The familiar characters of this story are not my own but are the property of corporate entities (DC Comics, December 3rd Productions, ABC, etc.) other than myself. This work is a labor of love and is presented with no expectation of remuneration.
Prologue
Mayson met Clark at the front door to Metropolis City Hall at exactly eight-twenty-five that Monday morning in mid-April. “You ready for this?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “When have you found me not ready for anything?”
A touch of acid crept into her voice. “Let me see – yes, I’ve got it. I’m thinking of a long weekend ski trip with me back in late January where you stood me up because you weren’t ready.”
The smile melted away and she missed it immediately. “That was almost three months ago, Mayson. Besides, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
She waved her hand between them. “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I’m just tense.”
“I don’t blame you. Cases like this don’t come along every day.”
She spun on her toes and began walking, knowing that he’d fall in step beside her in seconds. “I assume you’re all packed for the week?”
“I am, but I thought it was just a two-day trip.”
“You should know that when you deal with the Boss, you plan for exigent circumstances.”
“Exigent circumstances, huh? Is that a three-dollar attorney word?”
She was glad to hear the light teasing note in his words. It almost made up for her chasing his smile away. “Just a two-dollar one. Three-dollar words require more serious circumstances.”
“Really? In that case, I hope I never hear you using four-dollar words, especially against me.”
Her snorting chuckle felt good. It was fun to banter with him, fun to walk beside him, fun to work with him. Maybe on their return trip from Denver they could have some fun making serious plans for their future together. It would be fun to pin him down and induce him to commit to her.
A grin nudged her lips and she pushed it away, chiding herself that the time for sex fantasies with Clark was some time other than now.
“Make sure your phone is off, Clark. We don’t want any calls from anyone for a while.”
He pulled his electronic tether out of his jacket pocket and pressed a button until it beeped and went dark. “Got it.”
They turned and walked down the stairs to the lowest level, then strode to an unlabeled office suite and entered the front room. Two large men and a tall, broad-shouldered woman reached for their weapons, then relaxed as they recognized the approaching pair.
“Hey, Kent,” the Amerind woman growled. “About time you got here.”
“It’s not even nine AM yet, Klaatu. Don’t you like hanging around our guest?”
The dark-skinned man crossed his arms. “No. We don’t. We’re crime-solvers, not babysitters.”
Mayson lifted her hand, then gestured to the two men. “Which of you is Barada and which is Nikto?”
The Asian man sighed. “I’m Nikto and he’s Barada for no particular reason that I can determine. She’s Klaatu because of her death stare.”
Clark grinned. “If they had a fourth member, he or she would have to be named Gort.”
Barada, the big black man, shook his head. “Naw. We’d be John, Paul, George, and Ringo.” He pointed to the female member of the trio. “She’d be Ringo.”
Mayson bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. “Whatever. I assume your charge is through that door?”
Nikto nodded his massive bullet head. “There’s an interrogation viewing room behind the door. The package is in interrogation with Captain Henderson.”
Mayson nodded. “Good. You three hang around, okay?”
“Can we get some breakfast?” asked Klaatu.
“Not until we take formal possession of the package,” Mayson replied. “Besides, I doubt that any of you would faint from malnutrition if you missed a meal.”
Barada groaned. “Speak for yourself, Ms. Drake. I have a low blood sugar condition I need to watch.”
“Sorry,” Mayson said, “I can’t change the schedule just for that.”
Clark reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a pair of Tootsie Pops. “Will one of these help? I have a sweet tooth I have to feed.”
Barada smiled and took the orange-flavored one. “Hey, thanks, Kent. You’re not as bad as your buddies in the department make you seem.”
“Aw, thanks, pal. All you need now is to shave your head like your partner, drop a fedora on it, and we’ll start calling you Kojak.”
“Naw, man, we can’t break up the band.”
They shared a laugh as they unwrapped the suckers, and each man put his in his mouth. Mayson sighed. “Come on, Clark, we have to get moving.”
“Sure. Later, B.”
Barada turned and opened the door, then closed it behind them.
Clark frowned through the one-way glass at the man and woman sitting at the table. “Is that her?”
Mayson reminded herself not to grind her teeth. “Yes, that’s her.”
“She’s thinner than I remember. And she’s changed her hair style. Color’s different, too.”
“Oh, really? How often did you pal around with the Luthors?”
“Never in person, but I watched her on TV. She used to do occasional on-air pieces for LNN when I first came to Metropolis.” He stepped closer. “She had a great voice.”
Mayson fought down the reflexive jealousy she always felt when Clark complimented another woman. “She still does. And she’s going to use it against Lex Luthor if she lives long enough.”
Clark nodded. “And we’re going to make sure that happens.”
“Yep. All the way to the Federal courthouse in West Virginia.”
He gave her an odd look that suggested that he knew more than he was supposed to know, that Colorado was their real destination. Of course he knew. No one could keep a secret from Detective Clark Kent if he really wanted to learn it. He’d fed her enough inside information about the criminals she prosecuted to know that.
But he fooled her. “So you picked me to go with you because of my – special skills?”
“Yes,” she all but whispered. “That’s the reason.”
He returned his gaze to the woman behind the window. “I thought you disapproved of my special skills.”
“I disapprove of your use of them on the job. I don’t want you to become some Batman-wannabe vigilante.”
“Batman does good things in Gotham.”
“He’s their problem, not ours!” Mayson hissed. “We don’t need any Spandex vigilantes in Metropolis!”
He paused to sigh without looking at her. “Maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if there were one more costumed do-gooder in the city.”
“No!” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “We absolutely do not need some – some self-proclaimed superhero flying around trying to fix everything. Power corrupts, Clark, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
The Tootsie Pop fell from his hand into the trash can. “But you want me on this trip. With my absolute power.”
“Yes! This case is too big to let our star canary get killed before she sings!”
“Easy, Mayson, I didn’t mean anything by that.”
She forced herself to calm down – again. Her quick anger at him was getting to be a habit, and she hated it. “I know, I know! It’s just that – if we get a conviction in this case, it’ll knock out most of the high-level corruption in this state and the four surrounding ones. We have to do this.” She stepped forward and put one hand on the glass. “We just have to. Besides, you can control yourself and work within the law. I trust you on that score.”
He paused again before replying, “You trust me absolutely?”
She knew it was a joke, his way of diffusing the tension between them, so she forced herself to react as she knew he wanted her to. “Yes. Especially if I’m there to hold your hand.”
She felt his comforting presence beside her and his reassuring hand on the small of her back. “Okay,” he almost whispered, “then let’s fire up the stove and bake this cake.”
She nodded and tapped on the door. The man and woman inside both looked up. The man stood and moved toward the door, then opened it. “Kent, Drake, you’re here early. Good. Come on in and meet your new best friend.”
As they entered, the woman at the table stood. Mayson gave her a quick once-over and nodded to her. Before her stood an olive-skinned woman of medium height, thin, maybe a hundred five pounds after a big meal, straight shoulder-length ash-blond hair, full lips, and dark eyes suggesting a hint of something exotic in her ancestry. She was wearing a conservative, almost-formal knee-length dress that probably cost more than Mayson earned in a month, and it was accented by a tasteful bracelet and matching emerald necklace. Mayson risked a glance at the woman’s shoes and knew immediately that they’d been priced at more than three months of her car payments. Even accounting for the stress of the circumstances and her worn appearance, she was stunningly beautiful.
Mayson was glad that Clark wouldn’t be on the road alone with this subject. He might be the oldest living Boy Scout still roaming around in the wild, but no man was immune to every woman on the planet. And something told Mayson that Clark might be extra sympathetic to Mrs. Luthor.
“Detective Clark Kent, Assistant District Attorney Mayson Drake, meet Lois Lane-Luthor, your new best buddy. You two have the privilege of escorting Mrs. Luthor to a safer location so she can testify against her husband.”
The woman frowned and picked up a clutch which matched her dress, then said, “You guys are Federal cops, right?”
“No,” answered Mayson. “I’m an ADA for the city of Metropolis and Clark is a homicide detective. We’re taking you to the Federal protection detail, a squad of U.S. Marshals. Once we hand you off to them, the city of Metropolis will have discharged its legal obligation in this case.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed even more. She turned to her original companion and growled, “That sounds like legal gobbldey-gook to me, Henderson. The deal was that you people give me safe conduct to a Federal facility, not just toss me at the FBI and walk away.”
“We’re giving you safe conduct, Mrs. Luthor,” Bill replied. “You have my word on it.”
The woman flicked her gaze to each of them in turn, then nodded sharply. “Fine. Just one thing. Don’t call me Mrs. Luthor again. Call me Lois, or Ms. Lane, or Hey Stupid, but not Mrs. Luthor.”
Clark lifted a hand as if he were in grade school. “Excuse me, but can Ms. Lane testify against her husband in this matter? I thought there was still a spousal confidentiality clause in the law.”
“There is in New Troy state law,” Mayson assured him, “but the Federal statute says that while a wife can’t be compelled to testify against her husband, if she volunteers to do so there are no limits to what she can say. Providing, of course, that she holds nothing back, and that everything she swears to is the truth and can be verified independently.”
The witness in question snorted in faux amusement. “Oh, it’s all true, honey. I promise to hold back nothing, and you birdbrains don’t suspect half of what I can prove. Dear Lex made the mistake of letting me know what he was doing almost from the beginning, and now it’s coming back to bite him on the butt. If I get to testify, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to dodge the death penalty.”
“You say you can prove it?” Clark asked.
“I have more than four years’ worth of names, dates, incidents, transaction amounts, the whole ball of wax, all tucked away in a hidden spreadsheet. I’m going to give it to the Federal prosecutor’s office when I’m safe, and if Lex doesn’t know that for sure I know he suspects it. That’s why I need protection.”
Mayson nodded. “Good to hear. I assume you’re all packed and ready?”
The woman snorted again. “Oh, yeah, the butler is shipping my trunks on ahead of me and the maid is waiting with my personal luggage at the front door of the mansion. I’m just waiting for my limo to arrive.”
Mayson resisted the urge to slug her in that sarcastic mouth. “Well, we’re it. All our luggage is already in the car. Clark will take the wheel until we get out of the city, then I’ll spell him once we hit the open road. You get the second seat.”
“As befitting my refined social station, I presume.”
The urge grew and Mayson forced her fists not to clench. “Sure, if it makes you feel better about this. Well, come on, Ms. Stupid.”
The woman returned an Arctic glare. “That’s Ms. Galactically Stupid to you, and don’t forget it.”
Mayson sighed to herself. This was not going to be a fun trip. At least Clark wouldn’t be attracted to this harridan in a tailored outfit.
And if she didn’t let up, Mayson might strangle her, dump her body in Hob’s Bay, and tell the Feds the woman slipped away from them during the night. It would serve her right for marrying a horrible lowlife like Lex Luthor and staying married to him for almost five years.
