Billy hung up the cell phone and sat in his car. He knew he was bouncing too much, knew that he was making his old clunker rock and was risking calling attention to himself, but he couldn’t help it. He needed some weed to mellow out, maybe some meth to jack himself up again, some cash to buy some food, and find a place to crash for a couple of days. The only thing he’d eaten in the past two days had been a couple of stale donuts he’d lifted from a picnic table, and he hadn’t smoked anything since that one joint the day before the donuts. He was really jonesing for that weed.
If he hadn’t needed the weed so much, he’d never have agreed to tail the van. And he sure wouldn’t have even thought about dropping a dime on Kent. Billy remembered him all too well from a previous run-in they’d had prior to Billy’s latest stint as a guest of the state of Kansas. And Kent had no sense of humor where Billy was concerned. It was like the cop went out of his way to bust Billy for no reason at all. Billy had no hope that Kent would be nicer to him because he was wearing civvies instead of his uniform.
He watched Kent walk back into the motel room, then watched the woman bring two suitcases to the back of the open van. She was hot, too, so he didn’t mind looking at her. Of course, she’d never give him a second glance unless she was drunk or stoned. Still, looking didn’t cost anyth—
The passenger door burst open and Billy felt a hand grab his shirt and another grab his right arm and suddenly he was on his feet looking up at a face he’d hoped he never see so close to him again for the rest of his life.
“K-Kent!” he stuttered. “Wh-what’re you doin’ here?”
The big man pulled him closer. “I’m working, Billy. How about you? You working?”
“Hey, Kent, I – I don’t—”
“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” Kent lifted him off the asphalt a couple of inches and shook him like a rag doll. “Who’d you call just now?”
A woman’s voice cut through Kent’s angry glare. “Easy, Clark, just set him down gently. He can’t answer questions if he’s turning blue.”
Billy dropped back to the ground and gulped in some much-needed air. “Look, I’ll tell you everything, okay? Just cut me some slack!”
Kent’s eyes seemed to glow red-hot, then he said, “Tell me who you called.”
“I – I don’t know the dude’s name! Just the number. Guy’s got an Indian accent.”
“Help desk Indian or attack-the-wagon-train Indian?”
“Th-the guys with the turbans!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Billy saw the woman’s face turn pale. Another shake from Kent got his attention.
“Billy! What did you tell them?”
“J-just that I seen you and you was gonna leave.”
“What else!”
“Nothin’! Nothin’, I swear it!”
Kent’s voice dropped a register and he tightened his grip on Billy’s collar. “You weren’t going to call them back and let them know which direction we took, were you?”
Billy blurted out, “Yeah, he said – how’d you know that?” He looked at the woman, hoping for a little help. He didn’t get it. The woman’s eyes narrowed and she frowned at Kent but didn’t speak.
Kent shoved him back against his car and let him go. “Whatever they’re paying you, it’s not enough. Lois, aren’t there some cords on those drapes in the room?”
“I think so,” she answered, “but we can always use electrical cables or duct tape if we need to.”
Kent’s eyes glanced down, then he smiled.
Billy always hated that smile.
“Never mind. Good old Billy has a coil of nylon rope in the back seat of this pile of junk he calls a car. I guess he has to have it towed somewhere every couple of days.”
The woman opened the driver’s side rear door, looked around for a moment, then stood. “Found it,” she announced. “Yech. What did you do with it, Billy, soak it in urine? This thing really stinks.”
Kent smiled even wider. “Even better.”
Billy had always been scared of that smile.
Kent stepped closer to the woman and Billy thought about running. Then he remembered all those times before when he’d tried to run from Kent. His record escape from the big cop was about nine feet, and that was because there were three other guys being arrested at the same time and Kent was a little distracted.
He didn’t run. He didn’t even try to listen in on their conversation.
*****
Clark secured Billy in the back of the van, gagged and tied to the supports under the back seat. Lois tested one of the knots and was impressed by Clark’s myriad talents once again. Billy the weasel wasn’t going anywhere unless someone cut him loose.
As instructed, Lois put their suitcases on the ground beside the van’s front tire and waited while Clark silently opened the door of another car along the parking lot and sat in the front seat for a moment.
Then he broke open the steering column. With his bare hands.
She couldn’t believe it. Boy Scout Clark Kent, MPD detective, her escort to eventual freedom, was stealing a car.
Like a pro, she thought. A very strong pro.
Without starting it, he pushed the car out of the slot and turned it 90 degrees. Lois picked up the suitcases and walked to the back of the car, trying to decide whether or not the “Just Married” title on the back window was funny.
She decided that it was too attention-grabbing and that Clark would have to clean it off as soon as he got the chance.
She climbed into the passenger seat and hoped that there was enough gas in the car to move it down the road. She also hoped that the car wasn’t well-known, or they’d have a local police escort whether they wanted one or not.
So Lois dropped open the map box and found the title. The car was registered to Mickey Wilson of Olsburg, Kansas. “Hey, Clark, where’s Olsburg?”
Clark stepped into the driver’s seat and pushed off with his left leg, sending the car down the slight incline to the road below. “It’s a little bedroom community north of here on highway 16. Why?”
“Because that’s where this car is registered. We’re not going north, are we?”
He closed the driver’s door, then pushed in the clutch and moved the gearshift to second. “Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Good. Maybe no one will notice us. We’re not exactly the newlyweds who parked this car at the motel.”
“True,” he chuckled. He turned the ignition switch and released the clutch. The car jumped, then the engine started running a bit roughly as he moved up through the gears. “We’re heading south to I-70, then west to highway 77 and down to Wichita. We’ll pick up I-35 there and head south through Oklahoma to I-40, then we’ll turn west again.”
“Won’t someone recognize this car?”
He turned the wheel and headed south. “We’ll have to take that chance. I think we can get far enough to switch vehicles once more.”
She sighed. “I sure hope so. I’ve never ridden in a PT Cruiser before and so far I don’t like it.”
“What? Why not?”
She made a face at him. “Cause it’s butt-ugly. It looks like the love child of a Volkswagen and a Studebaker. It’s overpriced, underpowered, scores poorly in crash tests, and it’s uncomfortable on long trips.”
She was oddly pleased to see his mouth twitch as if he were fighting a smile. “Then I’ll see if we can do better with the next one.”
She turned and looked out the back window. “Oh, and can you do something about that ‘Just Married’ logo back there? It’s probably a bad idea to steal a car with something that obvious on it.”
“I think I can help you there. We’ll have to stop for gas pretty soon anyway. The actual newlyweds apparently weren’t thinking about a long drive today.”
“Can you start it again without pushing it?”
He nodded. “I just did that to keep from alarming the couple. All I’ll need to do is find a self-service station and a squeegee with some clean water. I hope nobody’s curious enough to check us out.”
“Me too.” She hesitated, then said, “I wanted to ask you something.”
Clark glanced at both rear view mirrors. “Go ahead.”
“Okay.” She paused, took a deep breath, then said, “’Help desk Indian or attack-the-wagon-train Indian?’ Where the heck did that come from?”
His mouth twitched again as he answered. “I knew Billy would understand what I meant. He’s not exactly the sharpest light bulb in the cabinet. And we didn’t have time for a long conversation.”
She felt her cheeks tighten into a smile. “Good. I mean, that’s good that that’s what you meant.” Then her mouth flattened. “Just don’t take Asabi too lightly, okay? He’s probably the one running the pursuit.”
“As opposed to whom?”
“To Nigel St. John, dear Lex’ right-hand man, the former British foreign agent. Knows at least twenty ways to kill people bare-handed, dead shot with any firearm I’ve ever heard of, and no scruples to speak of.”
Clark’s face morphed serious to match her tone. “Sounds very dangerous.”
“He is. And he probably would just as soon I didn’t take another breath on this earth.”
He nodded slowly. “Then we’ll do our best to stay out of his way.”
*****
Nigel was about to open his office door when he heard his name called. “Mr. St. John! Good news, I believe.”
Nigel looked at Asabi’s smiling face and relaxed ever so slightly. “I would agree that we are due for some. Please, come into my office and give me the details.”
Asabi bowed and gestured for Nigel to precede him. As soon as the door was closed, the Indian mystic tilted his head and rubbed his earlobe.
Nigel nodded at the code gesture asking about hidden microphones. “You may speak freely.”
“Good. They have been spotted.”
“Where?”
“In Manhattan, Kansas, along Interstate Highway 70. I have dispatched a team to take them into our custody. We should have them within half an hour.”
Nigel nodded. “Do you have a contingency plan in place?”
Asabi’s smile faded slightly. “Sir, please remember that we are already using a contingency plan for our primary contingency plan. Were we characters in an overly complex espionage novel, this would be our plan D, having already failed at plans A, B, and C.”
Despite his tension, Nigel smiled thinly. “You are correct, as usual. Very well, Mr. Asabi. How will we know that we have them?”
“My associate will call me by mobile phone and tell me that the bouquet of green gladiolus has been received. Any description of the bouquet will inform me of the condition of our two lost lambs.”
Nigel’s smile grew. “Lost lambs?”
Asabi shrugged. “It seemed an appropriate metaphor.”
“Agreed. But if the unthinkable happens and they are not captured?”
“Then I will hear that the delivery of red hibiscus has been delayed. But I do not anticipate such an eventuality.”
Before Nigel could respond, Asabi’s pocket chirped. The tall Indian nodded apologetically and slid a cell phone out of his jacket pocket. “Hello? Yes, this is he. Oh? I – I see. Thank you. No, please continue to attempt to complete the delivery. Yes.”
His face fell as he returned to phone to his pocket and turned to face his partner in crime. Nigel asked, “Hibiscus?”
The dark man’s gaze dropped to the floor and he nodded. “I fear so. They located the van but did not find Mrs. Luthor or her escort. Our contact in the area was secured within said vehicle and had no idea in which direction they had escaped.”
Nigel sighed. “And now we have lost them once again. Additionally, we do not know what vehicle they might now be using, nor do we know their final destination.”
Asabi shook his head. “I disagree. It is true that we do not know their vehicle or direction of travel, but I am now convinced that Denver is their final destination. We should seek to prevent their approach from any direction, using all available personnel.”
Nigel frowned in thought, then nodded. “Agreed. Will you see to those details?”
Asabi bowed again. “I shall. And I presume that you will continue to seek information to be found here in Metropolis which may aid us?”
“You presume correctly, sir.”
“Then I must complete my arrangements and allow you to complete yours. Until later, my friend.”
Asabi silently slipped out the door and closed it behind him. Nigel shook his head and began thinking. The other man was not in Nigel’s class as an operative, but neither was he stupid or incompetent. The Lane woman and her escort were either the luckiest people in the Midwestern United States, or they were receiving help from some source unknown to Asabi and his organization.
At any rate, it was Asabi’s job to catch Mrs. Luthor. It was Nigel’s job to figure out what she knew.
He sat at his desk and pulled out the photographs he’d collected from Cathy Ames the night before. He’d spent over an hour staring at them, then realized that he was falling asleep instead of gaining understanding of them, so he’d put them in his briefcase and gone to bed.
Now he was refreshed and ready to attack the problem once again, this time with a clear head. He laid the photos side by side in front of him.
The first thing he noticed was that Mr. Luthor’s design was slightly smaller and somewhat simpler than Mrs. Luthor’s. That had to be significant, but without more data he didn’t know what that significance might be. He then noted that the intersecting lines in each design, while similar, were not identical. Ms. Ames’ insistence that these designs contained encrypted information seemed more plausible and less an illusion or just wishful thinking than he had first assumed. Perhaps the numerical relationships of the intersecting lines conveyed the data to the knowledgeable observer.
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out two books his operative had given him with the photos, one a primer on fractal design and one a high-level publication containing more specific details. Nigel nodded with silent appreciation to Ms. Ames’ conclusion that he did not have the necessary knowledge to decipher these fractals.
He hadn’t spent an hour on them, though, when he slammed the primer shut in frustration. Given sufficient time, he was certain he could decode the meaning behind these images, but he didn’t have that time. What he did have, however, was a mathematics professor at Met U who was at his beck and call, having been rescued from a severe beating from her bookie when she couldn’t cover her lost basketball bets of the previous winter. Not even college math professors could figure out a winning betting system, even when the games themselves were honest.
He picked up his phone and dialed her office number. He was determined to understand the messages in these images no matter what – even if he had to forgive her entire debt to him.
Not once during the entire morning did Nigel consider how attractive Lois Luthor’s rear end might be.
*****
Both of them could see the sign for the I-70 entrance ramp. Clark pulled up at the pump farthest from the convenience store’s office. “Give me a few bucks and I’ll get us some soft drinks,” Lois offered. “I’ll pay for the gas, too.”
He nodded. “Okay. But let’s not dawdle.”
She held out her hand and accepted the bills from him. “Who, me? Haste is my new middle name.”
Clark set the nozzle to fill up the tank, then he attacked all of the windows with the squeegee. He hoped that if he worked on all of them, it would be less obvious that the back window was his primary target.
He’d worked around to the driver’s window when a middle-aged woman pulled up behind him in a late-model cherry-red Chevy Camaro. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her presence at all, but he could feel her gaze boring into the side of his head.
Then he heard her sneakers slip along the concrete toward him.
She paused at the back of the car, then walked up to him in a too-casual manner. “You like this car, mister?”
He shrugged and started on the windshield. “It’s okay for what it is.”
“I’m glad you think so,” she answered. “My daughter’s husband owns one just like this. Same year, same option package. He thinks it’s terrific. Of course, he got a good deal on it from his new father-in-law. My husband. He owns a couple of dealerships not far from here.”
He stopped cleaning and looked at her. The woman’s gaze was hard as iron and her right hand was in her pants pocket. Clark took a quick glance in the pocket and saw a snub-nosed .38 Special revolver with her hand nestled around the handle.
He also saw a slip of paper with a phone number, one with a New Troy area code.
That might mean nothing. But it might mean a great deal.
“Ma’am, was there some specific point you wanted to make?”
She nodded without taking her eyes from his. “I have this thing where I memorize license plate numbers. Kind of an occupational hazard, you know, me being a cop and all. Funny thing – the plate on this car has the same number as the one on my new son-in-law’s car. I’d even be willing to bet real money that the VIN on this car matches the one on his title. Of course, since he just got married last night, I doubt he’s missed it yet, being on his honeymoon and all. That why you stole it?”
The woman’s face suddenly changed and she jerked slightly. “I bet you can tell the difference between a finger and a pistol barrel,” Lois whispered from behind her. “Am I right?”
The woman slowly took her empty hand out of her pocket. “I can. And that’s not a finger.”
Lois slipped her hand into the woman’s pocket and retrieved the small five-shot revolver, then tucked it into her waistband out of sight. “Get in the back seat.”
The woman didn’t move. “It won’t do you any good. Even if you kill me, they’ll catch you before long.”
“You let us worry about that,” Lois growled. “Get in.”
The gas pump chose that moment to snap off and they all jumped a little. “Watch her while I get in the car, Kent.”
He nodded. “Give me a minute. I have an idea.”
Lois glanced at the convenience store’s office. “It better be a good one. And a quick one.”
He waited while Lois stepped back to the Camaro and picked up the driver’s purse and casually hurried around the car and climbed in. Then he opened the back door for the woman cop and stood back until she could close the door without hitting her shoulder. Then he opened the rear hatch and rummaged through his suitcase until he found his cell phone.
He hoped Lois wouldn’t get too alarmed at what he was about to do.
*****
Bill Henderson was worried. There was a lot of activity among Luthor’s minions, even though they still didn’t seem to have a good handle on where Kent and Lane were. Bill just hoped they were still alive and moving west.
Then his desk phone rang. He reached for the handset and thought for a moment, then told himself it couldn’t be them.
“Uncle Bill, this is CJ. Just checking in to let you know we’re okay.”
Bill’s eyes nearly bulged out through his glasses and he took a quick breath to steady himself. “Uh – right. Everything okay on your end?”
“Well, we’re having to make a northerly detour, but we’re still on schedule for Sacramento. Joanne says to tell you we’re having a ball.”
Joanne had to be the Luthor woman. And apparently she’d warned him about being traced while using his LexTel cell phone. On top of that, they’d had some trouble. Bill hoped it wasn’t serious trouble.
“Ah, sure, fine. You two have a good vacation, okay?”
“It’s been fun so far. Oh, can you tell Mom that her goodie bag was delicious? I’m sure she’ll want to know. By the way, how’s her cold doing?”
“Her cold? Oh, it’s doing much better than expected. She’ll be up and around before you know it.”
“Thanks, Uncle Bill. That’s really good news. Tell the family Joanne and I said howdy.”
“Will do, nephew. Don’t you have too much fun, you hear?”
Clark’s easy laugh sang back to him. “We won’t. See you in a few days.”
The line was disconnected and in a moment Bill heard the dial tone.
Well, that was an interesting call. It seemed that Lois Lane Luthor was serious about testifying. And obviously Clark was still free and in control of whatever situation they were in.
He thought about telling Mayson about Clark’s call, and then realized that she was Mom. He wasn’t sure about the goodie bag, unless it meant that they’d made good use of the money belt and fake IDs for the Luthor woman which Mayson had given them.
Now if the bad guys would only take the bait and head north away from them, maybe they’d have a shot at getting through to Denver after all.
*****
Clark hung up the phone but didn’t switch it off. He leaned into the older woman’s car and slipped the phone under the front seat, then slid the keys out of the ignition. Good old trusting country people, he thought.
He trotted to the convenience store and stuck his head in. “Hey, you guys know the lady who owns that Camaro?”
An older man nodded slowly. “Yep. Sue Riordan. Why you wanna know that?”
“She said she’s on a case of some kind and her car’s too conspicuous. She asked me to ask you guys to put it in your garage for a little while.”
“Sure. You got the keys?”
Clark tossed them to him underhanded. “Thanks. She said she’d be back before dinnertime.”
The man smiled and nodded again. “That Sue. Good-lookin’ woman, better cop. Never gives up. Be glad she ain’t chasin’ you, bud.”
“Oh, I am. Thanks for everything.”
*****
Asabi’s people arrived no more than twenty-five minutes later. Having triangulated on the LexTel phone’s location, they popped out of their black windowless van looking to the store manager like an invasion force from a UFO.
“Hey, Lester?” the owner muttered.
“Yeah, Verne?”
“Get on the horn and call the sheriff. Tell him to bring lots of backup with shotguns right now. We got us some unwelcome visitors.”
Lester, who’d been watching through the front window of the store, silently turned and stepped into the office and closed the door. Five seconds later, one of the men outside came in and gave the manager a plastic smile.
“Hey, old-timer,” the man said. “You see a younger couple come through here recently?”
“How recently?”
“This morning.”
Verne made a show of thinking hard. “Well, there was them two teenagers about eight-thirty or so. Backpacking through the heartland of America, they said.”
The visitor’s smile dimmed slightly. “Not looking for them. The couple I’m looking for is around thirty.”
Verne chuckled. “Thirty is a lot of people for a couple, mister.”
The man’s expression conveyed his belief that he was dealing with the village idiot. “No, I mean the man and woman I’m looking for are each around thirty years of age.”
“Oh, okay. What were they driving?”
“I don’t know.”
Verne looked at him for a long moment, then asked, “What do they look like?”
“Uh – man’s about six-three or so and broad-shouldered, woman’s about five-six and slender. Might have dark hair. Or maybe blonde.”
Verne waited another long moment. “That’s not much of a description, mister. There’s lots of people around who look like that.”
The man’s eyes narrowed a bit. “We know they were around here about half an hour ago.”
Verne shook his head. “No couples come through here that I saw at that time who fit that description. Closest I saw was Mr. and Mrs. Unger, and they’re both over fifty.”
“Look, pal, I got to find those people!”
Verne looked over the man’s shoulder and saw four patrol cars crunch to a stop on the gravel. “Well, you could ask the sheriff if he’s seen them.”
“We don’t have time to go find your sheriff!”
“You don’t have to. He done found you.”
The man snapped his head around and froze for a moment, then turned back to see that Verne was now holding a .40 caliber Glock in his right hand. “I’m a reserve police officer, mister. You just stand where you are and don’t make any sudden moves.”
The man started to say something, then apparently thought better of it.
“I hope your friends out there don’t get too excited,” Verne offered. “Them deputies are all good wing shots, and every one of ‘em brings home the legal pheasant limit in the fall. And a man’s a lot bigger target than a pheasant, don’t move as fast, and those deputies’ shotguns – they call ‘em riot guns in the city – is all loaded with seven of those twelve-gauge three-inch double-ought shells apiece. Put a hole right through an engine block up close like that.”
The man sighed. “They were here, weren’t they?”
Verne fixed him with a stare. “As it happens, mister, I ain’t seen a car with just two thirty-somethin’ people in it leave my store all day.”
It was true. The car this city yahoo was asking about had left with that thirty-something couple and Sue Riordan in it. Verne didn’t know the couple, didn’t know how honest or trustworthy they were, but he knew Sue, and it was plain as a cow pie that these men were up to no good. Anybody being chased by dirtbags like this clown couldn’t be all bad. And by the time Sheriff Spencer finished with the guys from the van, those two kids would be so far away that they’d not be found until they decided to reappear.
He hoped he was right about them. He liked Sue a lot.
Lester opened the office door, carrying a Smith & Wesson .357 magnum revolver in his hand. “I’ll go tell the sheriff you got one more in here. ‘Less you need some help with him.”
Verne grinned and wiggled the Glock in the bad guy's direction. “Naw. He’s a real cooperative sort of fella, ain’t ya, pal?”
The man nodded once. He obviously knew when he was outmaneuvered and outgunned.
