Chapter 7
As far as Clark was concerned, the only good thing to happen in the following few days was the reappearance of his powers.
They’d finally returned two days after the crane had collapsed, much to his relief. He missed all of his powers on the thankfully rare occasion that he was without them; even if he wasn’t using the ones that fell under his conscious control, his heightened senses were still active. Being without them made him aware of just how limited normal human senses were; everything felt dumbed down, muted somehow. As much as he sometimes wished he was normal, he found he didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.
As soon as they’d returned, he’d visited the disaster area and started assisting with the clean-up efforts; helping to remove debris and shore up the damaged buildings. Superman’s presence had been noted, however; the questions he’d been dreading had started, and he still had no viable explanation for his absence that didn’t involve admitting the existence of Kryptonite.
On top of everything else, the last argument he’d had with Lois over Luthor seemed to have done some damage. She was barely speaking to him at the moment, limiting her interaction with him to strictly work-related matters; and while they were ostensibly working together on the fallout from the crane collapse, as a practical matter they were spending very little time together. Clark hated the growing rift between them, but he couldn’t- he wouldn’t- back down. Luthor was evil, and somehow he had to convince Lois of that.
Between his work at the Planet, the clean- up downtown, and the extra Superman patrols he’d instigated in an attempt to both reassure the citizens of Metropolis and dissuade the criminal element from taking advantage of his few days absence, Clark had very little time to devote to the investigation he’d quietly opened into Luthor. Reasoning that neither his apartment or the Planet newsroom was wholly secure, he consigned what little hard evidence he’d gathered to a safety deposit box at the First Bank of Metropolis.
***
The announcement three days later that the crane’s operator had died from carbon monoxide poisoning sent MetroCon’s stock plummeting, raising concerns that the company wouldn’t be able to meet its current liabilities. The further announcement later in the day from the Securities and Exchange Commission that trade in MetroCon’s stock had been suspended had the effect of sending Lois and Clark to the construction company’s head office in Metropolis’s main industrial precinct.
The offices of MetroCon were shrouded in gloom when they arrived. No one appeared to be conducting any sort of business; instead, the various staff members they could see were standing in little knots of earnest discussion.
They approached the front desk, where the receptionist sat talking rapidly to another young woman in her early twenties. Clark cleared his throat to get their attention.
“Hi,” Lois said with false sweetness. “I’m Lois Lane and this is Clark Kent. We’re from the Daily Planet.”
The receptionist’s previously welcoming expression faded. “Any Press enquiries have to go through the public relations office,” she snapped.
“We’ll wait,” Lois informed her.
With an exasperated sigh, the receptionist disappeared through a doorway with something close to a flounce. Lois rolled her eyes expressively towards Clark in the first friendly contact she’d made with him all day.
The young woman the receptionist had been talking to raised her eyes fleetingly to Clark’s face.
“Don’t mind Brenda. She’s just upset about losing her job.” She sighed. “Most of us have, you know.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss…”
“Moore. Nicole Moore. I’m- I was- Mr Simmons’ secretary. He’s the head of the equipment division.”
“So he oversaw the maintenance of the crane that collapsed?” Clark questioned, his interest piqued.
“Yes; I mean, not directly, but our-his-department is responsible for the purchasing and maintenance of all the company’s plant.”
“Nicole, you haven’t been talking to these reporters, have you?”
The question came from a haughty-looking woman in her mid-forties and had the effect of sending the younger woman into silence. With a submissive shake of the head, she left through the doorway the receptionist had taken earlier.
The haughty woman turned her attention to Lois and Clark.
“I’m Ramona Stack, spokeswoman for public relations. I believe you are from the Daily Planet.”
“Yes, Lois Lane and Clark Kent,” Lois introduced.
“I see. Well, the company has already released a statement to the Press. I’m not authorised to give out any information other that what was contained in that statement. Good day.”
She turned and left, leaving Lois and Clark standing in the middle of the reception area.
“Well, that was a dead end,” Lois commented as they exited the MetroCon headquarters. “For someone from public relations, she’s not very good at relating to the public.” She adjusted the strap of her satchel across her shoulder. “Who was that woman you were talking to?”
“Nicole Moore. Secretary to the head of the equipment division.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not such a dead end.”
“Mm. Maybe not.”
***
Clark took a sip of his coffee and made a face. Not only was this batch more than ordinarily bitter, it had also gone cold. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then sent a judicious dart of heat vision into the mug before taking another sip. Lois had gone to meet a source, leaving him trying to make sense of a whole stack of financial data from MetroCon. He was no expert, but it looked to him like MetroCon had been on shaky financial ground even before the accident.
His phone rang; he reached out to pick it up, his mind still on the MetroCon report.
“Clark Kent.”
“Mr Kent, it’s Nicole Moore from MetroCon. We met earlier today?”
“Yes, of course,” Clark answered with alacrity. He’d been half-hoping that she would call; she’d been the only person that was even moderately helpful during their visit. “How can I help you, Ms Moore?”
“I have some… information for you. Can you meet with me?” She gave an address that Clark recognised as being in a slightly rundown area, just a few blocks away from his apartment. He quickly scribbled down the details before thanking her and hanging up. He checked the time and stood, tossing back the remains of his cup of coffee. He’d have to move fast to get there on time.
***
In the shoddy apartment on Amherst St, Nicole Moore hung up the phone and turned to the shadowy figure beside her.
“He’s coming.”
“Very good. You can go now.”
Nicole held her ground. “Wait. When do I get my money?”
The tall Englishman stepped out of the shadows for the first time, holding out a bulky manila envelope.
“Five thousand, as agreed.”
She quickly grabbed the packet and darted out the front door, eager to get away from the Englishman. The five grand she’d just collected would get her out of Metropolis, something she’d wanted to do as long as she could remember. She’d make her way down to Florida, or out to California; somewhere where it was warm and sunny, and then she’d never leave. She stuffed the money inside her shirt; having that much cash made her nervous.
***
Nigel St John watched the girl leave from the dingy living room window. A small noise attracted his attention; he turned his head towards his employer.
“Where is he?”
“On his way.”
“And the boys?”
“Awaiting your instructions, sir.”
“Excellent.”
“The girl, sir?”
“Make her disappear.”
