise as well. Ugh! But somehow they'd
come along in the process, stuck with him and reformed, too.
Never do this again, he ordered himself, never, never, never...
at least not before you've taken off all the clothes you can
first... and then still don't do it.
He forced his eyes open once more; he had to stay conscious
though his body demanded sleep.
The late night sky above was cold and bright with the usual
impersonal, ambient light of the immense city. Then some of the
light was displaced way up there by Henderson's face looking way
down at him.
"That was some trick. I didn't know Superman could do that to a
person."
"Yeah," Clark croaked, glad to have a voice even though he
sounded like a bullfrog, oh... "I'll have to have a word with him
about warning me next time..."
"Scream at him like you did down there and he'll listen, it was
frightening."
"Screaming's not all I'll do..."
"I wouldn't want to be in his boots then. Can you sit up?"
"Give me a minute."
"No problem." The man knelt, prepared to wait. "We have time. The
game's afoot--I've always wanted to say that--but Betty and my
brother-in-law are on his tail."
"He got away?"
"I hope not, not with the homing device in the gun. But remember,
we may not get more than a general fix on his final location
because the device had to be so small."
Clark sat up and cradled his head. "All this better not have been
for nothing...." I'm whining, he thought, but at least my voice
is clearing up...
"I'm sure it won't be for nothing. Considering how powerful the
gun appears to be, if he detects our bug's beep, odds are good
he'll think it's a noise the gun makes anyway."
"I hope so..." Clark straightened a bit and began to pull off
bits and pieces of the disguise and stick them in the plastic bag
that Henderson produced out of nowhere. "Anything more precise
than 'greater metropolitan Metropolis' will be fine with me."
"Betty definitely caught the signal and saw the two-man bicycle
Luthor and Asabi were using as his getaway vehicle. Very
clever--I almost expected him to use the white limo again."
"I'm getting real tired of..." He paused and looked around
himself. "Where am I, anyway? On a roof somewhere?"
"Yes, on top of the building you ran into down there in your
failed escape attempt. We got it all on video if you ever want to
see it."
"No, no, thanks... You can get him on attempted murder now,
too."
"Oh, we'll have him into his next ten reincarnations, I guarantee
it."
"He always does seem to come back, doesn't he... You said two-man
bicycle. They wouldn't have left Lois alone, you know."
"Being blasted into a million pieces and then glued back together
hasn't slowed you down, that's good. No Lois, yet, is right, but
I have people looking everywhere for her."
***
Wanda Detroit decided to begin singing the blues at dawn. She
explored Bibbo's nightclub, found a bottle of champagne, a pack
of cigarettes and matches to use as props, sashayed up to the
stage, and sat on top of the upright piano. Climbing up on it
made her dizzy at first, but sitting still for a few long moments
helped clear that.
Then she began to practice singing. She surprised herself; she
did not seem to need musical accompaniment, though such would be
nice, and she knew one song after another. They just came forth
naturally. Whoever the loser before had been, she'd had an okay
taste in music.
She lit a cigarette, drew the smoke in deeply--and coughed
seriously for quite some time, which caused her head to roar in
protest and almost made her fall off the piano twice.
On his way to make breakfast, Bibbo Bibowski passed through the
main room of his nightclub to check things out, and there he
stopped. He waited out Wanda's third series of hacking coughs,
then listened to her clear it with a swig of the inexpensive
champagne and begin to sing again.
He became immediately transfixed by her beautiful voice.
Wanda noticed; she liked the effect. Having the ability to stop
men dead in their tracks was a good thing. She noticed, however,
that it only worked when she wasn't coughing. As the loser had
apparently not smoked, it didn't look like Wanda Detroit could,
either. She stubbed out the smelly cigarette on the bottom of her
shoe.
Red Dixon eased his way in, obviously here to check on her
health, but he, too, was captured by her voice when she began to
sing about being found by a man with a heart of gold.
"This is my life..." she sang, making up lyrics now, fitting them
into the right places, smiling at herself through her remaining
smoke-induced tears, thinking they would work as part of her
developing act. Acting was important, she could hide behind
acting. Everyone she knew was acting, was not what they seemed...
or probably could be accused of that if she could remember any of
them.
As she let the song drift away, Bibbo applauded wildly. Red took
off his hat and sniffed back a tear. She smiled in what she
figured was her best sultry manner.
This *was* the life! These people *appreciated* her!
"You're hired!" Bibbo shouted. "Don't move! Let me take some
pictures of you just like that! I can have them ready in an hour
and we can start advertising your act and you can sing tonight!"
"I can sing the blues?"
"You can sing anything you want! I'll call Dieks, too, he's my
best piano player, and you can work out some music with him!" He
rushed out of the room to find his camera.
Red approached her respectfully. "I'm glad I got to hear you
sing, Wanda."
She touched his head fondly, the nearest part of him that she
could reach. "I'm glad you did, too. I can make a little money
here and then hit the road... maybe with you..."
"Maybe..."
"I want to get away from this burg, I want to get away from it
*all*..."
"I'll sure be glad to give you a lift wherever you want go, but
we... we can't get involved."
"Men say that all the time, I'm used to it. We'll be different,
you and I, I just know it."
"Well, it's not what you think, Wanda..."
"I need to find someone I can trust and..." she danced her
fingers through his short, curly hair. "I think I have at last."
"Ah..."
"You're different, you're good..."
"I'm gay..." He played nervously with his hat, sighed and looked
up at her, his big blue eyes asking her understanding. "I like
how you sing and I want to help you get away from the man who did
you wrong, that rat Clark, but I just can't... well..."
"That's all right, honey." She leaned forward, acutely aware that
two of her spectacular physical assets were hard to miss. She
wondered if she might be able to tempt him to abandon a certain
aspect of his lifestyle if she worked on him. That didn't seem
likely, but one never knew.
"Ah," he stared at her assets but didn't seem to react otherwise.
"Ah... I just thought you should know..."
"At least you're happy."
"Well, yeah, gay..."
"I appreciate that." She decided against teasing him further and
sat up; he was a nice guy after all. "Believe me, Red, I've heard
every story in the book by now and been disappointed by all the
guys who think I'm a idiot. There was a billionaire criminal
mastermind. A sexy outer space alien. A farmboy renaissance
man..." She frowned, shook her head slightly, winced, and reached
to comfort the painful area on the back of her head. "I
think..."
"Don't strain yourself..." he frowned, concerned.
"Oh, I won't." She considered the bottle of champagne but decided
against it. "I guess we'll make a real odd couple, you and I,
when all I want to do is... ah..."
"Sing the blues?"
"Yeah, that and... I don't know... cook or something."
"Have a home and family?"
"I suppose... but I don't want to remember any of that any
more."
"Well, you remembered those three odd guys, your memory's coming
back and that's probably for the best, unless they were just...
examples or something."
"I don't know. Maybe I just read about them somewhere. Men,
they're all alike, can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em..." She
sat up, pulled out another cigarette, stuck it in her mouth and
took it out again, not lighting it, and she whispered through the
haze of her memories, "It's one more thing to sing about..."
***
Henderson delivered Clark home, leaving him with orders that the
younger man get some real sleep and eat all the cookies Mrs.
Henderson had sent along. The Inspector had the feeling that
things were beginning to move now. "I think we have a good chance
of catching Luthor and his henchmen and dismantling his lair, and
we'll find Lois before he does, too, all in time for you both to
celebrate tomorrow, Valentine's Day."
Clark hoped so. He didn't care so much about Luthor at the moment
or even what day it was today or would be tomorrow. Lois was
foremost on his mind, though the idea of sleep after indulging in
few cookies was a close second.
He staggered into his apartment, peeled off the parts of his
disguise he hadn't left behind in the car, tossed them in his
closet and shut the door securely. He reminded himself about the
bag of cookies and how his mom would surely ask if he had eaten
anything and he didn't want to lie to her. He veered back to the
living room, retrieved and opened the bag, pulled out one the
hefty nut- and raisin-stuffed things, and downed it quickly,
hardly tasting it. He then aimed himself at his bathroom, found
it, and had a long, relaxing shower.
Afterwards, out of habit he pulled on an old T-shirt and some
shorts that were lying about in the predawn darkness. He then
fell into his bed and a deep sleep prompted by the brief but
intense exposure to the Kryptonite and the prolonged, awful yet
brilliant use of the molecular dispersion technique.
He was awakened by a clandestine sound.
Someone is breaking in, Clark thought, at... 9:46 a.m. I've
overslept... and I'm not being watched any more? Where is Betty?
Okay, busy tracking down Luthor's lair, okay, fine. And where is
Lois? Why hasn't she called me yet? Doesn't she feel safe--isn't
*that* reason enough to call me? It's been hours and hours and
hours...
"Sleeping the sleep of angels, Kent? Did our little Lois wear you
out? Where is she, by the way, out... shopping? Maybe I shouldn't
have left her with you; she obviously has an insatiable
appetite..."
Wide awake now and recognizing the voice in an instant, Clark
grabbed his glasses, rolled over and continued the smooth move
onto his feet. In a few steps he approached Lex Luthor, who was
dressed in a breezy, designer sports jacket, matching slacks,
highly polished shoes and well groomed wig. He looked like he
thought he owned the world and the biggest yacht in which to sail
its seas.
Clark grabbed him by his stylish lapels and forced him back into
the brick wall. He looked the man right in the eye, puncturing
that vast world view. "I could kill you *very easily* right
now..."
"Oh?" Luthor gurgled. "Why would you want to--"
"You escaped from prison, kidnapped the President, threatened
democracy and world peace, ruined a fragile wetland to acquire an
endangered species of frog, *and* you replaced Lois with a
clone!-- *that's* why!"
"Our friend Superman has a big mouth--"
"I figured it all out *myself*!" and Clark emphasized this with
an even more fierce glare. He tightened his grip enough for
Luthor to be well aware of it and added a shake. The man's teeth
rattled a bit and his wig began to slip.
The sound reminded Clark that *he* was a bit rattled, too, and he
had better not let on to when he had sensed and then known that
the Clone wasn't Lois. "Your creation is at Star Labs. She was
sent there after we discovered the truth about her--Now where is
*Lois*?"
"My, but you are strong--"
"Don't *tempt* me..."
"I'd love to tell you that she's with me, but believe me--"
"And *don't* patronize me, either!"
"I'm not! I *don't* know where she is."
Then she was still hiding, good.
Well, not "good" since she hadn't gotten in touch with him yet
after all this time, but her being on the loose was far better
than her being in Luthor's clutches again.
Still, "I don't believe you." Another shake. "I *know* you've
hurt her!"
"I would *never* hurt the woman I love!" Luthor proclaimed. "Put
me down!"
Clark pursed his lips, relented despite his better judgement (or
hoped it looked that way) and lowered the man so his feet touched
the floor again, just.
"That's better. While it's true that she and I didn't have time
to discuss my plans and I drugged her and kept her tied up--Put.
Me. Down.... I didn't hurt her, not really. I fed her and kept
her warm and comfortable and gave her new clothing. I even
entertained her with proof that *you* obviously couldn't tell the
difference between her, a woman you've known for three years, and
a simple clone made with hefty doses of frog DNA. If you *must*
be mad at anyone, it should be at *yourself* for not knowing the
difference."
"I *knew* the difference!" He released Luthor so he could use his
hands to express himself. "It just... took me a little time, what
with being all excited about getting married and finally getting
to..." lose his patience, but Luthor didn't need to know the
details. "Well, love does that."
"True, it can make a man succumb to an insidious, almost
incurable form of blindness of the heart..."
"Yeah, that, too!" Except, Clark thought, not *this* man, not
*me*.
There was a lot more to marrying the woman of his dreams than
wild thoughts of jumping into bed with her. Clark Kent was not so
shallow. Knowing he had the real woman at his side to hold on to
was the most important thing in life, far ahead of indulging in
momentary physical pleasure, of letting anticipation of that
cloud his faculties. What a horrible wedding night that would
have been had he not recognized the impostor right away, had
Punkin played along. It would have killed Lois and he couldn't
have faced himself ever again.
"But your clone isn't *anything* like Lois," he claimed--or
overclaimed, overdoing it, a bit of guilt showing, he hoped. "For
one thing, she..." What would Lex believe that he could claim as
a reason for not seeing the truth for so long? "she doesn't have
Lois's gift of gab--some call it babbling but it's not. It's
ideas bursting forth because she's such a brilliant woman. Your
clone doesn't have that, I realized it yesterday afternoon
because she didn't say very much."
Luthor straightened his tie, then nodded. "I've also noticed that
about Lois. She's as sharp as a razor. Sometimes it hurts, she
can cut a person right to the quick with her words, but I've
always felt myself a better man afterwards."
"I knew I'd be a better man the first time I saw her in the
newsroom," Clark smiled at the thought. "She was doggedly chasing
down some story, bent on saving the world--and she did!--yet she
looked so beautiful at the same time..."
"Her beauty could launch a thousand ships. I plan to make that
happen, too. I was aghast when I realized she had cut her
hair--we had to cut the Clone's hair to look the same--but I
swear Lois Lane would look good in a Mohawk dyed orange, that all
the fashion runways of the world would be sporting the same style
if she wore it..."
"But she wouldn't care. She'd insist that the models do something
more useful with their lives, like taking all that money being
lavished on useless things and using it to feed the starving
people instead. We were going to do that with the money from the
bank. It was my idea though; the clone wanted to go shopping. I
think that's when I started to become suspicious."
"You were right to, Lois would insist on sharing her wealth and
talent with the world. She's one in a million, a billion..."
"She's really something..."
They traded nods and sighed.
Then Clark asked himself, "What the heck am I doing???"
He moved to grab Luthor and snarl at him again, but the man was
just a little faster this time and from his pocket he produced a
handgun, quite possibly the same one he'd used in the bank.
Clark froze and stared at it as Luthor pointed it at a spot
between his eyes at a distance of about two inches.
"Now we're even, Kent--*more* than even since I easily
outdistance you in intelligence and cunning. You never had a
chance. You're going to help me track down Lois, then we're going
to have a nice little party at which Superman will be the
surprise guest!"
"Surprise...?"
"Believe me, *he'll* be the one who's surprised!"
Clark felt an internal "umph!" and it wasn't backlash from the
oatmeal cookie. The plan was working, it was really working.
Luthor laughed, "Then you'll see who Lois *really* loves!"
Yep, Clark thought, keeping all trace of a smile off his face,
we'll see!
He frowned, acting as though the gun didn't bother him (it didn't
actually), said, "Oh, yeah?" and was about to ask for more
details when there was a knock at the door.
"Get rid of whoever it is," Luthor ordered as he goaded Clark
into the front room and up the steps. "But make one false move
and I'll kill them and shoot you, too, probably, just for the
hell of it."
Clark waited until the man had secreted himself to the far side
of the door before he opened it.
It was Jimmy and, behind him, Perry. Jimmy said brightly, "Guess
what, CK!"
"Lois has been spotted!" Perry exclaimed.
Curiosity trampled Clark's better sense and he immediately said
"Where?"
"Down on the waterfront in a nightclub. She's singing!"
"Singing?"
"Bills herself as 'Wanda Detroit,'" Perry explained further. "We
can explain it to you." He pushed Jimmy forward. "Get in there,
boy! It was in her novel, Clark, it's the strangest thing..."
"No--" Clark began to say, trying to catch Jimmy and propel him
back outside again.
"Yes!" Luthor shouted. He grabbed Jimmy and then pushed the young
man, who stumbled toward the stairs. Clark managed to catch him
before he was hurt in the fall toward the living room floor
below, but that gave Luthor time to capture Perry and hold the
gun to his head. Perry gulped but wisely didn't struggle,
grasping at Luthor's strong arm around his neck.
Luthor grinned, in complete control. "I don't need you now, Kent,
but Lois and I will send you an invitation for our little
get-together this evening!"
He dragged Perry down the steps, through the apartment, out the
back door, and up the alley for a short distance to a waiting
white limousine.
Clark and Jimmy could only watch in horror.
The plan was still working, Clark told himself. It was just a
little more complicated than before.
Jimmy grabbed at Clark. "The Chief won't tell him anything-- he'd
die first!"
Clark had the feeling that Luthor had the drugs to overcome any
such reticence on his employer's part. "Let's hope it doesn't
come to that." He took Jimmy by the shoulders and said steadily:
"Tell me everything!"
"We got a call from Bobby Bigmouth! The Chief took it. The first
thing Bobby told him was just awful!"
"What? What is it?"
"Bobby was all worried. He said Luthor stole some terrible weapon
from a scientist and then *killed* the scientist with it!"
"Well, that is bad news--What about Lois?"
"The weapon is so powerful everyone thinks it can kill
Superman!"
"It gets worse and worse, doesn't it? And Lois--"
"We have to warn him! Lois will understand how important that
is!"
"Jimmy!"
Jimmy blinked. "Huh?"
"I'll take care of warning Superman, don't worry about that. He's
probably already heard about it and is trying to prepare, if he
can. What about Lois?"
"Oh, okay, if you're *sure* about Superman..."
"He's faced terrible weapons before, he was nearly blown up by
the Nazis' atom bomb a few weeks ago, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, but Bobby said this is *worse* than that!"
"Jimmy?"
"Okay, okay. Ah... Lois was spotted down at the waterfront--
actually, her *picture* was, except it didn't look much like her.
She had hair out to here..." He indicated a halo around his head,
way too far for Lois's current hairstyle. "And heavy makeup and a
real revealing dress! She's singing at some nightclub--she has a
good voice, doesn't she?"
Clark didn't want a repeat a time-wasting trip down memory lane
even with one of his best friends. "A great voice. What
nightclub?"
"It's called Bibbo's Place."
"Great! Let's go!" He was ready to fly out--Wait! "Ah, Jimmy, can
you... stay here by the phone?"
"Huh?"
"I... I think my folks might call."
"So what are *you* going to do? *Walk* to the waterfront? Catch a
*cab*? *Fly?*"
"Ah--"
"No! Bring your cell phone and we can go on my motorcycle! The
Chief loved it! You can use my spare helmet, too!" He rushed for
the door.
Clark couldn't think of a way out of this, so he tried to catch
up.
"And the funniest thing is what she's calling herself," Jimmy
smiled as he reached for the doorknob. "Wanda Detroit! Have you
ever heard such a--"
Clark jerked him back from the door as gently as he could to
obtain his complete attention. "Wanda Detroit?" Perry had said
this before but it hadn't sunk in until now.
"Yeah, why?"
"That's the character in the novel she was working on about two
months ago, before we came to our... understanding..."
"Oh...!"
"What do you mean, 'oh...!'?"
"Just..." he shrugged helplessly, "you know, 'oh.' Your...
*understanding*...!"
"Not *that* kind of understanding!"
"Oh."
Clark rolled his eyes. "Never *mind!* The novel is about a woman
who falls for two men and, ah..." how could he put this.
"Yeah, the novel the Chief told me about."
"He what?"
"Well, she let him look at it, you know, proofread it?"
"But..." She'd just shown Clark an abstract that hadn't, for
example, given him any character names other than that of Wanda
Detroit.
"The one where the heroine falls for two guys named 'Clark' and
'Kent' and she's sick and tired of both of them hiding things
from her? I thought that was the wildest thing I'd ever heard of
until this thing with the frogs..."
"You knew about this before today?"
"Sure, I sort of... looked at it..." He began to shuffle...
"after the Chief told me about it... last summer..."
Good grief. "Well, obviously I have to talk to her about it--
*soon,* as fast as you can drive."
That perked Jimmy up. "Good thing you're pals with Inspector
Henderson because I can make my motorcycle sing!"
Henderson? "Wait!" Clark grabbed his cell phone, called
Henderson's private number, reached the man immediately, oddly
enough, and outlined the news in 25 words or less. He rung off,
tossed the phone on the couch, grabbed his tennis shoes because
they were on the way, and was out the door so fast Jimmy should
have suspected something but instead followed his friend just as
fast as he could.
***
Wanda Detroit was pressing her trim belly to the bar,
contemplating her ginger ale. Bibbo had advised her not to
consume any alcohol since she couldn't remember if she did so
normally. It might be bad for her wonderful voice. She didn't
really miss either the alcohol or the cigarettes even if they
were what she recalled were standard props for such acts.
It was nice that Bibbo cared but she doubted it would last, men
were like that. They seemed to care from the very depths of their
soul--and then you found out that depth could be measured with
the short end of a broken toothpick.
Red had been in and out all morning, working and checking on her.
He may not have been interested in her in a sexual manner, but
she had to admit that she was impressed with his honesty. He was
the one trustworthy man in the world at the moment--a man she
couldn't have, it figured.
Something about that wanted to remind her of something else,
some*one* else... but it wouldn't come. She didn't press for it,
doing that had already proved to hurt her head.
She took a last sip of her soda and considered asking for
another.
There was a commotion outside, up front in the small bar where
people who didn't want to see the main show (which wouldn't start
until seven that night) could have a drink if that was all they
wanted.
"I want to see Wanda," a suave voice was saying. "I'm her doctor,
Doctor Alexander Kent, and she has a serious blood condition that
has in the past led her into perilous states of dementia..."
***
Clark and Jimmy cruised the docks after arriving in record time.
Jimmy had known shortcuts that amazed Clark, who had struggled to
hold on and remain seated. Indeed on sharp corners he found it
hard not to "help" keep the motorcycle upright when it was clear
that Jimmy knew precisely what he was doing even at 60-mile- per
hour, 45-degree angles.
They found the right street at last and Bibbo's Place. Jimmy
rolled to a stop in front of it and prepared to jump off his
motorcycle when Clark put a firm hand on his shoulder and pointed
at the sign on the door.
"That doesn't apply to *me*," Jimmy claimed.
"You're not quite 21 yet, it certainly applies to you," Clark
informed him as he shucked the borrowed helmet. "Besides, I need
you out here to warn me when Lex arrives."
"Oh--*Then* can I go in to tell you?"
"*Then* you can point him out to Henderson, who should be here
any moment, too. Go across the street and hide and don't talk to
those women over there, they may be hookers."
"The ones with the red skirts and long blond hair? Wow..."
"No, those are transvestites, but don't talk to them, either.
Don't talk to *any*one you don't recognize."
"Not even to interview them?"
"Jimmy..."
"Oh-kay..."
Clark patted his friend on his back briefly, then headed for the
front doors of Bibbo's Place.
He paused to note the billboard, which featured several
provocative black-and-white pictures of a woman who looked a
great deal like Lois--that is, if Lois had decided to tease her
hair out to *here*, smother her lips in what was probably deep
red lipstick, wear more eye makeup than Tammy Faye, and make-out
with the camera from atop an upright piano.
How could she want to do *this,* he wondered, rather than contact
me?
There was no reason. Maybe she was establishing this disguise,
and, when she was secure with it, she would invite him into the
act on the assumption that he could play a piano. They'd hide
undercover until Luthor was recaptured.
On the whole, he would have preferred to hide in Hawaii, under
the covers of their honeymoon bed.
For now, he headed through the swinging doors into the club.
He entered a bar that opened into a larger area that he guessed
was a supper club at night. Did Lois plan to sing there?
"Can I help you?"
There was a short, stocky man in his 40s behind the bar. He
looked suspicious of Clark, looking him up and down.
Clark was surprised; why should he receive such a reception? He
looked down at himself.
He was shocked and just short of horrified. In this last 20
minutes, it hadn't occurred to him even once to change clothes.
All he was wearing was an old T-shirt that proclaimed "Compost
happens" and the Eiffel Tower boxer shorts.
He realized he couldn't do anything about this now. His off-hand
appearance was certainly a lot less important that Lois's fate.
He approached the bar. "I hope you can help me. I'm looking for
the woman who's in the pictures out front. The billboard says
she's singing here and she's calling herself Wanda."
"And you call *your*self?"
"Clar--"
"'Clark'?"
"Yes, and I'm looking for Lo--"
"Hey, Red, it's Clark!"
Red?
"Red" had to be the tall, rangy, cowboy-type person who appeared
suddenly, in the entry into the supper club.
"So *you're* Clark..."
"Yes. Did Lois, er, Wanda tell you about me?" She had to have as
it seemed she was after all expecting him and they'd take him to
her and...
"Red" strode up to him, muttering, "She told us *all* about
you..." He immediately tried to sink an immense fist into Clark's
guts.
Taken off guard, Clark failed to give. Red let out a gasp,
withdrew his hand quickly, holding it by the wrist, and he
stumbled a few feet away, saying "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"
Clark decided he better react, so he clutched at his stomach and
bent a bit, which threw off the bartender's aim, for that man was
trying to bounce a bottle of beer off Clark's head. It thunked
off his shoulder instead, and this time he yelped a totally
appropriate, in-time "Ow! Hey!" He also took advantage of his
face being, he hoped, somewhat difficult to see and lowered his
glasses to look quickly around the immediate area of the
nightclub.
No Lois.
Red had recovered by this time and rounded on Clark again,
grabbing Clark's shoulder, pushing him up and back, and employing
his unhurt left fist in a round house to Clark's jaw. Clark saw
this one coming and let the mad man connect but in such a way
that he wouldn't hurt himself again. Clark then covered his jaw
to keep the lack of damage from becoming immediately evident. He
exclaimed "Ow! That hurt!" hoping someone who might have a broken
jaw could actually speak in such a situation. He held up his
other hand to ward off any more attacks. "Okay, okay! You don't
want to talk, I get the message!"
"Get *out* of here!" Red growled.
"And don't come back!" the bartender added sternly.
"Don't let me *see* you anywhere *near* Wanda, you got that?"
"I've got it, I've got it..."
Lois, he thought, why didn't you give me the password...?
The two men glared at him as he backed away through the door.
Outside again, he straightened and found himself facing the
pictures of "Lois"--or was it really just someone who looked like
Lois and coincidentally was named Wanda who just happened to fear
someone named Clark and had convinced the two men inside not to
let anyone with that name bother her?
Nah, it didn't make any *sense*...
He realized he hadn't seen enough of the inside of the business.
Lois could have been hiding upon hearing his voice. Let's say she
feared for his safety if not her own, feared he might have led
Lex here. Little did she know.
He turned and looked for Jimmy, Henderson or even a lone police
officer. Nothing, and no sign of his friend waiting across the
street either. One of the hookers noticed that Clark was looking
her (or his) way and she (or he) nodded. "Your cute little friend
went around the corner" and she (or he) pointed to the south.
Good grief, Jimmy was playing hero, Clark just knew it.
"Thanks!" he waved and headed south at a run.
"You know how to thank me, honey!" the hooker called after him,
but Clark pretended he didn't hear the person.
He rounded the corner and went at an even faster pace half way
down the street, skidding to a halt in front of the alley that
ran behind the nightclub, just in time to avoid being run into by
the long, white limousine heading away.
Lex, already?
Clark was prepared to run down the vehicle, to even reveal his
big secret in the process, but it rolled to a halt on its own
after going only a few yards.
Clark paused, too, waiting. One wrong move and people could be
hurt. He saw that Jimmy's motorcycle lay abandoned in the alley.
Perry of course had been dragged away by Lex. And Lois...
Or was it that Wanda person who first appeared, stretching long,
nylon-covered legs out of the left side of the limo? She stood up
on stiletto-heeled black shoes (which Lois might have worn on a
bet). She was wrapped in one of the tightest, most-brief brown
dresses Clark had seen outside of the sleazy back streets of Hong
Kong through which he had glanced just briefly when he'd been
19... and 22 and 26--but nothing more than glance. There were
golden bracelets on this woman's wrists and a mass of pearl and
jade necklaces about her neck. Her lipstick was indeed deep red,
her hair was teased out to *here*, and she positively slinked in
his direction...
He was abashed. He had no idea what to say other than, "Lois?"
She paused as though the word was a surprising one to hear. She
said, or tried to say, "Cl... Cla..." She shook her head, winced,
blinked, gathered herself up, licked her lips, took a deep
breath, and said more definitely, "Clark."
It was her!
Well, at least she knew his name.
He wanted to rush to her, grab her up and hug her tightly.
Something made him hesitate though. Maybe it was the wary,
uncertain, don't-come-*near*-me look in her brown eyes.
Then he had it. "He's drugged you, hasn't he?" There had been
plenty of time, darn it! She really needed a hug then. He took a
step forward.
She took a step back, unsteadily. She looked at the limo as
though for a cue. Why?
Lex Luthor emerged from of it. He said, "Tell him, tell *Clark*
what you just told me!"
She looked back at Clark. "Yeah, you... Clark... I..."
Clark caught her eyes with his and held them. "Lois, I'm so glad
to see you..."
She faltered again. Why? Why did she look so confused? Was it
only drugs?
She tore her eyes from his, looked away, down, anywhere, and
steadied herself again. She looked up again then but just past
him, he noticed, not at his face. "I'm safe," she pronounced
carefully. "Go away now."
"'Go away'?"
"Yes, go! Shoo!" Luthor said as he came up behind her. "You heard
her, scram!"
"That's not what *I* heard." He'd heard, Clark told himself, a
desperate cry for help and he was the best person in the world to
answer it. He stepped forward briskly, took the woman by her
shoulders and helped her several feet away, maybe even levitating
with her a bit though he was sure it didn't show. Anything to get
her away, quickly, but not so far as to alarm Luthor into hurting
anyone. He had to keep the safety of others in mind.
He looked at the love of his life. "Lois, he kidnapped you, he's
drugged you--who knows in what other ways he's tortured you? I'm
taking you to a doctor, now!"
"No!" She wiggled her way out of his hands. "No, no, no! I...
I..." She looked at him with an expression that was a mix of
confusion and, surprisingly now, anger.
"*Tell* him!" Luthor ordered.
"I was afraid to disappoint you... our parents... I couldn't even
face you--"
"What? That's ridiculous!"
"You always say that! You don't listen to me! I... I think, I
think you don't, you..." She shook her head as though to clear it
and winced again. "I can't remember... I'm not made for marriage,
I need to go away..." She tried to blink away the confusion and
through that looked at him, apparently seeing the rest of him for
the first time. "Eiffel..." She inhaled in surprised and let it
out in a shocked exhale, drew in a shaky breath next, frowned,
and her lower lip began to tremble. "Oh, you Eiffel Towered her!
You, you... I want to sing the bluuuuuues..." and she began to
sob. She turned away from him and from Luthor, too, for that
matter. "I'm going to sing the bluuuues somewhere..."
This made no sense to Clark at all.
Well, one thing made sense. He reached for her again. "Okay, you
can sing all you want, but you're going to the hospital first."
She just evaded his touch. "No! You, you just... with... don't...
I'm going away, ah..."
Luthor rushed around to place himself in her line of sight.
"You're going with me."
She looked at Luthor, "With you? Do you sing the blues, too?"
"No, dearest, and you'll have no reason to after we leave this
horrid city and these awful people..."
"Oh... Okay..."
"What?" Clark asked.
Luthor turned toward him, approached and faced him so closely
that Clark had no trouble seeing the man's eyes dilate with the
thrill of victory. "You heard her, she wants to go with me!
You've lost, Clark, for the last time! Get this through your
thick head, you've--"
Clark punched him in the nose.
Then he realized what he had done and looked at his fist and at
the man sprawled on the ground, blood beginning to run from his
nose. Luthor was conscious; the punch had somehow controlled
itself.
Clark could not remember ever having struck anyone in anger.
Wanting to, yes, several times in the past six months alone, but
never, ever having done it in his entire life.
Well, as his dad would say, there was a first time for
everything.
"Don't get up or I'll just do it again," he decided to warn the
man; one of them could play fair. "She's going to the hospital.
She needs help--and I'm getting Jimmy and Perry, too." Though it
was odd that they hadn't come out of the limo already.
More odd how Lois did not appear to be in the least cheered by
these declarations. She was standing looking at him, looking at
Luthor, back and forth, her alarm and confusion quite clear.
Maybe she'd hit her head--or in trying to subdue her, had Luthor
hit her, in the nightclub or earlier, during the original
kidnapping? Untreated trauma would explain her wincing and many
of her strange actions now. She definitely had to see a doctor.
"Then you," he pointed at Luthor, who was practicing seeing less
than double, "*you're* going back to--"
There was a burst of machine gun fire.
Asabi was standing at the driver's side door, hefting a dangerous
looking gun. Clark leapt for Lois to protect her, but Asabi was
there almost as quickly, showing him the business end of the gun
at close range, shoving it between them, forcing Clark to back
away. Asabi warned, "Don't move again..."
Lois backed away from them all. "I don't want to be here, I want
to sing..." she said in a small, difficult-to-hear voice. It was
almost as though she expected no one to listen to her anyhow.
I listen to you all the time, Lois! Clark thought--don't I?
Having acquired Clark's attention, Asabi evidently felt free to
reach into the back of the limo, grab something and pull.
Perry White's unconscious body fell onto the street, though Asabi
kept the man's head from landing hard.
"He is merely asleep," Asabi explained quickly. "We still have
Mr. Olson, who is also asleep but may not remain so fortunate if
Mr. Luthor is further pressured, so you will wish to act with
great care..."
Clark didn't move to test him.
"Very wise. Even innocent bystanders could be injured..." he
nodded off to the east.
Red and the bartender had come out from the nightclub and were
watching in the distance from a doorway. There were cars
stopping, too, onlookers gawking, and at least one police car
trying to plow through all this.
Asabi walked quickly around Lois and assisted his employer to his
feet. Luthor shrugged off the help angrily, glared at Clark,
touched his nose, glared at the blood, and glared even more at
Clark. "Da lasd harrah, eh, Clak? You've lawst, you've lawst id
all! Dake da frog an endjoi her whil yu cahn! An say goobye to
Supaman, tuu!" He took Lois's arm roughly.
She stared at him, surprised in a dazed sort of way, and didn't
protest being pulled along. Asabi continued to cover everyone
with the machine gun. Luthor said, "Combe on, Wanna, my luv..."
"Ah... sing?"
"Certany, whadeva yu wan..."
She looked at Clark and her expression cleared somewhat, but not
in a positive manner. It was like she desperately wanted to snarl
at him with some strange anger, but her lower lip quivered
again--and she had no time. Luthor pushed her into the back of
the limo and followed her. Asabi let loose another hail of
bullets, causing everyone duck for cover. It gave the trio (plus
Jimmy) the chance they needed to escape. Asabi hopped into the
front seat and the limo rushed away, police cars suddenly on
their tail until they all disappeared into the growing traffic
around a sharp corner.
Clark heard an explosion in the distance, a bomb going off, small
by the sound of it, probably dynamite and gasoline again in
another abandoned building, but it would have been enough to
distract Superman.
As it was, though, Superman was staying right here, wearing this
stupid T-shirt and more stupid boxer shorts as the police
surrounded him. He ignored them and knelt to check on Perry
White.
***
Lex Luthor sat back and sighed. He dabbed at his nose with a
monogrammed silk handkerchief. The pain was lessening rapidly;
Clark obviously had no idea how to throw a real punch. Besides,
the memory of that easily overshadowed by the grand feeling of
Lex's having pulled off his third triumph in less than 24 hours.
First the money, then the gun, now regaining the girl, and Asabi
to get them away yet again. This was the first time both of them
had been truly concerned that police might be watching for them.
There was the chance that the law had learned he had acquired the
gun and would be wanting to use it on Superman. They might be
watching "Lois" and Clark, in the event Lex would use them to get
to Superman.
Asabi had been worried earlier than that, about the bank and
Lex's new plan to re-acquire his money, what with such facilities
naturally having guards anyhow. Guards were always easy to
overcome. Asabi worried too much sometimes. He should learn to
meditate--ha!
Lex had to agree, though, that this latest daring move had been
dangerous. Coming this far out of the lair without a clear
indication of what he could expect had been chancy. But
everything had worked out nicely indeed.
Asabi took another turn at an angle most automobiles would
protest, slithering them through some clot of traffic or another.
Lex slid to his right, onto Lois, who yelped and fell forward on
to the unconscious body of Olson. Lex straightened and reached to
comfort her, helping her sit back again. "Be more careful!" he
growled toward the front.
"I believe I have left the last of the police behind, sir," Asabi
said gently.
"Good! Wanda has been hurt, I think..."
Her eyes were closed and her hands were holding, indeed covering
the back of her head. She frowned, she had heard what he said,
good.
"That *Clark* hurt her..." he said, then continued, to her, in
his most soothing manner, "My poor Wanda..."
"Lois..."
"Lois is someone best left behind, my love..." at least until we
get to Switzerland.
"Kent?"
"At your service..."
She blinked open her eyes, seemed to gain her bearings, saw him,
and took a long, serious look at him.
He dabbed at his nose, hoped his wig was on straight, and tried
to look like her lover, truly come to save her.
"He hit you..."
"Yes, he did--he's a very violent man!"
She frowned again, just a touch, as though weighing this
information. The Lois he had first kidnaped, the one who hadn't
yet seen the videos of Clark, would have laughed at him... Now
her expression turned... lazy somehow. "I see." She let go of her
head, her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back a bit into the
corner of the seat, crossing her legs again. She looked down and
fussed with the hem of her very short skirt but somehow even more
of her leg showed when she was finished. She looked at him again.
"Got a cigarette?"
"Eh?" But Lois didn't smoke. From what White had mumbled about
"Wanda" though... "No, I don't at this time, dearest..."
"You always were slow, hiding things from me..." She looked
around herself as though only mildly interested. She noted
Olson's body trussed up on the spacious floor at her feet. She
leaned forward carefully and began to go through his pockets.
"Cigarette..."
"He doesn't smoke either, I believe."
"I'm surrounded by losers... ah-ha!"
She pulled back and showed Lex a pack of gum, pleased with
herself. She pulled out a stick, didn't offer him one, and
dropped the rest of the pack down the front of her dress (access
to which she didn't offer, either). She unwrapped the stick in a
slow, sensual manner, tossed the wrapper just anywhere and put
the stick in her mouth slowly, folding it deliciously with her
tongue, watching Lex from the corner of her eye.
He was both disgusted and entranced.
He blinked and looked away. This wasn't Lois any more than the
Clone had been... but actually, it was Lois. Lois was cowering
under stress somewhere in a back corner of this woman's mind. It
was a good place for her, too. Hmm, by tonight, after he'd gotten
rid of Superman and they were on their way out of the country, he
could dedicate full time to soothing her and the real woman would
rush forth to accept his love.
For now, though, this "Wanda" was... different.
They arrived at the lair without difficulty. Lex instructed Asabi
not to put the limo away immediately, he had to get rid of Olson
first. He found several pieces of paper, wrote out the same
message on all of them, and secreted them about Olson's body.
"So many, sir?"
"So that at least one will survive the buffoon's peregrinations.
Drop him somewhere nearby, too. No one will believe we were
foolish enough to release him near our lair."
"Excellent idea, sir. I shall return shortly..."
"Take your time."
"Be careful with Ms..."
Lois was only a few steps way, glancing around the garage,
snapping her gum, kicking at pebbles, clearly bored.
"Detroit," Lex whispered.
"Ms. Detroit... Mr. Ke--"
"'Clark,'" Lex corrected tersely, then whispered "*I'm* Dr. Kent
for now."
"Yes, sir. But Mr. Clark was probably right about her requiring
medical attention--"
"*You* can give her medical attention when you return. Now, go!"
Asabi nodded and faded away with Olson's unconscious body.
Lex dabbed at his nose again; no fresh blood, good, and he
doubted any was visible or Asabi would have told him. He
straightened his tie and wig, and turned to show Wanda Detroit
into his lair with all the pomp and circumstances befitting
visiting royalty.
Wanda Detroit yawned. "Seen one lair, seen 'em all," she said
drily.
Lex blinked. When had Lois ever been in a lair? Possibly plenty
of times, yes, but never in a truly voluntary manner. She had no
doubt sneaked into those places in search of stories; she was
after all a delightful, playful young woman--who no longer needed
to do such dangerous work because he would take care of her from
now on. He liked her spunkiness, and he could use that to help
him retake his empire, but he would keep her abilities under
strict control. It would be simple to help her see that helping
him was in her best interest after all. She would even appreciate
it.
Yet here she was, blase? He had expected her to be fearful at
worst. Blase was unexpected.
No, no, no, he reminded himself, this was *Wanda*, woman of the
world, that world being the "slimy streets of Nowheresville, city
on the west coast of an ocean of shame," according to White.
Still he wanted this woman to be impressed as well.
What would impress her?
The bed! She surely had such thoughts on her mind now,
particularly considering how she was dressed.
The bed was positioned strategically in the middle of the lair.
Lex had been able to relax on it from time to time, and watch and
control everything. Unfortunately, that piece of furniture looked
like a hurricane had hit it. He rushed to throw the silk pajamas
under it, pull up the black velvet bedspread, and fluff the
goose- down pillows.
"Ha!" Wanda said. She turned away. "In your dreams, Kent..."
"Don't misinterpret me, my love. I don't wish to pressure you--"
"Not if you don't want a broken arm you don't."
What?
"Ah, what a sense of humor you have..."
"Yeah, right. What are those things?"
"My carvings!" How good of her to notice--Lois always did have an
eye for fine art. They were depictions of the rigors of prison
life, and they were true, highly skilled works of art. Even Asabi
had agreed. Using a screw driver, Lex had painstakingly carved
the pictures into the battered walls of this abandoned subway
stop just the evening before, working off the tension caused by
waiting for what became his successful rendezvous with that idiot
Harbert.
"Yeah, well... quaint." She looked right at him, not the least
bit intimidated, which was... galling. "Got anything on velvet?
Clowns with sad eyes? Dogs with sad eyes? Elvis?"
Huh? "Ah, no..."
"Not even..." she looked him up and down. "Guys like you always
like women with big bazoomas."
"No, we don't!"
She rolled her eyes and snapped her gum.
"It's true!" he insisted, then realized that she was trying in
her amateurish way to manipulate him. Him of all people! He drew
himself up. "I admire your *mind.*"
"And I admire your..." She paused, snorted and turned away.
"Forget that. Well, if this is *all*..."
"All? This is just the beginning!"
"Great. I guess we all have to start at the bottom..." She
considered the bed again, approached it, touched, pressed and
tested it, smoothing out wrinkles.
Lex started to step forward, but something made him rethink the
move.
She turned and sat on the bed, leaned back on her hands, thrust
forth her assets, crossed her legs provocatively, and looked at
him with a combination expression: come-hither but if you make a
false move you'll regret it.
Not sure what she might consider to be a false move, he didn't
move at all.
She smiled as though she thought she were in complete charge.
Lex restrained himself from growling.
She glanced around the lair from this vantage point. "Oh, a TV.
Is there anything good on?"
Ah-ha! "There's one show I like, it's called 'The Truth about
Clark.' You might like it..."
"Nah, I know the truth about *all* men, even you, Kent."
"Oh. But you don't know that I plan to break into that evil
fortress known as Star Labs in broad daylight, do you?"
"No, but I don't care, either."
He turned away and said as though her opinion didn't matter in
the least. "You need not go, of course..."
"Good. Got any beer?"
"No. I've been busy planning my daring escapade. There could be
gunplay, and of course the ever-present threat capture and
torture."
She raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh?"
Bingo. "I must acquire a piece of a dangerous, alien mineral. It
will help me thwart Clark..."
"Oh?"
"But most of all it will stop that evil Superman from bothering
us."
She sat forward. "Oh? Super... who?"
Lex turned back to her. "Superpest, actually. He doesn't
understand my need for wealth and beauty and security. He and
Clark have been conspiring against me for years. Clark has known
of my interest in you and told you lies about me, just as he lies
about himself to you..."
"He has lied a lot..." she said quietly, perhaps a bit of Lois
seeping through.
He rushed to push "Lois" back and fill the gap with thoughts of
himself. He hoped it would be acceptable, for just this moment,
to sit on the bed beside her and carefully take her hand. "He's
told you so many lies about me, he's tried to destroy me--he even
poisoned me so that my hair fell out and everyone would laugh at
me..."
A completely different woman suddenly sat beside him. She looked
at him with soft eyes. "Oh, poor Kent..."
"So I'm going to try to stop them both once and for all. Our
world doesn't need such villains--but *you* need not worry about
it. You don't need to help me unless you truly wish to. I just
want you to know I'm doing this for you..."
"That's so sweet..." She blinked away a tear.
"You're a big part of my life now, you're so important to me..."
"I'll help you, Kent..."
While she looked weepy and was acting as though she favored him
at the moment, her emotions were volatile. He warned himself
against playing too much with them or she could turn against him
instantly and he might lose "Wanda" as well.
"Thank you, my love. You lie down here and rest. I won't bother
you as I make my plans. When Asabi returns, maybe you can help me
put on my disguise because you have such wonderful fashion
sense!"
She smiled and looked down at herself. The move made her sway,
she touched her head briefly behind her right ear, blinked,
looked up at him uncertainly, but in a moment smiled again.
"Thanks! I just... just created this out of nothing!"
"Wanda, we're going to create a whole new world for ourselves
once we clear our path of the debris of the old world."
"Wow... Do you always talk like that?"
Lex just chuckled in a humble manner.
"And, ya know what?" she asked and then she waited, snapping her
gum. When he didn't reply immediately, she repeated, even more
nasally, "Ya know *what*?"
He caught himself and said, "No, what?"
She giggled. "I sorta, ya know, liked your carvins, too, ya know?
It's so much easier, ya know, lookin at pitchas, ya know, than,
ya know, reading books, ya know, so I'm glad, ya know, that you
don't have any, ya know?"
Oh, my... "Yes, dear--"
"Books, I mean."
"I'm sure--"
"You're sure of," snap, "lotsa things, arn-cha?" snap.
"Yes, and I'm sure you should lie back here and take a little nap
before we go on our adventure."
"Okay." Snap. "Can I see your hand for a minute?"
What? "Ah, yes, here..." He held out his left, open for her.
She quickly popped out her gum, stuck it in the middle of his
palm, and folded his fingers over it. "Keep dat for me, will ya?"
she giggled.
"Heh... certainly..."
She turned away, clutched at the pillow, curled up, and fell
asleep.
Lex watched her for a moment, reminding himself who he was doing
all this for--himself and that doing practically anything to
fulfill his own desires was worth the effort in the long run. He
ordered himself to remain calm. He crept away, seeking soap and
water to wash his hand thoroughly.
***
Perry White survived his close brush with death with only a
headache and a dizzy feeling whenever he tried to rail at himself
or Lex Luthor. The doctors in the emergency room insisted he stop
doing that and rest, and Alice White was there to insure it.
He had no information to give Clark other than he admitted that
something had forced him to babble to that villain all he knew
about Lois's novel and Wanda Detroit. He was appalled at himself,
but everyone assured him that it wasn't his fault and it was a
good thing he had been able to fight off any other effects of the
drugs.
When Clark realized that they didn't need him to sign any more
papers or explain things, he slipped away, evading all the
police-- except Henderson, who snuck up, took his arm and guided
him into a linen closet and locked the door to insure some
privacy.
He apologized for not being on the scene of the most recent
crime, but Lemming of the FBI had required his attention. The
government man was convinced that Luthor's lair was located
somewhere in the Hobbs Bay area, Luthor's showing up on the
waterfront and disappearing in the same area being his proof.
"I had to listen to him and pretend I agreed completely."
"But you don't because...?"
"Because..." he pulled out a folded computer printout and said,
"our bug on the gun indicates Luthor is in this area..."
Clark looked at the printout, which was a computerized map of the
northern part of the city. "He's at the Zoo?"
"In that area. The Zoo is the most prominent landmark. We lost
the signal here..." he pointed out a cross roads. "Betty found
that the sewer has a big junction here."
"There are a lot of old buildings in that area, too. He could be
hiding in one, or hiding the limo there at least."
"I think so. Punkin described an underground area, and the city
cut-back on public transportation funding several years ago means
there are some abandoned subway lines in the area."
"He could be in one of them, in one of the stops--one near the
Zoo, what with edible animals and plants missing. Ah, Superman
will want to know about it. I have it on good authority that he
hasn't looked there."
"You'll change clothes before you call on him so he'll take you
seriously..."
Clark looked upward briefly, then looked at Henderson. "I rushed
out of the house, I had that lead on Lois--but I *did* call
you."
"And you did well, considering the pressures. When you find
Superman, remind him to--"
"--get back-up, I know." But Clark smiled, "Luthor *might* have a
weapon that could... tickle him."
"Or he might use his trump card, Olson."
No more reason to smile. "I know, that's probably why Lois acted
like she did toward me, to protect Perry and Jimmy and those guys
in the bar. She's like that, I noticed that right away when I met
her. She puts up a big front, but the truth is, she doesn't think
about the danger she's in when others are in trouble."
"I can believe it, but from what I heard about it, what she said
must have hurt you."
"It did, a lot, until I realized what she was up to. We've had
our ups and downs," he sighed, "and lots of misunderstandings,
and so much just..." He spread his hands, feeling helpless
almost, "just *happens* to us from out of the blue. I don't
understand all the twists and turns our lives have taken... but I
know she trusts me, I *know* she knows I'm trying, we're all
trying to find her..."
***
Ellen and Sam Lane had declared a truce of sorts and decided to
test it--though they didn't call it that--by uniting to confront
the clone and grill her for more information on their daughter's
whereabouts. They headed for Star Labs in Sam's rented car,
followed by an unmarked police car that they spotted immediately
and ignored. On the way they argued about the best method to
obtain the information. They argued in the lobby waiting for
clearance from Dr. Klein, argued as they traveled down the quiet
halls toward the high security/new science division, and argued
as they waited outside for Dr. Klein to unlock the door.
When the Lanes saw that Punkin, dressed in her white lab coat,
was standing right behind Klein to help him, Lois's parents were
almost speechless. The rough plan they had mapped out was
forgotten upon seeing the excited but tired and vulnerable look
on the young woman's face. They smiled nervously and explained
that they wanted to simply talk to the clone of their daughter
and ask her a few simple questions. Dr. Klein showed them in and
commended them on their calm demeanor.
"We're exploring some of the samples Punkin so graciously let me
take of her," Dr. Klein explained. "I've subjected them to a
battery of tests, which you two with your medical training might
enjoy hearing about. I've been explaining them to Punkin, and
surprisingly she's understanding quite well." He looked her and
smiled.
She returned it. "I understand a lot about DNA now," she said.
She climbed on to a stool and sat there comfortably. Ellen
thought perhaps the clone had become used to sitting there to
watch the procedures. "My DNA isn't very good, it's breaking down
somehow, but Bernie and I are going to see if we can make it
stronger."
Ellen was surprised. She glanced at Sam to see that he seemed to
feel the same way. She said to Punkin, "You're taking this so
seriously...."
The young woman sat up straight, as though facing some challenge.
"Well, yeah! It's not as much fun as yesterday, like when we went
shopping, but this is *really important*, *I* know it! And maybe
with what we learn, I can help other people, too!"
"That's right," Dr. Klein said, "Her observations have cut
through all the scientific mumbo jumbo and she's given me some
ideas and some new ways of looking at things, too. Since she was
the last clone made, she couldn't have picked up any of this from
her maker, Mr. Asabi. She just puts two and two together and
comes up with new angles."
"That does sound interesting," Sam Lane admitted. "Lois was never
very interested in science--*Don't* say anything, Ellen, I know I
should have encouraged her more."
"And I could have helped her with her homework, too. All right,
Dr. Klein and... Punkin, let's see what you've come up with..."
They gathered around the table upon which Dr. Klein had spread
out his work and both he and his assistant began explaining
things. Ellen, however, found herself more drawn to the clone's
animated, intelligent expression when hearing something she
understood, her fierce concentration encountering a new idea, and
her easy laugh when Dr. Klein made modest jokes. She looked so
much like Lois and had a lot of Lois's qualities in a budding
form, yet she wasn't Lois. She was, as she and Clark had insisted
the day before, a new person.
A new person who was, from everything Dr. Klein was showing them,
rapidly deteriorating. Ellen began to feel a hollow ache in her
heart at the thought. She wanted to turn away and cry. She blamed
this largely on being so tired. But as the victim herself was
able to sit there and laugh, Ellen Lane, a full-grown woman who
had seen a lot of life's problems, could put aside her own
worries and offer some support. She hoped.
***
Clark at last escaped from the hospital where Perry was being
held, changed into the suit as soon as he found a deep-shadowed
alley, and headed for the sky and the area of the Zoo. He was
sidetracked by a number of problems that demanded Superman-style
help, and one that didn't, the thought that he hadn't talked to
his parents in almost a whole day. He found a phone booth on a
quiet corner, pulled a quarter from a secret pouch in his boot,
and called them collect. As the call went through and he got his
money back, he nodded and waved at a group of kids who had
stopped playing ball nearby to gawk at Superman using a public
telephone.
He closed the folding door securely as his mom came on the line
and accepted the collect call from "Jerome."
"Hi, I'm calling from a phone booth in case my phone at home is
bugged again."
"Good idea... Your father's on the cell phone now. How are things
going? Any sign of Lois?"
"Yeah..." He outlined what had happened some four hours before.
"It really shook me up, the way she looked at me and acted... but
Luthor still had Perry and Jimmy, so what could she do? I mean, I
wasn't sure what *I* was going to do after I hit Luthor--"
"You what?"
"I sort of... punched him in the nose..."
"Sort of?"
"Good for you, son!"
"No, Dad, *not* good, but... but I couldn't help myself, I don't
know what came over me."
"You didn't knock his head off, did you? No, I'm sure you didn't.
You just let some of your frustration out."
"It sure didn't solve any of my problems."
"Oh, honey, you know violence never does, and we know you know
that. But I agree with your father on this one, you were letting
out your frustrations and considering who you let them out on,
the very man who caused them, it was a natural reaction, no one
could blame you. If I had been there I would have cheered."
"Yeah, but..."
"It's done, son, don't worry about it. It's not like you hit
every two-bit criminal who comes along, you only hit the really
bad ones."
"Ah, he's the first, Dad, the first who didn't try to hit me
first, that is."
"Well, there's a first time for everything. We know you'll think
twice before you do it again. So now you're out looking for
Lois?"
"Yeah, we have a good lead on her and Luthor thinks he has a
weapon that can kill me. I expect to get some directions from him
soon about where I'm supposed to go to meet my demise. Then I can
get Lois and Jimmy, no sweat."
"And that darling Punkin? Is she okay?"
"Yeah, son, have they dissected her like a... well, you know."
"No, she's okay, I guess. I haven't had the chance to talk to her
yet today, but Henderson said she's enjoying keeping Dr. Klein
company. I think that's the best place for her now, because he
might be able to help her."
***
Dr. Klein, Sam and Ellen Lane and Punkin Kent crouched huddled in
a file room in the back of the lab. They had fled there to avoid
being seen by the looters who were destroying the laboratory next
to the one in which the quartet had been working not five minutes
before. They had heard gunfire, and Dr. Klein had said "Not
again!" and pushed everyone into hiding. "This happens every
couple of weeks," he had whispered. "Security around here is
abysmal..."
"Everyone's on dinner break," Sam guessed.
"Shh!" Ellen said.
Punkin, who could huddle the smallest, said nothing. She
recognized Lex Luthor's voice. She did not recognize the other
voice but thought it was that of a woman.
That woman said, "What're we lookin' fer again, Alex-aaaan-
der?"
"It's green, it glows, and it's probably locked up..." Bang!
Crash! "But... it's not in here..."
"Why yer more fun than a barrel fulla monkeys, did you know that,
sonny? Got any more chew on ya, by crackie?"
"No, dearest. You stay right there."
"If ah had some moonshine--"
"I know, but it's not allowed in this facility."
"Are you sure you all's not a Hatfield? They're really mean
cusses, like you are sometimes."
"I'm sure that I'm not. You wait there and I'll check out this
next laboratory..."
The hiding people heard foot steps coming closer. Punkin most of
all knew what that could mean, that Lex Luthor would leave no
room unlooked in, and she knew she had to act to stop him because
she was the very strongest person here. She rose to her feet.
Ellen Lane tried to grab her to pull her back down again, but
Punkin pushed her hand away and said "Shh!" in the same way Ellen
had said it moments earlier. Why would the woman want to stop
her? None of the three were strong enough to face Lex Luthor like
Punkin Kent had the morning before, and Punkin was sure of it. It
was true that Ellen had been nice while they talked here, and she
had been fun when they were shopping yesterday. She hadn't
started out to be fun; she had started out watching Punkin
carefully, but Punkin had ignored her. The older woman had tired
easily it seemed, unlike Martha Kent or even Alice White or Mrs.
Stern.
But Punkin had caught Ellen chuckling a few times, too, after a
while there in Costmart. Punkin couldn't understand why the other
women hadn't been interested in exploring the jewelry counter and
seeing if each bauble glowed the same under different lighting
conditions; checking various pieces of lawn furniture for comfort
and sturdiness; testing the headphones in electronics and
listening to different kinds of marvelous music at different
sound levels; or test-driving vacuum cleaners and multispeed
blenders in the housewares department. Lucy had shown her how the
Nintendo display worked, and they'd played together until shorter
kids had begun to protest that "adults!" were hogging the game.
Then all the women had enjoyed trying on new clothes, but only
Martha had been interested in any truly colorful combinations.
Now Ellen Lane was worried. A glance told Punkin that the woman
wasn't worried about Luthor--she was worried about her!
Well, don't worry about me, she wanted to assure the woman, but
she couldn't, there wasn't time.
She stepped out into the open, spotted Lex Luthor, and told him,
"You stop right there, you mean old man!"
Luthor did stop. He was dressed darkly; he reminded her of the
man in the bank--they must have been the same! That must have
been *him* in the bank threatening to kill Clark! She pursed her
lips like Clark did and tried to look like business.
Luthor had something funny looking on his head besides the wig;
it was like a facemask that had been pushed up out of the way.
Wouldn't that have kept him from breathing? Or didn't he want to
breathe that funny, slight smell that Punkin detected in the
air?
Behind him was the one with the woman's voice Punkin had heard.
She was smaller than Luthor and had long, blond hair. She also
wore a mask thing on her head and she was dressed darkly, but in
addition to that she wore pearl necklaces. Punkin could tell at a
glance that they were "faux", like some of the ones in the
Costmart jewelry department. The golden bracelets also looked
like "faux" and they were very pretty, too.
"Why, who's that cute little thing, Alegsander? She's prettier
'en a speckled hen under a--"
"Hush!" Luthor told her. Then he looked at Punkin. "What *are*
you doing here, frogwoman?"
"What a mean thing to say! I'm *not* a frog, I'm *mostly*
human!"
"Ha! You're mostly *dead* is what you are--but that's why you're
here, isn't it? A pathetic attempt to gain a few more hours of
life."
"It's not pa... patet.. It's not either!"
"It certainly is pathetic, which means *useless* in your case
since only *I* know the secret of everlasting life for clones..."
and he paused to examine his fingernails. The woman behind him
leaned in a doorway, snapping chewing gum and giggling now and
then.
Punkin was surprised. "You know that?"
"I certainly do. I don't know that it will help you much, since
you only have a few more hours left anyhow, but if I were to tell
you..."
His voice sounded gentle suddenly. Punkin didn't know if she
could believe him, but he did know Daddy so well that maybe he
also knew the secret. "Please tell me, please?"
"In trade for what *you* know about Superman?"
"Oh..."
"Yes, 'oh.' *Now* you remember your assignment when you want
something from me."
"Well... He's tall..."
"I know that."
"And he can fly."
"I knew that, too. You're useless! Just crawl away and die!" He
turned away and started ransacking the drawers under nearest lab
table.
"But *I* didn't know that! I just saw him once and that's when I
found out! I know something else about him, too!"
Luthor turned back. "Oh? All right, what?"
"You know when Daddy told me that if I took off my shirt Clark
would be more interested in me?"
The woman in the doorway rolled her eyes and snickered.
"Yes, yes..."
"Well, I thought if I did it and said 'Help, Superman!' Superman
would come and he would be interested because he's a man."
"And?"
"And... I didn't get a chance to call. Clark told me that
Superman's not interested in that kind of thing, that I can't use
it like an invitation, that he won't be tempted."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, and he won't come."
"He won't come..."
"Trying that would be a waste of time."
"Oh? Really? You mean Superman's..." Luthor stopped, smiled,
began to laugh and indeed threw his head back and let out a
guffaw to end all guffaws.
The woman in the door imitated him, grabbed at her head and
skittered away out of sight going "ow, ow, ow..."
"Is that what you wanted to know? Is that good enough?"
"That's certainly more than I expected to hear!" Luthor said as
he wiped mirthful tears from his eyes.
"Then you'll tell me the secret to everlasting life for clones?"
she asked as politely as she could.
"Why certainly, my dear." He walked up to her, placed a hand on
her shoulder and said, "The secret is: never give a sucker an
even break."
"Huh?"
"Why you cruel son of a...!"
Ellen Lane roared out of hiding and bore down on Lex Luthor, who
jumped back and pulled out a hand gun, aiming it at the angry
woman. Sam Lane was on her heels and grabbed her before she got
far, and Dr. Klein rushed around them and placed himself between
his guests and the intruder.
The Doctor said, "I suggest, sir, you leave right now before the
guards... wake up or whatever you've done to them..."
Luthor threw back at him a "Ha!" and eased his grip on the gun
but didn't put it away. "I have no intention of staying, but
perhaps taking a hostage or two would be a good idea, hmm?"
"Take me then!" Sam said, stepping forward.
"Hey, Barnie!" that woman yelled from a distance, her voice
almost guttural.
The villain stopped, looked pained, moderated his expression when
he recalled he had an audience, and called back over his
shoulder, "Wanda? Where are you?"
"Yaba-daba-doo! Is that thing you're looking for green and
glowing and about the size of a pterodactyl's toenail?"
"Huh?--Yes, probably--Stay there! And you all," he said as he
backed away, covering them with his gun, "stay put, because I
won't hesitate to shoot the first one I see following me--except
you," he pointed at Punkin, "I won't waste good bullets on you."
He then dashed out the door, gone.
The ex-hostages waited for several long seconds. When Luthor
didn't return and the noise the two made abated and escaping
footsteps could be heard, Dr. Klein sighed. "Well, I'm glad
that's over."
Sam picked up, listened to, then put down the phone. "It's
dead."
"Oh," Punkin whispered.
"Is there a back door to this place?" Ellen asked.
"There is, but you'd have to go out that door," he pointed at the
one Luthor would be watching, "to get to it. I suggest waiting a
few more minutes. Interesting how he was wearing a gas mask," Dr.
Klein said as he loosened his tie and breathed more deeply. "That
means they must have gassed all the guards."
"Maybe the ones in this area were out for dinner," Sam said, "or
we might have wound up being gassed, too."
"True, and being Saturday, people rarely come in to work, I'm
about the only one here usually..."
"No one to go home to?" Ellen asked, concern on her face.
"What's a sucker?"
The Lanes and Dr. Klein the grew quiet.
"I guess that's..." Punkin tried to sort it out, "somebody who
only has a few more hours left anyhow..."
"Oh, dear, you're not a sucker..." Ellen said as she carefully
hugged the young woman.
"I don't think he knew a secret *at all,* I think that's why I'm
a sucker, I'm someone who believed him. I told him about Superman
and now Superman's in trouble!" and she began to cry.
They all tried to comfort her, but Ellen found it the easiest,
holding Punkin closely. "There, there..."
"Maybe I *should* die, because people get hurt because of me..."
"No, no," Dr. Klein said. "I don't think Superman will be hurt by
that."
"I think you just misunderstood things, my dear," Sam said as he
squeezed her shoulder, "and then that evil man misunderstood you.
You know, that's a very good thing!"
Punkin looked out from the protection of Ellen's arms. She
sniffed and asked, "It is?"
"Certainly it is! If he accuses Superman of that, why, Superman
will laugh at him! Look! I'm laughing myself! Ha-ha-ha!"
"That *is* funny!" Dr. Klein smiled. "To think, that *Superman*
wouldn't like... Ha-ha-ha!"
Punkin looked at Ellen. "It's funny?"
"It is, yes, dear, so don't worry."
"But Clark said... maybe Clark was wrong?"
"He could have been," Sam said.
"He's probably a little worried that Lois still loves Superman
more than him," Ellen advised her. "Men are like that..."
"Clark is very important... He worries about a lot of things, you
know? He worries about me."
"I'm sure he does."
"You won't tell him that I only have a few more hours left
anyhow, will you?"
The men stopped laughing. "Not tell him?" Sam asked.
"Well, Punkin, I think there's still hope..."
"I don't know, Dr. Klein, the dissolution of my DNA is happening
faster than your learning curve, you said that, I heard you, I
don't know if I was supposed to, but I did..."
"Oh."
"I think that means I'm dying."
"Ah..."
The three shuffled a bit.
"I don't know what dying is, but it doesn't sound like very much
fun..."
Ellen truly looked like she might cry now. "Oh, Punkin...
"You won't tell Clark about that, either, will you?"
They mumbled their promises.
Ellen gave her a little hug. "Let's go sit down, you and I, and
talk about the fun times you've had, okay?"
Punkin looked at her. The woman's eyes were warm and her words
true. "Okay. You know? I think you're nice after all..."
Ellen sniffed back tears and smiled.
***
Clark hovered over the Zoo at 5,000 feet, using that as his
search's center point... and finding nothing. The Zoo looked
fine, there had been no more reports of losses. There were
underground passages here, but they were all part of the normal
workings of the Zoo. All the visitors were safe, and for the
moment Metropolis was calm.
He wondered how long he could remain calm without having to flee
to the Arctic and unleash a avalanche-engendering scream. Doing
that was far better than punching someone out, no matter who it
was.
Then something began to draw him. He wasn't sure what it was but
he let it affect his float, as though the wind were causing him
to drift when it was something else...
It was Jimmy. Far below, as evening fell over the streets of the
city, the young man was stumbling toward a busy intersection,
collapsing against a light pole--being helped up by Superman.
"Jimmy! Can you hear me?" He examined his friend quickly with
x-ray vision. He saw that Jimmy was bruised and that there was
one puncture mark on his arm from a drug injection, but he
thought that otherwise his friend would recover much as Perry
White had.
"Superman?" Jimmy peeped.
"Right! Let's go for a little ride, hmm? Hold on!"
Superman rushed the young man to the same hospital that had
treated Perry and they found the same results. They also found
notes secreted in Jimmy's pockets and Superman confiscated them
immediately. He perused them all, and then turned them over to
Henderson, who had appeared without seeming to have been called
and who was waiting quietly at Superman's elbow.
Henderson commandeered a conference room this time, looked over
the notes, noted that they were identical in content if not quite
in penmanship, and commented, "He can't spell orangutan. The
message, however, is clear."
"Midnight is not as traditional time for showdowns as high noon
is, but he'll be sure that the gun has recharged by then."
"And the meeting place is practically impossible for us to
surround. Night time makes it worse, and I understand a cold
front is due in and rain is expected."
"I'm sure you'll be able to place a few officers around the
perimeter of the zoo without disturbing the animals. Of course,
he won't get away."
"He might, he has kryptonite now."
"He said that before, this morning, a threat I didn't believe."
"I didn't believe it, either, but he broke into Star Labs late
this afternoon and ironically made off with the piece from the
gun that my son took there for safekeeping--"
"He WHAT? When?"
"At approximately 4:30. The guards were on a shift change and the
Lab was only lightly populated anyhow. John wasn't there for
example, which is a good since they found the Kryptonite in his
lab."
"4:30... I was in Poza Rica putting out a hotel fire..."
"Saving lives. You can't be everywhere at once."
"I should have been here..." He pursed his lips, frowned at
himself, tried to stop frowning because Henderson was right, and
told himself to get more information. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Some of the guards were roughed up. The Lanes and Dr. Klein were
there, and Punkin tried to face Luthor down but wound up being
told she only has a few more hours to live. His cruelty alone
should get him an extra lifetime in jail..."
"Yes..." He saw a chance to cover for himself and automatically
took it. "Does Clark know about this?"
"I don't think so. Punkin didn't want him to find out."
"Then I... better not say anything about it..."
"Perhaps you better not say anything at all to him. I have the
feeling he'll want to back you up tonight."
"I have the feeling he'll try to knock me out, tie me up and take
over for me for this, too."
Henderson cracked half a smile. "If he doesn't and if you don't
get called away, meet with me at his place at 11 tonight."
"Ah, yes, I'll try."
***
As soon as he could get away from the hospital (no one asked
Superman to sign any papers), Clark raced for Star Labs. He
changed clothes on the way and seconds later he landed as himself
in the darkness near the main door and rushed inside. He passed
through ID points and a police line and was directed into a
conference room near Dr. Klein's lab, where he found the doctor
and the Lanes as well, contemplating cups of coffee and plates of
stale-looking pastries.
"I just heard what happened--are you all right?"
They assured him that they were, that the police questioning had
been as trying as meeting Lex Luthor in person.
"And Punkin?"
They looked at each other, clearly torn about telling him the
truth that he knew already.
"She was stressed by talking to that... that *man*," Ellen said.
"The poor thing, it... took a lot out of her, so she's resting,
in there."
A lounge with low lighting and a comfortable-looking couch.
Punkin was stretched out on it, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping.
Clark watched her for a long moment. Her breathing was labored,
she was frowning at something in a dream, an expression that did
not look right on her innocent face.
He decided there was nothing that he could say to comfort her,
that it didn't seem he was very good at doing that sometimes
anyhow, so it was probably best not to disturb her. He withdrew
quietly.
He stood leaning against the wall in the darkness for a long
moment, looking back over the last few days, trying to see if
there was anything yet that made sense about all this but there
simply wasn't. So many people had been hurt and he had been able
to do so little to stop that.
The gun trick was good, but if it didn't work, what then?
No, it has to work, he told himself. It had to distract Luthor.
The man had to expect Superman would come as demanded and
confront him, not only for what the man had done to Superman's
friends but because Luthor was an escaped felon. Superman simply
did that kind of thing, confronted people, stood up for truth,
justice, etc., without thinking much about the consequences.
Clark Kent, on the other hand...
Punched somebody now and then, true...
But he was otherwise, Clark sighed, an ordinary, predictable
guy.
He was predictably easy to fool, he was predictably late, he was
predictably emotional. He was also, he realized, predictably
pretty much lost without Lois Lane.
Except that he hadn't been fooled. He did feel a little lost
without her, but there was also a light at the end of the tunnel,
the presence of which he had helped engineer, and it didn't look
like it had morphed unexpectedly into an on-coming train.
Clark straightened up, squared his shoulders, and wondered where
he could find the proverbial plumber's helper to use to whack
Superman over the head and duct tape with which to bind him...
He informed the waiting trio that he hadn't bothered Punkin but
that he would check in on her later. He was planning, he told
them, to mount a Sunday safari to the Zoo, where Lex Luthor was
reportedly hiding out.
"Maybe the tigers will eat him," Ellen said.
"Cruelty to animals," Dr. Klein said. "They'd get severe
indigestion."
"Snakes swallowing him whole would be more appropriate," Sam
said.
The three agreed. Let the animals have at the man and that woman
who had helped him.
Woman who had helped him? Clark wondered aloud.
They told him that they had heard but not seen what sounded like
a woman doing vocal imitations of cultural stereotypes and
popular media figures. They assumed she was helping Luthor. Only
Punkin, who had bravely tried to distract them both, had caught
sight of her, describing her as having long, yellow hair and lots
of fake jewelry. Oh, and Luthor had referred to her as Wanda.
"Wow," Clark said, just barely keeping the shock off his face.
"Well, that's really... strange."
They agreed and laughed about it.
But they couldn't be right, Lois would never help Luthor rob Star
Labs, let alone assist him to acquire Kryptonite of all
things...
Except none of these three nor Punkin knew anything about Wanda.
There was no reason for them to make this up when they'd already
seen plenty of bizarre things over the last several days.
He wasn't about to tell them what he knew, either. What could he
say to the Lanes? That their daughter was suffering from head
trauma yet bravely playing along with Luthor in order to get the
drop on him? They'd rightly wonder what he, Clark, was doing to
stop the villain and save her.
Not enough, not nearly enough...
And why was she helping their worst enemy?
He tried to put this question aside for now. He assured himself
that the three were under secure guard and left them, saying he
had to catch up on his sleep to be ready for the day to come.
On the way out he questioned several guards. One had witnessed
the dangerous duo enter the building, tossing gas canisters as
they went. The male of the two had been overheard trying to
convince the woman to kill one of the guards while he lay
helpless, but she had balked and whined about at suggestion,
sounding like the Nanny on TV. It was thought that the man might
have dispatched the guard himself had the two not been in a
hurry. Maybe that woman's voice had made the man want to move
more quickly, too.
Clark thanked them and trudged out, trying to fit all the pieces
together. Whatever Lois was doing, she was probably heavily
drugged and completely blameless in all this.
He hoped.
He decided to spend some time in the outback of the Yukon,
contemplating life. He wouldn't yell, it wouldn't do any good.
Midnight was only a few hours away, and it couldn't come too
soon.
***
"Where's Superman?" Henderson asked when Clark allowed him in at
precisely 11 that night.
"Beats me, I haven't seen cape nor hair of him."
"Mind if I... check your closets?"
"Like I'll have him tied up in one? Ha-ha. No, I'd put him in the
crawlspace between the ceiling and the roof."
"I see. Are you sure you've gotten enough sleep, Clark?"
"No, I probably haven't," nor had he eaten more than that oatmeal
cookie, which would make his mother really mad if she found out.
He wasn't planning to tell her until this was all over and he and
Lois were eating a fine meal at home on the farm. "There will be
time for that later. Superman showed me one of those notes and
warned me to stay away from the area."
"He hasn't heard of reverse psychology, has he?"
"I tricked him into telling me, what can I say? Other than I'm
going, too."
"I hope he offered to back you up again."
"Of course. He wants to see the look on Luthor's face when the
gun fizzles out. *I* just want to rescue Lois."
"Uh-huh."
"And, by the way," he looked steadily at Henderson, "I understand
that she helped Luthor rob Star Labs this afternoon."
"I see," the Inspector said after a beat. "He... no, probably the
Lanes told you, except..."
"Except they don't know. They only said that Luthor was assisted
by a woman they didn't see and that he called her Wanda."
"Yes, that's what they told me, too. I should have said
something, Clark, but I didn't want to alarm you more than you
already are. She's innocent, she's just a pawn, she won't be
charged with anything."
"But maybe she isn't a pawn."
Henderson blinked, startled.
"I've been thinking about this," Clark said as he leaned back
against the back of the couch, folded his arms before his chest,
and tried to stay focused. "She found out Luthor wanted
Kryptonite. Maybe she tried to talk him out of it but of course
that's the one thing that will slow Superman down. I don't think
he'll try putting it in the gun, though, I think we threw a real
scare into him. He'll just keep it as insurance. So she fooled
him into thinking she could help him by continuing to pretend to
be Wanda Detroit and off the wall. After all, she may have seen
even bigger pieces of Kryptonite but steered him toward that
small one. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already gotten it
away from him by now and he doesn't even know it."
Henderson considered him seriously. "You may have something
there. I have no doubt Luthor is very confident. That could give
Lois more maneuvering room."
"Exactly. He thinks he's winning and he'll be distracted when
Superman pretends to fall into his trap. My part will be easy
then, just save Lois and she'll have done a lot of the work
already, I'm sure of it. So you don't have to worry about me,
though maybe you'd like to go along and grab Luthor in case
Superman doesn't show up in time or something."
"You're definitely not going alone on this one."
Clark nodded and smiled. He had worried about all this for quite
some time until looking at it from a slightly cockeyed,
Yukon-cold angle had revealed Lois's probable plan. It was
brilliant.
As for himself, he had no plans other than he had dressed in
different, more comfortable, dark clothing again. Henderson
almost always dressed in black, so he was ready. Otherwise, Clark
had no idea how he would get away from the man or even if it was
the right thing to do. He was just going to wait to see what
happen, to try to determine what Lois's lead was and follow along
if he could.
He and Henderson rode to the edge of the Zoo, and the Inspector
passed them through the triple guard posted at the main opening.
From the cloudy sky there was a distant boom of thunder and it
began to sprinkle lightly for a moment... then stop. "I hope this
holds off," Henderson muttered.
As they headed toward the African Jungle Exposition area, a
mountain lion in the Great American Southwest display grunted
what turned out to be a warning. A man dressed in typical hoodlum
clothing stepped out from behind a closed fruit juice stand and
confronted them. He held a nasty looking automatic weapon and he
waved it carelessly at Henderson and Clark. "Visitors tonight,
good! The boss said you would come."
"Mr. Krubner," Henderson said drily. "I'm surprised Lex Luthor
hired you of all people."
"I'm good at what I do--spying on people."
The mountain lion grumbled again, Henderson shied away from the
sound, and Clark faded into the darkness.
"What a terrifying sound," Henderson gasped as he put a hand
dramatically to his heart.
"You get used to it. Well, *you* won't get used to it, Inspector,
you'll be dead."
"I see."
Clark tapped Krubner on the shoulder. "But you'll have the chance
to get used to seeing the inside of a jail cell."
"Huh?"
As Krubner turned, Superman removed the rifle from his grip,
folded the barrel into a knot, and smiled. The shocked man held
still while Henderson read him his rights and secured his mouth,
wrists and feet with duct tape borrowed from Clark's supply
closet.
"Good work, Inspector," Superman said as he further dismantled
the gun and dropped pieces of it quietly into a patch of grass.
"Not so good, Clark's escaped again."
Superman stopped smiling, crumbled the last of the gun, wiped his
hands of it, and sighed. "I'll go find him. I'm supposed to be
his back up. I guess he didn't like that trick I played on him
this morning."
"No..."
Superman shrugged helplessly and left to begin searching for
Clark.
Clark placed himself, as himself in black again, a good two
hundred feet ahead of Henderson, all the while looking for more
of Luthor's guards and Krubner's spy devices. He saw none of the
former and a few of the latter, which he avoided assiduously. He
had little doubt that Henderson would be able to do the same,
he'd just have to do it on his own.
Clark jumped the fence of the empty orangutan enclosure. It's
former inhabitants were on loan to another zoo for breeding
purposes and new tenants had not yet been secured.
He headed for the cave-like entrance, pulled out the small
flashlight he had secreted in a back pocket, and pretended to
grope his way through the darkness.
He found the hidden manhole cover the note had pointed out.
Superman was no doubt expected to burst through it and into
Luthor's trap. Perhaps he would, later.
Clark Kent, however, would not use it. There was a second, even
better hidden, real door further on. This door lead to a
staircase and a series of tunnels used by zoo maintenance workers
and animal behavior observers. He and Lois had discovered these
tunnels and their use during the writing of a story the summer
before. Drug runners had been reportedly using them, but the
story had fizzled when no good evidence was found.
One tunnel he tiptoed down, guided by superhearing, led to a
rusted-shut door which he eased open as slowly and quietly as he
could.
Beyond the door was a small, darkened chamber, which he slipped
into. He could hear voices clearly now.
"Wanda, Asabi. Superman is always on time for funerals--his own
in this case--so we have less than 4 minutes to prepare..."
"Yeah, so what?"
Clark stopped. Wanda? Good! Lois was still leading Luthor to
believe she thought she was that strange woman. What a clever
ploy! How brilliant she was! And that screechy, nasal voice had
to be just about driving Luthor around the bend...!
"So, my lovely, are you ready to kill him?"
"I *said* I was, six times already! Geesh! Don't you *ever*
listen to me, Kent?"
Kent?
--Oh, right, Luthor had learned about that from Perry, so he'd
expect to be called that. Good work, Lois! Clark smiled to
himself. What a reunion we'll have! We work so well together even
when we're not together!
"Yes, yes," Luthor said, sounding tired. "Don't worry your pretty
little head about that..."
Wanda giggled. "I bet you talk to all the girls like that..."
Clark noticed an odd little scratching sound... He decided that
Lois was playing it to the hilt by filing her nails. That
probably irritated Luthor, too.
"I believe she will do it, sir," Asabi whispered. "That will
drive the final wedge between her and her memories of Superman,
destroying any remaining love she has for him."
"Of course it will! The Man of Steel--and I use the word 'man'
loosely--"
Clark frowned, then reminded himself he didn't care what Luthor
thought.
"--killed by her own hand. She'll learn to live with it, just
like she'll learn to love me again like she did before."
"You are most certainly lovable, as are we all. Her fiance is the
only one I have doubts about her truly being over and done
with..."
Clark, hearing reference to himself, feeling the strange thrill
of danger, pressed closer to the wall, but not so closely as to
risk leaving an impression of his body in the stone.
"Well, then, if he turns up, I'll have her kill him, too, it will
be simple." He raised his voice from the scheming whisper. "It
will be simple, won't it, Wanda? You'd love to kill Clark,
wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, sure, whatevah you say, Kent. Clark's a dead man already.
Will he be wearing... what was it? Blue, too?"
"No, I think he'll be wearing shorts with pictures of the Eiffel
Tower on them..."
Clark almost missed her saying "...oh" in a subdued manner. It
reminded him of the confused, hurt tone of voice she had wisely
used when confronting him behind the nightclub. One more way to
fool Luthor.
"Don't let that bother you, my love," Luthor said gently.
"Okay..." her voice was tearful.
Asabi's was insistent. "Two minutes, sir..."
"Go check on Krubner, he should have checked in by now--unless
Superman took him out like we planned. He's expendable--but
you're not, be careful. I'll make sure the gun is ready..."
Lex's voice faded as he said this. Clark lowered his glasses and
peered through the wall. He saw both men were heading away in the
direction opposite from where he was hiding. The manhole was that
way, too, but closer and overhead; the two men passed under it.
They would be prepared when Superman crashed through, if Clark
decided to do that.
The area grew quiet, except that nail-filing sound resumed. Maybe
Lois was waiting until she was sure the two were far enough out
of earshot to make her big move. Instead, Clark smiled, she'd
find him here to help her.
He eased out of hiding, almost floating with excitement, having a
hard time keeping himself from doing so.
Lois hadn't moved yet. She was sitting curled up on an ornate bed
that had a wrought-iron head board and a black velvet bed spread.
She was wearing a wig with long, blond hair, a tight purple dress
with a plunging neckline and purple high heels with straps that
wrapped up to her knees. The skirt of the dress had no hope of
reaching down that far.
Her eyes were caked with makeup freshly tear-streaked. He noticed
this in particular because she glanced up, looked down at her red
nails again--then looked up once more and stared at him, her eyes
wide.
"You..."
"Me, Lois," he whispered as he crept up within a dozen feet of
her, "and we're getting out of here, now--"
"No!" she shouted.
No? Wait--shhh!
She scrambled to her feet on the bed, her spike heels catching on
the velvet bedspread, her balance uncertain. She pointed at him
and almost screamed, "You stay away from me! You, you... You!"
He stopped, stood still and looked up at her, trying not to let
his surprise and confusion overwhelm the need for one of them to
keep a cool head. "Lois! We have to--"
"Go, Clark? So soon?"
Luthor stepped back into the room. "You want to *leave* when I'm
about to destroy Superman? And you call yourself a reporter! It
would be the scoop of the century, which of course you won't
survive to tell..." He pulled the same handgun out of his jacket
pocket and said, "Wanda, here, catch this and keep Clark
covered."
"Clark..." she whispered and then looked at him, which caused her
to miss the tossed gun. It landed at her feet on the bed,
however, and she stooped to pick it up, wincing dizzily.
"That's a good girl. If *Clark* moves--shoot him in the arm or
the leg, he deserves it."
Clark frowned at Luthor, who had hefted the bag with the
Superman-killing gun onto a table. He stopped himself from
frowning though, realizing quickly that he had to concentrate on
Lois.
She was fumbling with the handgun, not quite able to get a grip
on it at first, but in a few moments was able to hold it with
both hands and aim it in his direction.
"...deserves it..." she whispered. "Clark deserves it."
Huh?
Her hands were shaking.
He dragged his eyes from them and the gun and looked at her
strained face. He had to say something comforting, something just
right, something... "Don't shoot me, Lois, please."
"Beg, Clark!" Luthor ordered as he pulled out the big gun.
Clark kept his eyes on her. "I'm not going to beg. Lois, you and
I are going to talk."
"Order him to *beg* you, Wanda! He humiliated you, he dumped you
for a *frog!*"
Lois's bottom lip began to quiver.
"I didn't dump you for anyone," Clark said with a tranquillity
born of exact knowledge, "and I certainly never meant to..." Oh,
god, she couldn't have *possibly* have *ever* believed... "to
humiliate you..."
"He's lieing! He always lies!"
"Lois, we *must* talk."
"He talks too much! Kill him!"
"No!"
From out of the darkness behind Clark ran a small woman dressed
in a white lab coat.
Punkin! How had she known? Had she overheard him telling the
Lanes and the Kents about the Zoo and decided to come herself,
early, to lay in wait to help him? Had she seen him entering the
orangutan compound, avoided all the cameras, and followed him?
What an amazing person she was...
She tried to push Clark aside, but he was so startled that he
couldn't move or be moved.
Since that didn't work, she approached Lois instead and looked up
at her. "Don't hurt Clark!" She pointed him out in case the dazed
woman teetering precariously on the unstable surface didn't
recognize him. "Even if you like Superman more, Clark's the best
person *ever!*"
Lois, clearly puzzled, frowned at Punkin, "Superman...?"
"Shoot her, too, Wanda! She's Clark's lover!"
"Clark is my best friend, so don't hurt him! Hurt *me* instead!
It will be okay, it won't matter if you do!"
Practically every part of Lois was trembling now, and Clark
realized she might shoot someone without meaning to. He had to
put a stop to this. He stepped forward and touched Punkin's
shoulder to ease her aside.
She turned to him, with no doubt the same beseeching look on her
face for him as she had given Lois. "I want to help you..." she
whispered, "but... I can't..." She sighed, her eyes rolled back
in her head, and she fainted or maybe worse.
"Punkin!" She must have run all the way here, Clark thought,
miles and miles. It had been too much for her perilous state of
health. He caught her and knelt with her, noting her irregular
breathing and weak heart beat. Her eyes fluttered opened, barely.
She grasped at his sweater and whispered something almost
inaudible and senseless, asking if she'd done good.
"There, you see?" Luthor cackled in triumph. "She's much more
important to him than you are! Shoot them *both!*"
Clark looked up. The real Lois wouldn't stand by and do nothing.
"Lois, help me, please?"
"Shoot him! He's begging--he's a *loser!*"
"No, no," she whispered, "I want... I need..."
"You must listen to me, Wanda!"
"Lois, I need you."
"Kill him--you don't need losers!"
"No--No!" She choked on the words, hiccupping, her shoulders
heaving with emotion. "Stop!" She shook her head, cringed with
pain. Her face contorted into what might have been a disgusted,
enraged frown at the whole world. "Just *stop!* Stop, stop,
stop!" She *threw* the gun--mostly in Luthor's direction, missing
by a mile but causing the man to duck anyhow.
The jerking move and her feet twisting in the velvet bedspread
caused her knees to buckle. She fell back, grasping at the air.
For a moment, enough for a glance Clark might have misinterpreted
but he hoped he hadn't, she seemed to reach for him.
He cried out, "LOIS!"
There was a terrible crashing sound--but from across the
chamber.
Luthor turned toward it.
Clark laid Punkin down and rushed around the bed, heedless of
speed, but could not catch Lois before she had fallen unconscious
to the hard, rough floor. He gathered her up and held her as
tightly and safely as he dared. He pushed off the wig and stroked
her hair, resting her head on his shoulder, under his chin. Tears
blurred his vision and he closed his eyes. "Lois..."
She couldn't respond--oh, God, what was wrong...
Her silence allowed the terrific sound of shattering ceiling and
walls to re-assert themselves on Clark's conscious. He opened his
eyes and turned slightly, toward Luthor, keeping his body
protectively between Lois and the villain.
Luthor had grabbed up Harbert's weapon. He held it now with the
supreme confidence of a winner, laughed triumphantly, and aimed
it at...
"Superman..." Punkin said, her failing voice full of joy. "Oh,
Superman!"
***
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