Lex Luthor was not having a good day.
The guard he’d been paying to carry unedited correspondence out of the prison had been abruptly transferred two days before, and until he was able to develop another back channel he was mostly cut off from the outside. He’d assumed that the woman who’d replaced his personal mail carrier would be easy to recruit, but she’d turned out to be immune both to his charms and to his attempts at bribery. The first time he’d placed a hand on her shoulder, she’d twisted his wrist to the snapping point and promised to thrash him with her extendable baton the next time he so much as smiled at her.
Her slender strength was considerable and her threat was quite believable.
Sheldon Bender had visited that morning, and he’d managed to pass along the status of the search for Lois Luthor. Sadly, it was not going well. Not only had she not been recaptured, a number of his assets, including a number of members of his organization and those of the “thug-for-hire” variety, had been arrested by either local or federal officers. Together with the disappearances and defections of his lower- and mid-level operatives in and around Metropolis, the Boss’ organization was in danger of being scattered like dandelion seeds in a strong wind.
Bender had also let it slip that both Nigel and Asabi were becoming increasingly desperate. Nigel had gone so far off the rails that he was investigating the complimentary tattoos Lex and Lois had received before the first of the year. Apparently he’d gotten a bee in his bonnet that the tattoos contained information about the Luthor criminal organization.
Fools. The great Lex Luthor was surrounded by utter fools.
To top it all off, Bender also informed him that Judge Wenzel had denied the final motion to push back the start of the trial and had ordered Bender to be ready to begin his defense in three weeks. The witnesses who planned to testify were listed in in the discovery documents, but Bender had also learned that they were hidden away in the federal Witness Protection program. The few people Lex might trust with the task of preventing them from testifying were either caught up in the search for Lois or already committed to other tasks. And three weeks was not enough time to ferret out the witnesses and convince them to recant their testimony. Bender would have to discredit their words in court – a task in which neither Lex nor Bender had much confidence of success.
The only good news was that Bender believed that the federal case would not begin before the state case. Balancing that, though, was Bender’s opinion that if the state case did not go well, the feds would step in and take over before a state verdict could be rendered. In that event, there would be far fewer chances to affect the outcome.
The only hope was to find Lois and bring her back into the fold. Together they could face this tribulation and fight through to victory. And Bender was now on the way to meet with Nigel and Asabi to ensure that Lois survived her rescue.
*****
Francisco Ybarra had a job to do. He didn’t like extra noise, public shootings, or stupid co-workers. All he wanted was to capture and control the couple from the classic car. He didn’t want a scene. But he also didn’t want to fail.
So when a woman shouted “Kent!” from inside the store and the dark-haired man putting fuel in the Mustang turned to run to the door, Francisco yanked out his pistol and pulled the trigger.
Incredibly, he missed his first shot – and from no more than twelve feet. He was sure he’d hit the running man in the left shoulder, but he didn’t fall or stagger or grab his wound or bleed or anything.
And Francisco didn’t get the chance to fire a second time. The man went down feet forward, sliding like a baseball player stealing second base, and fired back once.
The bullet hit Francisco’s right shin about halfway between the knee and ankle. His leg felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The broken bone collapsed, Francisco dropped his .357 Magnum Colt Python revolver, and he fell heavily to the ground, concerned only with the blistering electric pain below his knee. He sensed rather than saw the man sprint to his side, toss the Colt into a nearby trash can, then race to the door.
Francisco didn’t care what happened inside the store. He just hoped an ambulance would come before his leg fell off. The agony pierced every thought and he almost forgot to breathe.
He lost consciousness and missed the rest of the action. When he next awoke, he was handcuffed to a hospital bed with a uniformed officer standing five feet away. The man did not appear to be happy.
*****
Matt Durham wouldn’t have cared how his partner felt about Denver had he known the little creep’s opinion. Matt liked the area, the mix of big city hustle and bustle with rural tastes and diversions. He really liked going out into the woods and shooting squirrels out of the trees with his .45 caliber Glock 21. It didn’t leave much of the squirrel behind, but he didn’t eat them anyway and he really liked seeing them burst apart when he hit them.
And he didn’t like sharing credit. He would recapture Lois Luthor by himself and tell his boss how Ybarra had chickened out and left him to save the day all alone. It would put him in solid with the organization.
Matt walked up behind the Luthor woman and reached past her to grab a can of something from the shelf and said, “Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Luthor.”
He had to admit, the woman was good. She didn’t flinch or gasp or snap her head around. The only tell she showed was a slight nostril flare as she said, “Sorry, my name’s not Luthor. You’re thinking of someone else.”
He held the can of beans in his right hand and opened his coat with his left to show his weapon. “I don’t think so. You need to come with me right now.”
She leaned back and took a breath. Matt assumed she was going to run, but instead she screamed “Kent!” and punched him in the jaw with her left hand.
The blow wasn’t hard enough to stun him, but he did take a quick moment to shift mental gears. He dropped the beans, then snatched his Glock out of his shoulder holster and brought it up. “That’s enou—” he began.
She brought her left hand back from the follow-through of her punch and shoved his pistol to the side and away from between them. Then she surprised him again by stepping in closer and pushing something hard into his abdomen.
A pair of closely spaced shots from outside that sounded like two different weapons firing distracted him for a moment. It was too long a moment.
She turned her left hand, grabbed his gun wrist, and held it up and away from her. An ominous series of clicks came from the vicinity of his belt buckle. “Thirty-eight special in your belly, mister. Think I could hit your spine with at least one shot from this close?”
He felt his eyes get big. His mouth went dry and his hands started sweating. “D-don’t shoot!”
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer. “Point your weapon at the ceiling. Now.”
As Matt turned the Glock upward, he heard the door jingle. The woman at the counter squealed, “No shoot! No shoot! Cops are coming! No shoot!”
“Kent!” called the woman in front of Matt.
“Lane!” came the response.
The Luthor woman exhaled and relaxed slightly. “Come and get this guy’s gun. I’d rather not shoot him and get blood on my clothes.”
He heard rapid Spanish, then broken English, as the clerk placed a frantic phone call to 911. Matt felt a man’s hand on his gun hand, then the hand took his Glock. “Got it. What are you holding on him, another truck bolt?”
“Sue Riordan’s revolver.”
The man chuckled. “I wondered what happened to it. I rather hoped that you’d dropped it into a river or the pieces into a couple of trash cans.”
“I’m glad now that I didn’t. What should we do with this guy?”
“Take him outside and cuff him to his buddy. After we do that, I need to call the marshal service in Denver.”
“Yeah.” Matt felt the woman tense up again. “I don’t want to surrender to any local yokels.” She poked him hard in the belly with her revolver. “And when they get here, you don’t say anything to them except your name, rank, and serial number.”
“Huh?”
The man behind him chuckled again. “That’s for wartime prisoners, Lois. Geneva Convention.”
Her gaze bored into his eyes and his mouth went dry again. “Whatever. I don’t want Hopalong Cassidy here muddying up the waters and getting Sheriff Whatzit all excited.”
“Understandable. Let me go calm down the lady behind the counter. She’s still on the phone with the local LEOs.” Matt felt a tap on his shoulder. He was too scared to turn around and face the man. “Hey, buddy, this is a nice piece. I’ll make sure to use it on you if I need to shoot you.”
Between the intense woman in front of him and the casual lethality behind him, Matt’s stress level peaked and his vision greyed out. His voice came from far away. “Can – can I sit down somewhere?”
“After we cuff you,” the man replied.
“Hey, man,” Matt croaked, “I don’t wanna get cuffed to no =bleep= stiff!”
“He’s not dead, just wounded. And I think the local police will want to talk to both of you. I’d advise you to get a lawyer.”
Great, thought Matt, I blew the job and now I’m getting busted. Maybe Colorado likes plea bargains as much as Florida does.
*****
Using the store’s phone, Clark called the US Marshals, who – after learning that he was with Lois Lane-Luthor – promised to send a vehicle immediately. He also called the local police dispatcher, who eventually connected him to the police lieutenant en route to the store and to whom he insisted that he and Lois would go with the marshals and not any local cops.
The lieutenant obviously didn’t like it, but agreed that he and his people would stay outside until the marshals arrived. He also insisted on taking the two gunmen into custody, which more than satisfied Clark.
Lois decocked her small revolver and handed it to Clark, who slipped it into his pants pocket. As they waited for the ambulance for the Hispanic thug and for the marshals, the two of them leaned back against a shelf displaying all kinds of junk food. Clark chuckled and picked up a package.
“Vanilla moon pie. Do you know how hard it is to find these things in Metropolis?”
“I don’t recall ever looking for them. They’re too sweet for my palate.”
He put it back. “I’d eat one except I don’t want to be accused of theft.”
“You’re a real – a real Boy Scout, Clark.”
He started to answer, then noticed that Lois was staring at his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did I get something on my jacket?”
She reached up and pushed her index finger against the fabric. “You have a bullet hole in your sleeve.”
“What? No, that’s – has to be a tear or something.”
“Tan jacket, round black hole. Just one – no exit hole. And you’re not bleeding.”
“Maybe it was already there.”
“I’ve been sitting next to you in a car for almost a week. This sleeve would be next to me if I were driving, and I’ve driven a lot. I would have noticed.”
“Lois, I—”
“Shh.” Her fingers moved down his sleeve, worrying the fabric until they stopped near his elbow. Her eyes flicked up at him. “Found it.”
“Look, I can explain—”
“I don’t doubt it. I’m sure you’ve had lots of practice. But unless you want to ‘explain’ this to the local cops and the marshals and the press out there, you need to get rid of that flattened bullet.”
Clark locked eyes with her for a moment, then sighed and straightened his arm. The spent round fell into his open hand and he held it up for Lois to see.
“Big bullet,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“What caliber?”
“My guess is either a .38 special, like the one we got from Sue Riordan, or a .357 Magnum. It was a pretty loud bang, so it’s probably a Magnum round.”
She nodded, then turned away and pointed. “I bet if you put it down there under those tomatoes, no one will ever find it. And if anyone does, it’ll never be connected with this incident.”
“You sure? It is a bullet, after all.”
“It’s a flat chunk of lead that doesn’t look anything like a bullet. I guarantee you there’s no ballistic markings on that thing. Who’s going to figure out what it is?”
He gave her an almost-grin as he crossed the aisle. “You’re pretty good at this.”
She crossed her arms and tightened her lips. “I used to be an investigative reporter and I’m married to a major criminal, remember? I couldn’t help soaking up some of it.”
“Guess not.” He stepped back to her side and was pleased when she didn’t react to his proximity. “So what do we talk about while we wait?”
She glanced at her watch. “How much time do you think we have?”
“Oh, at least fifteen minutes, maybe as long as half an hour. Depends on where the marshals started out and what the traffic is like.”
“Good.”
His eyebrows rose. “Good? I’m surprised. I would’ve thought you’d want to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“I do, but I have some questions for you.”
“Thought you might. Go ahead.”
Here it comes, he thought. She’ll ask if I’m human and I’ll tell her I’m an ET and she’ll be scared. Or she’ll ask what else I can do and I’ll tell her and she’ll be mad. I can’t win.
She took a breath and let it out slowly, then looked deep into his eyes and asked, “What’s a LEO?”
“W-what?”
“You said something about the local LEOs earlier and I don’t know what they are. I know from the context you had to be talking about cops, but I don’t know what the term means.”
He was too stunned to answer for a moment, then he was laughing quietly and unable to answer. After a long moment, he looked at her and saw a tiny hint of amusement in her eyes, as if she’d almost expected this reaction.
He finally wound down enough to talk. “You’re a freaky woman, you know that? You knew I was expecting questions about me and then you hit me with ‘what’s a LEO?’!” He chuckled and shook his head. “That was a great curveball, Lois.”
She chuckled with him, then took his hand in hers. “Clark?”
“Yes, Lois?”
Her eyes captured his again and she leaned closer, her voice just above a whisper. “What’s a LEO?”
“Okay, I give up. It stands for Law Enforcement Officer. It’s pretty much anyone who can make an arrest, but city detectives usually use the term to refer to uniformed officers working a beat.”
Her eyes twinkled again and she turned to gently lean her shoulder into his. “Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you what I’ve deduced about you. And you can tell me if I’m wrong.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Okay. You’re fast, Clark, faster than anyone else on Earth. You’re also the strongest man I’ve ever heard of, even if you aren’t the most muscular. You can hear things no one else can hear, and I’m guessing you can see things no one else can see, too. I think you really were checking out the inside of every building we stopped at on the road before we got out of the van or the car we were driving. You take in sunlight for part of your nourishment like other people take in orange juice. And judging by the bullet hole in your jacket, you can’t be physically injured easily, if at all.”
She turned to face him directly and took his hand again. “But none of that would matter if it wasn’t for your heart. You’re not just honest as the sunrise and true as the North Star, you’re totally committed to truth and justice. That’s one of the reasons – maybe the main reason – you became a cop. You’d rather be hurt yourself than allow someone else to be hurt, and that’s also why you’ve let this thing with Mayson go on so long. You’re not playing with her heart, you’re trying to protect her. You’re with her more out of compassion than from affection for her. And I think you’d kill yourself before you allowed yourself to be a tyrant over anyone else.” She cocked her head to one side and looked deep into his eyes. “How’d I do?”
He swallowed. “Pretty good, actually. There are a few things that you left out, but that’s because I didn’t give you any clues about them. You’re still quite the investigative reporter, you know.”
She grinned and almost curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir. I assume that Mayson knows about the things I left out?”
He tilted his head at her. “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you about what I can do?”
She huffed a jaded laugh. “No. You couldn’t have known what I might have done with that information, and I’m not sure I would have believed you. But Mayson knows everything, doesn’t she?”
“Ah – yeah, she does. She told me she wanted me on this trip because of what she calls my ‘special skills.’” He grimaced. “I wish I knew how she really felt about them.”
Lois frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, actually. She doesn’t want me to be a vigilante with them, but sometimes she likes to have them available. In fact, one of the reasons I’ve come so far in the department so fast is because when I’m on a case, things go smoother and faster and more evidence gets gathered.”
“Huh. That’s funny.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?”
“Funny like odd. Lex has files on most of the cops in Metropolis, but almost nothing on you. His file on Mayson says to stay away from her because she can’t be turned, but there’s very little about you. And if you’re that influential and good at your job, I’d expect more attention from Lex directed toward you. Unless – you pass the credit around, don’t you? You’re on a stakeout and you see something, you don’t act on it but you mention something to one of the others who does, and he or she gets the accolades. That about it?”
“Pretty much, I guess. I don’t need to draw extra attention to myself, and piling up collars like squirrels gather nuts would make me too visible to both the media and my bosses. I get enough promotions and commendations thrown at me as it is.”
“I understand.” She looked at her watch. “The marshals should be here soon.”
Clark tilted his head to listen. “The ambulance will be here in a couple of minutes. They can take care of the guy I – I shot.”
She put one hand on his chest. “Where did you shoot him?”
He frowned. “Right outside the store beside the – oh, you mean where’s the wound, don’t you? Sorry. The bullet hit him in the right shin and broke the bone. He’ll need surgery to fix the compound fracture, but he’s not in danger of bleeding to death. One of the officers put an air cast on his leg to stabilize it. He’ll need physical therapy to walk normally again, but he can get that in prison.”
“I knew you hadn’t killed him. It isn’t in you to take a life.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sometimes it’s the only solution. A man puts a knife to a woman’s neck or a gun barrel to a nine-year-old girl’s temple and threatens to kill the hostage right then and there unless the cops let him go – it’s a choice as to which life to save. It’s not easy.”
“Have you had to make that choice?”
He shook his head. “No, not yet. But if I stay where I am, I probably will, that one or one like it.” He took a shuddering breath. “Police work is dangerous and terrifying. Eventually every officer runs into that no-win situation.”
“The Kobayashi Maru?”
He looked at her, surprised that she knew the reference. “The no-win command scenario from one of the Star Trek movies, yes. The one where no matter what you do, everyone dies. Nobody succeeds.”
“One guy did.”
“Yeah, but—”
“How did Cadet Kirk beat it?”
“What? He didn’t beat it, he cheated.”
Lois shook her head. “No. He didn’t cheat, he changed the rules of the scenario.”
For a moment he puzzled over how they’d gotten from police work to science fiction. “Okay, he changed the rules. How does that – wait, you’re saying that – that I should change the rules?”
“Yes.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t use my special abilities openly.”
She smiled, then stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Clark Kent can’t do that. But someone else could.”
He turned her words over in his head as the ambulance crunched into the gravel parking area. He heard the EMTs order the police away from the fallen gunman, heard them demand that the unhurt man have his cuffs removed from the victim, and listened to their crosstalk as they treated the victim and prepped him for transport. He even heard the second gunman – the one Lois had actually captured – get his wrists cuffed together and be roughly guided to the back of a squad car, complaining all the way about his treatment.
Clark remembered how surprised he’d been when the man outside had shot at him. The guy hadn’t looked like a thug, hadn’t looked dangerous, hadn’t appeared to be a threat. He’d looked like any normal guy taking a short break from driving along the highway.
Then it hit him.
The man was able to hide in plain sight because he didn’t look like a gunman.
Lois was telling him that he could hide in plain sight if he didn’t look like Clark Kent.
He could use his abilities openly for the first time in his life.
He could save lives, prevent or at least reduce property damage, all while being out in the open.
The next earthquake, the next disastrous flood, the next wildfire – he could really help.
He couldn’t just wear a suit, or even jeans and a Polo shirt. Maybe his mother would help him. In fact, he wouldn’t do it unless she did help. He didn’t want to damage their relationship with some goofy stunt.
Maybe it was a completely brilliant idea.
Without thinking, he grabbed Lois around the waist and kissed her square on the mouth. “You’re a genius!” he blurted. “You’re an absolute genius! You should get a medal!”
“My dad always told me I was pretty smart. And my very wise grandmother once told me that we need to bloom wherever we’re planted.”
“What?” He stopped, then realized what he was doing. “Oh – I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should never have – Lois, I’m so sorry!”
He opened his arms and she stepped back, though not as far as he would have expected. “Thank you.”
Maybe the bullet had really hit him in the head and he was hallucinating. “Thank me? For what?”
“For the hug.” She sniffed. “For the kiss.” Her eyes glistened. “It’s something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.” She leaned her forehead into his broad chest. “Mostly – for telling me I had a good idea for you. For letting me know that maybe – just maybe – I can make up for some of the horrible things I allowed Lex to do for so many years.”
“Hey! You’re not responsible for what he did. That’s all on him.”
“I know. But I am responsible for not stopping him way back when. I’m responsible for – for letting him murder my sister.” She grabbed his jacket in her hands and pulled his lapels together. “And if you can do some real good with your life, maybe – maybe I can too.” She looked up at him. “I’m going to try. Starting with Lex’ trial.”
He brushed her cheeks dry with his thumb. “I’ll be around. I promise.”
“You’d better be.” She smiled through a sniffle. “Those marshals are amateurs next to Clark Kent.” She brushed the end of her nose with her sleeve. “I’d really like for you to be there to protect me. Would that be okay with your boss?”
“I’ll convince him.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He smiled softly. “And I don’t want anyone to hurt you before you testify.” He chuckled. “Actually, I don’t want anyone to hurt you at all.”
Her own smile widened. “Done and done. Hey, where are those US marshals, anyway? Seems like you can’t find a cop when you really need one.”
He chortled deep in his chest. “I can hear them about three miles out, sirens blaring and tires squealing. Won’t be long now.”
*****
Nigel kept trying, but while the website he’d found contained multiple files which he was certain held information on his employer’s business affairs, he’d not yet succeeded in penetrating all of the multiple levels of security. Just as he’d needed help decoding the fractals, he would need help hacking into this site and destroying the information in it.
He reached out and touched his phone. At the same time someone knocked on his door. He decided to postpone the call until after his visitor completed his or her errand.
“Come in.”
The door swung open and Asabi ghosted in. The turbaned man stopped about four feet from Nigel’s desk and bowed slightly, then stood with his hands crossed in front of him.
“I assume you have news for me, Asabi.”
“I fear so, sir.”
“That sounds as if you bear ill tidings.”
The Indian man’s expression never changed. “That is, unfortunately, true. Lois Lane-Luthor has been located, but she and her Metropolis escort are about to be taken into custody by the United States Marshal Service. This service will then deliver the two of them to the federal courthouse in Denver within the hour. At that point, Mrs. Luthor will be deposed before a judge, who will then issue warrants for the arrest and confinement of a number of Mr. Luthor’s closest associates, including the two of us.”
Nigel didn’t respond for a long moment, then said, “I assume you wish to discuss an exit strategy?”
“No, sir. I have delivered my final message to you, save that I am about to disappear from this vicinity. I have no wish to reside within a prison for the rest of my natural life.”
“I see. And if, despite any and all precautions you plan to take, you are captured?”
“I will do what I must to mitigate my own discomfort and disadvantages. I will not return to India to face a death sentence, so I will not allow myself to be deported.”
Nigel nodded. “And I will not allow you to betray either Mr. Luthor or myself.”
“I expected no less.”
Before Nigel could snatch the pistol from his belt holster – a task made more difficult by his seated position in the desk chair – Asabi’s right hand flicked out in his direction. Nigel heard nothing, saw nothing, only felt an abrupt impact to the left of his breastbone.
He looked down to see the intricately carved hilt of a throwing dagger protruding from his chest. His eyes blurred and his breath stopped in his throat.
Asabi had killed him.
“I apologize for the abruptness of my resignation,” the younger man said from far away, “but there simply is not sufficient time for a standard exit interview. Suffice it for me to say that I have enriched myself over the years and will live in comparative luxury for the rest of my life.” The first truly predatory smile Nigel had ever seen from Asabi spread over his Indian face. “Good-bye, Mr. St. John.”
Asabi turned to the office door as Nigel fought to lift his right hand to the bottom of the desk where the small utility drawer would normally reside. As Asabi grasped the door handle, Nigel flipped two micro-switches and felt a warning vibration on a small button pad. As Asabi pulled the door open, Nigel pressed the button.
The C4 embedded around the door frame exploded inward and crushed Asabi’s body with the overpressure from the blast. The force of the explosion filled the room and knocked Nigel’s chair over backward. As Nigel’s vision faded for the last time, he doubted that the other man had even known that he’d died.
The afterlife he’d been warned about as a youth did not welcome him with open arms. Nor did he experience any satisfaction from bringing Asabi with him.
