Wedding Rearrangement: 4/?
by Nan Smith
Previously:
A dirt road crossed the gravel one and Clark turned onto it. The trees were thicker, although they were nothing like the enormous pines that they had seen during their hike through the mountains of Colorado. Clark slowed the car down further, and Lois sat up straighter, looking around.
Little paths barely wide enough to accommodate the car branched off the dirt road and at last Clark turned onto one or them. They went on another ten minutes, jolting and bumping along the so-called road that would have been better called a footpath, Lois thought, crossed another, slightly better-maintained bridge, and finally it came to an end in a small clearing. Clark pulled into the clearing, parked the car by one side of it and cut the engine.
"We're here," he announced.
**********
And now, Part 4:
William Henderson unlocked the door of his car, which was parked in the Precinct's parking lot, and slid behind the wheel. The investigation into "The Mrs." was proceeding slowly, as he had expected. This was the organization built up by Lex Luthor, after all. The LexCorp Board of Directors was dodging questions with the expertise of lawyers, which wasn't surprising since most of them were lawyers, but he had the feeling that he was onto something. The Board was battling frantically to save something from the wreck of the company and apparently had little time to waste with the police. At least, that was the impression they gave. Henderson wasn't so sure. He'd asked to speak to Luthor's successor, Richard Isakson, and been told that the new CEO was out of the country at the moment, on company business, and would be happy to schedule an appointment with him at a later date. The person speaking to him, however, was unable to give an exact time for Mr. Isakson's return. Luthor's former right hand man, a gentleman by the name of Flanagan, seemed less than happy at the mention of Luthor's successor but unwilling to talk about it. None of them, apparently, had heard of the attempts on the lives of Luthor's widow and her writing partner, Clark Kent, and all of them professed horror and disbelief at the story. None of them would admit to knowledge of the search team in the LexCorp helicopter, one member of which had apparently pulled a gun on Kent. For a bunch of corporate lawyers, they seemed, at least to him, just a little too pure to be believed.
Henderson fastened his seat belt and inserted his car key into the ignition. As the engine kicked over with a sputter and then began to purr, a familiar voice, with the strong accent prevalent in Metropolis's Suicide Slum district, said, "The word is you wanna know about 'The Mrs.', Inspector."
Henderson controlled his start of surprise with an effort and raised his eyes to look into the rear-view mirror. The narrow face of a middle-aged man looked smugly back at him.
"Well, well -- Bobby Bigmouth, as I live and breathe,” he said, after a short pause. “How the devil did you get into my car?"
The individual in the back seat was long and lean, with the faint impression of hunger about him, like a man who is constantly on a diet. Henderson had occasionally had contact with him, although he didn't know him well, but he knew of Bobby Bigmouth’s reputation as a reliable, if somewhat exasperating, snitch, and he knew that Bobby's appetite was legendary among Henderson's fellow officers.
"Trade secret," Bobby said. "I hear you're lookin' for information about 'The Mrs.' I can help you, for the price of a deli sandwich with all the trimmings. And a promise to keep my name out of it."
"What are you up to?" Henderson inquired. "I've never known you to look me up without a good reason."
"Hey," Bobby said. "A square meal is serious business -- but actually I got another one. Let's just say I owe Lane a favor, and I don't like bein' in debt -- okay?"
"All right," Henderson said. "One deli sandwich with all the trimmings -- if the information's good. What have you got for me?"
"From what I hear, there's a contract out on Lane -- Special kind of contract. It’s gotta look like an accident and only good until the thirty day anniversary of Luthor's wedding. After that, it's off. I’m guessing it’s got something to do with Luthor's will."
"We'd figured that," Henderson said.
"Yeah, well, maybe you don't know that The Mrs. has gotten into the investigation herself. She's running Luthor's syndicate now. She's even running the legit part of the business. All those lawyers on the Board of Directors know they better toe the line if they want to live. You're not gonna get any answers out of them."
"That's interesting," Henderson said slowly. "What kind of hold does she have over them?"
"Same as Luthor did -- good old fear. Blackmail material, not to mention their lives. Nobody crossed Luthor and lived. Same here. That plastic surgeon that turned up dead in the dumpster this morning made the mistake of knowin' too much."
"What's he got to do with it? What did he know?"
"Let's say that if Lois Lane turns up in Metropolis unexpectedly, you might want to compare her fingerprints to the ones on file."
"How do you know I can?" Henderson inquired dryly.
Bobby just looked at him. "You're tellin' me you don't have Lois's prints?" he inquired. "After the time you arrested her for trespassin' on that rich guy's property five years ago?"
How the devil did Bobby know about that? Henderson wondered. "The owner refused to press charges," he pointed out.
"So? That doesn't mean you tossed her prints," Bobby said.
"All right, supposing that's true," Henderson said, tacitly conceding the point, "what can you tell me about the Mrs. that I don't know?"
"Her and Luthor divorced about ten years ago," Bobby said. "Rumor has it they were married on a cruise ship. She wants Lane out of the picture for good and the word is she sent one of Luthor's enforcers to Smallville to try to get Kent's location out of his parents. I guess she figures that if they can get their hands on Kent, he'll know where Lane is -- if she's not with him." The snitch paused, probably for dramatic effect.
"You got a name?" Henderson asked, wondering absently how and where Bobby came up with this information.
Bobby shook his head regretfully. "They just call her 'The Mrs.', he said, "and the enforcer don't have a name that anybody says out loud. He's one of their best, though -- after the way the last ones screwed up. If I could put a name on either one, I would."
"For dessert?" Henderson said dryly. "Anything else? The name of the cruise ship would be handy."
Bobby managed to look wounded at the side comment, but he said, "Nope. I’ll tellya what, though. I’ll do some snooping around and see if I can come up with anything. If I find something else out, you'll know, but I gotta be careful." He held out a hand. "That's got to be worth that sandwich."
"Yeah." Henderson fished for his wallet and handed over a twenty. "There you go. Buy what you want -- but if you find out anything else, be damn sure you call me before you call anybody else, got it?"
"You got it, Inspector. Just keep my name out of it." Bobby opened the rear door and got out. Henderson shook his head slowly as the nondescript figure of the snitch ambled inconspicuously away. He'd get the discretionary fund to reimburse him for Bobby's snitch fee, he thought. It was interesting how Bobby had gotten into this thing without anyone asking. Of course, there was the lure of the free meal but, oddly enough, Henderson didn't think that had been the primary motive. Lois Lane had the inexplicable ability to inspire plenty of loyalty in her friends and acquaintances. Those that weren't plotting to kill her, of course. They even did their best to protect her from herself. Perry White, Kent and those two kids had sure worked their butts off to keep her from marrying Luthor. Superman apparently had been involved, too. It was too bad they hadn't been a little bit faster. If they had, Lane wouldn't have assassins after her. He gave a faint snort. She wouldn't be Lois Lane if she wasn't in *some* sort of trouble, he thought. He supposed he'd better get in contact with the Smallville authorities and tell them that they had a professional assassin heading their way. And he'd better warn Kent, too. And then maybe Perry White could get the Olsen kid to dig into Luthor's life, ten years back, and find out the name of the ex-Mrs. Lex Luthor ....
**********
"That wasn't so hard," Lois said, trying not to pant. She stood back, surveying the tent that she and Clark had spent the last hour setting up. She glanced at her watch. "It's four-fifteen. What's next?"
"Now we can put on our swimsuits and go down to the lake," Clark said. "There's still plenty of daylight left and it's just a short walk."
"How short?" Lois asked.
"Five minutes tops. This spot used to be our favorite because it was close to the lake."
"Don't we need to get out the supplies or something?"
Clark shook his head. "They're safe where they are. It'll keep the squirrels out of the food. Did Mom get you anything to swim in?"
"No," Lois said. "People might have wondered if your mom had bought herself a bathing suit."
"Why?" Clark asked. "Mom swims when she comes here. Of course, she usually uses scuba gear."
That figured. "Well, any scuba gear of your mom's would have been too small for me. I figured I'd just use a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Will that do?"
"Sure," Clark said. "People swim in anything and everything here. My favorite swimsuit when I was a kid was a pair of cut-off jeans. Why don't I get the stuff and you can use the tent to change."
Lois had wondered how they were going to manage that, or, now that they were engaged, if Clark would expect her to behave differently. Her farm boy from Krypton seemed to be letting her decide where things were going to go and how far, and, to tell the truth, she found that reassuring. Lex had definitely been irked when she had expressed a desire to wait until their wedding night, although he'd gone along with her wishes. If Clark was disappointed, he wasn't letting on in any way. Unexpectedly, she was a little let down by his behavior, but at the same time it took off a good deal of the pressure. Clark hadn't even raised the subject, so maybe he was waiting for her to do so. She supposed that she should, sooner or later -- maybe tonight, while they were cooking dinner, she thought. Just to clarify things, so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.
Clark had gone to the car and was unlocking the trunk. She'd packed everything Martha had bought for her in a big plastic bag in lieu of a suitcase, and so had Clark.
"My stuff's on the left side," she told him.
"Okay." Clark pulled out her bag. "Here you go."
Inside the tent, she made quick work of changing into the outfit. Her bra could stand lake water, she thought, and she now had four others as well, so this one could certainly be sacrificed for swimming. She found the pair of black shorts that Martha had picked up for her, and the plain blue T-shirt, and changed her clothing.
Clark was waiting patiently when she emerged from the tent with the beach towel that Martha had insisted on loaning her. "I'll be right out," he said, and stepped inside the tent.
True to his word, he came out again only a couple of minutes later, clad in a pair of tight cutoff jeans and minus his shirt. Lois had seen him shirtless once before, when he had answered the door of his hotel room wrapped in a towel and she recalled now that she had been very favorably impressed with his build. She had seen him since, as Superman, in skin-tight blue spandex, but without that thin barrier he seemed so much -- well, more. She ran her gaze over the bare expanse of hairless chest and flat middle, and found herself almost unable to look away. Well, why not? she rationalized. She was engaged to marry him, after all. Why shouldn't she look? He was certainly worth looking at. Especially half dressed and wearing almost too-tight cut-offs.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Um ... yes, fine." She forced her gaze higher and looked him in the eyes. "Just, um...admiring the view."
To her surprise, he looked uncertain and reached for his own towel. "Maybe I should have borrowed Dad's trunks," he said. "These jeans seem to have shrunk a bit."
"They're fine," she assured him, resolutely not glancing at the item of clothing in question. "Besides, if you’d worn your dad's I might be getting a view of a lot more of you than you wanted."
"Lo--is!" He sounded almost shocked, and her surprise turned to amusement at the pink flush spreading up his neck.
She giggled. This was the man who flew around the skies of Metropolis in a form-fitting, spandex suit? Talk about a split personality! "Don't worry," she assured him, slipping her arm through his, "so far I haven't seen anything not to like. Let's go swimming."
**********
Rachel Harris was studying an FBI bulletin regarding a kidnapping suspect who was believed to have crossed the Kansas/Missouri border when the phone rang. Greg answered it.
“Smallville Sheriff’s Office. This is Deputy Ross...Who? Metropolis? What can I do for you, Inspector?” He listened for several more seconds. “She’s right here. Just a moment.” He covered the receiver. “It’s an Inspector Henderson from Metropolis, wanting to speak to you.”
“Metropolis?” Rachel picked up her extension. “This is Sheriff Harris.”
Five minutes later, she put down the phone, scowling. Greg looked at her, his eyebrows lifted. “What’s wrong, Sheriff?”
“We may have a problem,” Rachel said. “Clark and Mrs. Luthor -- Lois Lane, actually, since she didn’t take Luthor’s name -- are at the Kent farm, hiding out from the media. Henderson knew it; I guess Clark let him know where they were. He’s found out that there’s a hit man headed for Smallville, who’s after Ms. Lane.”
Greg’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “Ms. Lane inherits half of Luthor’s estate -- any part that they can’t prove wasn’t acquired legally. Somebody in his organization doesn’t want her to get the money.”
Greg frowned over that for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I get it. People get killed over twenty dollars. Luthor had billions. Y’know, I don’t think I’d want to be in her place. Wouldn’t be worth it.”
“That’s for sure,” Rachel said. “I better call Martha.”
**********
They emerged from the trees onto the flat beach of a lake. The water looked clear and cool to Lois, who was frankly sweating in the humid warmth of a typical Kansas summer afternoon. She wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Clark, she noticed, didn’t appear to be in the least uncomfortable, but she didn’t say anything. If his powers didn’t come back all the way, she didn’t want to get his hopes up but she was willing to bet that before long they would be seeing Superman again.
“We can hang our towels on a tree limb,” Clark suggested, suiting the action to the word. “Too bad we don’t have our old motorboat and water skis. I used to be pretty good when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, Dad and Mother used to have a cabin on the beach in Northern New Troy,” Lois said. She hung her towel beside his and removed her tennis shoes. “I was pretty good on skis, myself.”
“We’ll have to go somewhere on our honeymoon where we can ski,” Clark said. “Have you thought about it?”
“Kind of,” Lois admitted. “I’d love to go to Hawaii. I’ve been to Oahu once for a journalism conference, but I pretty much stayed in the hotel -- except for the luau we attended the last evening.”
“I’ve been there,” Clark said. “The islands are beautiful. Maybe we could go to one of the less-commercialized ones like Kauai or Molokai. I’d enjoy showing you around.”
“I’ve got some vacation money saved up,” Lois said. “Maybe we could get one of those cabins right on the beach -- you know, with a ceiling fan and lots of privacy.”
“I’ve saved some, too,” Clark admitted. “Together, we should have enough. If my --“ he lowered his voice, “powers come back, we wouldn’t even have to take a plane.”
“I guess you saved a lot of money traveling by doing that,” Lois said. “Before you came to work at the Planet?”
“Sometimes,” Clark admitted. “One summer I worked my way as a deck hand on a cargo ship, just to see what it was like. It was sure different, but it turned out to be lucky for the ship.”
“What happened?”
“Oh -- a grease fire broke out in the galley and got out of control. Fortunately, I was able to put it out without anybody realizing what happened.”
“I guess you did things like that a lot while you were traveling.”
“Well, not a lot,” Clark said, “but sometimes. I worked odd jobs here and there, and freelanced a bit.”
“Like with the Borneo Gazette?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Anyway, after a couple of years, I got tired of it and decided it was time to get on with my life. I’d always wanted to work for a newspaper like the Planet, so I decided to come back to the States and give it a try.”
“Did you try any papers before the Planet?”
He shook his head. “No. First I decided to try for the one I wanted to work for the most, so I came to Metropolis.”
“Why the Planet? There’s the New York Times and the Washington Post --“
“Well, I’d seen the writing of this incredible journalist in the Planet and it really impressed me.”
“Who --“ She broke off when she saw him smile. “*Me?*”
“Uh huh. And then, during my interview, you charged into Perry’s office like a one-woman tornado, and I was hooked. That’s why I came back with the story about the theater the next day. I *really* wanted to be hired there after meeting you.”
While they had been talking, they strolled down toward the water. There was a weathered wooden pier jutting out into the lake, and Clark led her toward that. “Watch out for splinters,” he cautioned her. “There’s a ladder at the end where we can climb down into the water.”
The ladder was still there, or perhaps it had been replaced with a newer one, for the metal was suspiciously bright. Lois watched as Clark descended and pushed away from the ladder, treading water and waiting for her.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Nice,” Clark said. “Come on in.”
Considering that it was Clark who was telling her that the water was great, she descended the ladder carefully, dipping a toe into the lake before she completely took his word, but he was right after all. The water was cool but not cold and after a moment of initial adjustment, after the warmth of the air, Lois pushed away from the ladder. The water felt like silk against her skin as she glided forward.
“This is wonderful,” Lois said. “And it looks like we have the whole lake to ourselves.”
“Pretty much,” Clark agreed. “I see a guy in a rowboat over there,” he added, pointing, “but that’s all.”
“Where?” Lois asked, shading her eyes against the sun. “You mean that little spot of red, way over near the other shore?”
“Yeah,” Clark said after a moment.
“Your eyes are definitely better than mine,” Lois said. “I’d even say, they were super.”
“Yeah ... maybe,” Clark said, and she could hear the hope in his voice, even though he tried to hide it.
“I’d say your powers are coming back, all right,” Lois said. “Can you do anything else?”
He closed his eyes and Lois held her breath, trying to tread water quietly.
He opened them again. “I still can’t fly,” he said, and she could feel the disappointment in his words.
“Yes, but you can see better than you could yesterday,” Lois said. “Remember what I said -- they seem to be getting better gradually. Have you tried any of your other powers -- like, oh -- X-ray vision, maybe?”
“No,” Clark said. He looked down at the water and Lois saw him squint. Another long silence. She was just about to speak when he blinked several times and looked back at her. “It seems to work.” His voice was shaking slightly. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Betcha I am,” Lois said. On impulse, she hit the lake’s surface with one hand, splashing water into his face and turned to flee as fast as she could swim. “You’re it!” she called.
Clark was after her instantly and she had barely gone ten feet before he caught up with her and grabbed her by the wet material of her T-shirt. “All right Ms. Lane, now you pay!”
She squealed, expecting to be ducked and trying to wiggle loose, but instead he spun her around and she found herself being thoroughly kissed. She ceased struggling instantly.
He lifted his head after several endless seconds and smiled down at her. “You’re no fun,” he said teasingly. “You’re supposed to try to get away.”
“Now that would be really stupid of me, wouldn’t it,” she said breathlessly. “That’s one super power you didn’t lose.”
“Oh?”
“Every time you’ve kissed me, you’ve taken my breath away,” she said.
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll have to do it more often,” he said.
“Believe me, Farmboy, if you don’t you’re going to be in a lot of trouble!”
**********
Perhaps an hour later, they walked, wrapped in towels and dripping at every step, back toward their campsite.
“I’m starved,” Lois said. “So, what are we having for dinner tonight?”
“We’ll have to see what Mom packed,” Clark said. “Do you want to make a campfire or use the camp stove?”
“What’s a campout without a campfire?” she teased. “But we’d probably be better cooking on the stove.”
“Probably,” Clark agreed. “Okay, I’ll set up the stove while you change into something dry.”
“Don’t you want to change?” she asked.
“After you’re done,” he said. He pushed aside a scratchy growth of underbrush and they entered their clearing.
Lois occupied herself changing clothing and drying her hair as well as she could, and, by the time she emerged from the tent, Clark not only had a fire going, the little camp stove was sitting on the ground beside it and a frying pan sitting atop it was releasing delicious aromas. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was famished.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“Well, I figured the frozen chicken breasts Mom put in the ice chest were probably a good idea,” Clark said, “with canned vegetables. There’s a nice bottle of Chablis in the chest, too. Just the thing to go with chicken. And there’s a bag of marshmallows that we can toast in the fire for dessert.”
Lois heard her stomach growl. “Sounds delicious.”
“Of course, we’ll have to drink the wine out of paper cups,” Clark said.
“Fine with me,” Lois said, thinking that if it were Lex, his chef would have produced filet mignon with multiple side dishes and fine wine, served on china and crystal. Lex’s idea of roughing it was decidedly different than Clark’s. This version of camping was a lot more to her taste than Lex’s, even if she could have done without the mosquitoes that had made themselves evident in the last hour.
“There’s some citronella candles in the trunk,” Clark said, almost on cue. “Mom and Dad always brought a few when we camped here, because of the mosquitoes. Here’s the keys.”
Lois accepted the keys and went to retrieve the candles. At the same time, she recalled the cellular phone that Martha had loaned them. She’d left it in the car, figuring it would be safe enough with the doors locked. Taking it to the lake hadn’t seemed a good idea. “I think I’ll give Martha and Jonathan a call and see if Maher turned up again,” she said, setting the candles down on the ice chest next to him.
“Good idea,” Clark said.
But when she opened the car door to retrieve the cell phone, it was nowhere to be found. She searched the glove compartment and under the seats, and at last had to acknowledge defeat. The phone wasn’t there.
“I can’t find it,” she said, when she returned to the center of the clearing.
“Maybe it fell off the seat,” he said.
“That’s what I thought, but I looked,” she said. “I looked everywhere I could think of. It’s not there.”
“Maybe you left it at the farm,” Clark suggested.
“Maybe,” Lois said. “I guess I must have, but I could have sworn it was in the car.”
“Did you check your purse?”
“Yes,” she told him. “And I left my purse in the trunk before we went swimming. I know you said there aren’t many thieves around here, but I didn’t want to take chances.’
“It was probably a good idea,” Clark said, peaceably. “Well, if we need to call home, we can walk down to the restrooms. There’s a pay phone next to them. If you call, you can ask Mom to look around and see if you left the phone there.”
“I guess so,” Lois said. “I was sure I brought it, but maybe not.”
“It would be easy to forget,” Clark said. “If you intended to put it in your purse and got distracted, you might have thought you did.”
“Yeah,” Lois said. “Oh well, it’s not a big deal. I’ll call after dinner.”
“And in the meantime,” Clark said, with his best French accent, “if you’d take a seat on this fine fallen log that I just happened to drag over here, I’ll serve you your dinner.”
**********
tbc
