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From Part 25:Damn that Taylor woman anyway!
He would have to deal with her later. He would simply have to use whatever methods necessary to get her to hand over the documents - and since it appeared that she would be of no further use to him, as he had already decided that he wouldn't be needing the services of the Toasters any more, she was expendable.
Lex slammed the safe shut and then straightened, anger still coursing though him. What a waste of time this had been!
He would get out of the club and, once back in his penthouse, put the necessary instructions in place to deal with Taylor. She and Nigel, in fact.
That was an oversight. Given everything Nigel knew, he couldn’t afford to just fire him. Nigel would have to be removed - permanently. Once he got back home, he would have to make arrangements to ensure that those two little problems were dealt with.
Lex strode towards the door. And then he halted, his hand on the doorknob. He could smell smoke.
***********
Now read on...Clark strode into the precinct headquarters, his cape swishing behind him, and had to stifle a smile at the stunned expression on the face of the desk sergeant, who stammered, "Uh... Sup-Superman, c'n - can I help y-you?"
Keeping his voice steady, Clark said, "Thank you Sergeant. I need to see Detective Inspector Henderson."
"Uh, sure. He's... he's in the back. If you want to go through there - " The sergeant indicated a door. "- I'll give him a call to let him know you're here."
Clark proceeded into the back section of the building again, taking care not to give the impression that he knew where he was going.
"Superman!" Henderson had emerged from his office. "This way."
Clark followed him into the office, closing the door behind him. "Good morning, Inspector."
Henderson acknowledged the greeting with a nod. "What can I do for you, Superman? It's good to meet you, by the way. What you're doing is certainly making life easier for the MPD."
Clark nodded in return, guessing at what the experienced cop wasn't saying. "But maybe a little too easy, perhaps?" he suggested.
Henderson threw himself into his seat. "I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea, Superman. Believe me, every cop in this city thanks God for you every night. But at the same time, it does bother me to think that if they start relying on you too much, policing standards will slip."
Clark took a seat opposite him. "What you're really trying to say is that some officers might get lazy, Detective."
"I didn't say that." Henderson's eyes twinkled faintly. "Anyway, you didn't come here to find out what the MPD thinks of you, I'm sure, so...?"
"Actually, I want to do something for you. Clark and Lois tell me that you have a warrant out for the arrest of Nigel St John. I want to help find him, but I don't have a very clear idea of what he looks like. Do you have any photographs?"
Henderson got to his feet immediately. "Glad you said 'photographs', plural, because this guy's a master of disguise. You need to study his overall physical characteristics as much as facial features. He can disguise his hair or eye colour, shave off his beard, pad himself to make himself look fat, use make-up to look younger - but he can't do much about his height other than stooping." He spread several photographs out on the desk, at the same time giving Clark a detailed description of St John.
Clark took in the patrician features, the watery pale blue eyes, the wispy silver hair and goatee beard. He gazed at the photographs for a few moments, visualising the man who had attacked him that morning and seeing the man in the photos underneath the disguise. After a minute or two, he looked up and nodded at Henderson. "I don't think I'll have any problems recognising him."
"Good. If you find him, I'll consider myself in your debt, Superman."
Clark shook his head. "I have my own reasons for wanting to find him. He's... hurt some friends of mine. And I think his testimony could help put away someone else who's caused them even greater hurt."
"Yeah." Henderson got to his feet. "Okay. I'm going to be around here most of the day, but if you need to speak to me and I'm not here..."
Standing up, Clark said, "I know how to contact you. And I won't speak to anyone but you."
"Thanks." The detective walked to the door, then paused, his hand on the knob. "And thanks for coming in, too. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome." Clark nodded in acknowledgement as he left the office, then strode out of the building and immediately took flight.
He began to circle the city, but then was struck by a thought, and he headed south. A few seconds later, he was hovering above the airport. It crossed his mind briefly to wonder what the air traffic controllers made of the unannounced, unauthorised blip on their monitors, but he ignored that thought and focused on the task at hand.
And his hunch paid off. In the middle of the departure lounge, dressed in biker leather and wearing a baseball cap, a clean-shaven, dark-haired man sat reading a Harley-Davidson magazine. There was little about the man which resembled either the photographs Clark had seen or the man who had mugged him that morning. The build was the same, but he had dyed his hair and was wearing make-up to make himself look younger. Even his eyes were a different colour - but Clark had seen beyond the brown contact lenses and the near-black hair dye.
This was Nigel St John, he was certain of it. Clearly the man had suspected that his game might be up, and he was making a pre-emptive departure from town.
Seconds later, Superman strode through the airport concourse, to considerable consternation. Clark avoided making eye contact with anyone, even airport security; he was focused only on getting to the departure lounge before his target realised that his getaway had been foiled.
A flight was called: a Brazilian airline flying to Rio de Janeiro. And, as Clark watched through the partitions screening the departure area from the main concourse, St John got to his feet and picked up a small carryon bag. Clark broke into a run, avoiding using Super-speed because, in an environment as crowded as this, it would be too easy for people to get knocked over and hurt. But running at a slightly faster than human pace would do just as well.
St John was almost at the gate for his flight when Clark vaulted over the security scanners with a shout of, "Sorry, but this is important!" And, seconds later, as his quarry was handing over his travel documents for inspection, he was able to lay his hand heavily on the man's shoulder.
"This is as far as you go, St John. I know a police officer who would be very interested in talking to you."
**********
"...so what do you think, Dad? The guy's going to go down anyway, but any additional evidence we can get will make him stay locked away even longer."
Lois waited, anxious beyond her own expectations, though she wasn't sure why that should be the case. When had her father ever done anything that conflicted with what he wanted just because she'd asked him to? Even when he'd helped her and Clark out with the Mencken investigation, that had mainly been to save his own skin: by coming forward, he'd managed to escape being arrested.
But when Sam Lane spoke, his reply wasn't what Lois had expected. "You're telling me that you were burned out of your apartment three days ago, and you've been spied on, and that your partner's almost been killed twice - and this is the first I've heard of it?"
Lois almost rolled her eyes. Just why would she have called him? It would have been every bit as useless as calling her mother. Each would have remonstrated and told her how terrible it was and that someone needed to be brought to justice - but neither would have offered any practical solutions.
Unlike Clark, who had, quietly and efficiently, stepped in and offered her comfort and the shelter of his home.
"I've been busy trying to put away the man responsible, Dad," she pointed out, her words a deliberate reminder of what she'd asked him.
"I can see that," he agreed. "But, Princess, where have you been staying? Are you all right for money?"
She must have got through to him for once, Lois realised - the concern for her welfare was sincere, even if his solution was, as always, to throw money at the problem. "I'm staying with a friend," she told him. "You know him - Clark Kent."
"Your partner? The guy you said has had two attempts on his life in the last two days? That doesn't sound very safe, Lois," Sam Lane pointed out, in the same patronising tone which had driven her crazy when she'd been at college. The tone in which he'd pointed out that her major wasn't in an 'important' subject like medicine or the law or business. The tone in which he'd criticised the time she'd spent on extra-curricular activities such as writing for the college newspaper. The tone in which he'd pointed out that interning at the Daily Planet was really a very poorly-paid job.
Lois closed her eyes briefly, driving away the memories. She was an adult now, after all, in control of her own destiny. And at least one person thought that she was lovable no matter what she did.
"Clark can look after himself," she said firmly. "And I can too, as it happens. But, just to remind you, Daddy, the guy responsible is going to be arrested pretty soon anyway."
"And you want me to help by coming forward," her father concluded. "Of course, that would suggest that you believe I didn't tell the police everything last time."
Lois allowed her silence to speak for itself.
After a pause, her father spoke again. "Okay. Tell me who I need to call. And this cop friend of yours better give me witness protection."
**********
Nigel St John hadn't at all enjoyed his free Super flight to the police precinct.
Inside the airport, at first the man had protested, insisting that he wasn't who Clark claimed, but a quick and very light application of heat vision on his face had made the make-up and latex begin to peel away, at which point he'd admitted his identity and observed that the game was up. And then he'd exclaimed in fear as Clark, having marched him out of the building, had swooped upwards suddenly.
"Put me down!" he'd yelped.
"I could," Clark had told him idly. "Or I could just keep flying for hours. Or I could go up, like this - " and he'd swooped up vertically. "Or I could drop like a stone." Again, he suited action to words. "Or I could even just... drop you." His grasp of St John loosened.
"Don't! Please don't!" his captive screamed.
"That all depends on you," Clark pointed out. "Like I said, there's a detective inspector who very much wants to talk to you. I think he's got quite a few outstanding charges against you, including an armed assault against Clark Kent this morning. But I have reason to believe that, should you be... co-operative, he might be willing to offer you a deal of some sort."
"Co-operative," St John spat out, more belligerent once Clark had started flying normally. "I presume you mean if I am willing to give evidence against... someone."
"Try Lex Luthor."
"And why would I wish to do that? The man is an upstanding businessman. And furthermore, he employs me."
"To do things like mugging reporters he doesn’t like?" Clark suggested. "You and I both know that Lex Luthor isn’t what he claims. Isn't that why you were fleeing to Brazil? Because you knew that, once Luthor discovered that you'd failed again, he would have you dealt with?"
St John had been silent for several moments after that. Then, as the precinct came into sight below them, he'd said, "You may tell Inspector Henderson that I will be pleased to assist in his investigations."
*********
The door was hot. Very hot, in fact. Lex pulled his hand back swiftly, squeezing it against his chest protectively, and then waving it in front of him as his body heat increased the burning sensation.
He was inside a burning building. The Metro Club was on fire.
Accident... or arson?
A thought struck him, and cold fear coursed through him. Was this Toni Taylor's idea of revenge?
But that couldn't be, he told himself quickly. How could she possibly have known he was here? He'd taken great care to ensure that no-one saw him enter the club. And he'd been looking for security cameras, too, and had managed to avoid the couple he'd seen.
But there could have been hidden cameras...
Maybe she had seen him. And maybe she'd called her friends, the Toasters.
Although... would she really have set fire to her own club? He knew, because she lost no opportunity to tell him, how proud she was of what she'd done with the club - not just the bar itself, but the little businesses she directed from its back rooms. At the same time, as he knew very well, a building was just a building. It could be rebuilt; it could be built in a different place.
Was Toni Taylor trying to kill him?
"You crazy fool!" he shouted to himself. "Get OUT of here! You can figure out who and why afterwards!"
Frantically, he looked around the room, searching for another exit. There were no windows. The only door was the one which was looking increasingly scorched, and under which tendrils of smoke were already beginning to appear. Was there a ventilation shaft somewhere? Or access to the basement?
Beginning to cough, Lex dropped to his knees and started grabbing at the floor-tiles. There had to be another way out. There had to be!
*********
Bill Henderson had been very pleased indeed to take delivery of Nigel St John. Clark was still smiling as he swooped up again after leaving the precinct. St John had barely waited for introductions to be concluded in the interview room before asking for witness protection and insisting that he wanted to be told what the best deal he could expect was before he would say a word.
Henderson had glanced up and winked at Clark before saying, "Thanks, Superman. You can leave this... gentleman... to me now."
"I'll be happy to. And if there's any other way in which I can be of assistance, let me know."
So, Nigel St John was in police custody and, Clark was sure, about to sing like a canary, to borrow a cliché. Clark made a mental note to call Henderson once he was back at his apartment, just to remind the detective that he had promised Lane and Kent the exclusive.
He dropped down onto his balcony and strode into his bedroom before spinning into his Clark clothes. Striding out into the kitchen, he called to Lois, "I got him! And he's currently interrogating Henderson about the likelihood of getting a police escort to a safe haven somewhere in Rio," he added, joking.
"Who?" Lois looked up from her laptop. "Oh! Nigel St John?"
"Yeah. I found him."
"And he's willing to give evidence against Luthor?"
"Yup." Clark grinned. "The guy's not going to know what's hit him."
"Terrific!" Lois's smile could have lit up the entire city. "And my father's going to -"
But Clark didn't hear the rest. His Super-hearing cut in, picking up an emergency broadcast.
"...all units respond... report of fire out of control... Metro Club..."
"The Metro Club's on fire!" he exclaimed, spinning back into his Suit. "I have to get over there."
"As Superman or as a reporter?" Lois demanded, jumping to her feet.
Good question. She was right: at this time of day, Superman wasn't really necessary to help with a fire in a nightclub. However, Lois Lane and Clark Kent had very good reason to be interested in this particular fire in this particular location.
"You want to come?"
"You need to ask?"
"Okay. But I'm going to be flying pretty fast, and I'm also going to dump you pretty quickly somewhere close to the club, okay?"
Lois's quick acceptance and her immediate expectation that he would pick her up and go didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was the ease with which he'd informed her that he'd be somewhat rough with her. He hadn't even thought twice about it. It really did seem as if he was managing to overcome his paranoia.
The fire was burning fiercely as they drew close. Under cover of the smoke, Clark dropped down in an alleyway and set Lois down. "I'm going to help," he told her. "I'm not happy about how close the flames are to the building on the other side. I can see some containers in there with what looks like something nasty in them - if they catch fire it won't be pretty."
Lois nodded. "I'll see what I can find out. And I'll want a Superman interview later, okay?"
He grinned before taking off again. A second or two later, he landed in front of the chief fire officer on site. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Superman! You've been busy around this part of town lately," the officer said dryly.
"So have you and your colleagues," Clark replied. "Believe me, if I'd been able to find these so-called Toasters, the police would have had them in custody by now."
"I wish." The officer shook his head. "Anyway, this one isn't as bad as some. It's a nightclub - the owner is on her way here, apparently, but she told the police over the phone that the building should be empty at this sort of time. We're treating it as a salvage-property fire rather than one that endangers lives."
Clark nodded. "The building to the left - any idea what it was used for?"
"A factory of some sort. I have some men checking it out now."
"Good." Clark related what he'd seen from above. "Let me know if you need any help with that - in the meantime, I'll see what I can do to help get this under control."
With that, he gathered his cape and shot upwards, heading for the heart of the blaze. A few applications of freezing Super breath calmed the flames noticeably, and he shifted position, planning to apply the same technique in a few other places.
And then he heard it. A long, high-pitched scream. It was a sound like an animal in distress, but he felt sure that the voice was human - a human being in intense pain.
He darted downwards. The scream came again, loud, uncontrollable, anguished.
There was someone in the club.
***********
The smoke was thick and black, and Lex's throat was dry and burning from coughing. He'd tied the scarf around his nose and mouth, trying to cut down on the amount of smoke he inhaled, but the silk was too sheer. His lungs must be full of smoke by now, he knew.
And there was no way out. No way other than the way he'd come in.
He was trapped in a burning building, one which threatened to become an inferno very soon, he suspected. And there was no sign of the fire department - he'd thought a few minutes ago that he could hear sirens, but there'd been no sound of people making their way into the club with axes, no welcome deluge of water to extinguish the fire.
So much for the Metropolis Fire Department. He wondered why he bothered paying his taxes - well, at least those taxes which he did actually pay.
So he had a choice: he could either stay where he was, in which case he would die within minutes of smoke inhalation, or he could open the door and make a run for it, taking the risk that he might burn to death before he got out of the building.
One way meant certain death. The other... there was a chance that he could get out alive.
He couldn't allow himself to contemplate the prospect of death. It simply couldn't happen - not to Lex Luthor. When he died, it would be when he was ready, when he'd achieved every goal he had set himself. It would certainly not be because some insubordinate minion had dared to challenge his authority.
He - Lex Luthor - owned the Toasters. He had bought and paid for them. There was no way that he intended to die in any fire started by them - and especially not one which he had most certainly not authorised.
Once he was out of this building... the Toasters were finished.
Lex stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around his hands, then reached for the door. The handle still felt hot, even through a couple of layers of leather. He ignored it, tugging at the door. It didn't open easily - warped already by the heat, he realised, and had to pause for a coughing fit to pass.
The door opened suddenly, and the corridor was visible. Or... he had to presume that it was the corridor. All that Lex could see was a towering wall of flickering red and yellow.
And then an enormous ball of flame, attracted by the sudden availability of oxygen, rushed towards him with a loud roar.
Lex screamed in agony as the flames rolled over him, making him stagger backwards and fall to the floor. And then he screamed again, the heat and pain excruciating.
He was on fire! The pain... the pain...
They... would... pay...
**********
To be concluded in Part 27.
