Part 19
“So, you know I didn’t tell you my biggest secret,” Clark began over dessert. “You already know what it is, but you won’t tell me so I can confirm or deny it?”
Lois licked the chocolate mousse off her spoon and grinned at him. They were sitting a booth at Alfonso’s, a small Italian eatery not far from Lois’s apartment. “But if it was a secret, would you confirm it?”
“It might depend on what it was,” Clark argued. A waiter refilled their coffee cups and dropped off the bill.
“Well, I did get confirmation from your parents,” Lois told him. “Unless you have secrets you haven’t let them in on.”
“Everyone has things they haven’t told their parents,” Clark retorted. “I haven’t lived at home since I got out of high school. I’ve done lots of things they don’t know about.”
Lois chuckled. “Uh huh. So, are you still unicorn bait?” She was surprised to see color climbing into his face. “You are!”
“Unicorns go after maidens. I wouldn’t qualify even if it was true,” Clark stated. “And I certainly wouldn’t admit it to you.”
“You are!” Lois giggled. “Detective Reed thinks you’re a hunk… I don’t see it myself, you know. I mean, you eat like an eight year-old out on their own.” She was grinning to take the sting out of her words. “I know Cat agrees with Reed. But we both know she’ll chase anything with a …”
“Lo-is.”
“It’s okay, Clark. We both know you’re much too straight for her,” Lois told him. “Besides, that wasn’t the secret I was talking about.”
“So, are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Well… it has to do with Superman,” Lois said, throwing him a proverbial bone. She watched for his reaction.
He sighed, disappointment and frustration written across his face. “Lois, you know I…”
“I know you still don’t remember him,” Lois assured him. “But you told me you’ve been dreaming about him, haven’t you?”
He nodded.
“So you’re remembering things, right?”
“Lois, I’m not dreaming about him. I’m dreaming about being him.”
She reached out and patted his hand. “Clark, it’s okay. Maybe that’s just your subconscious’s way of processing the information that’s coming forward.”
“That’s what Doctor Friskin says, too.”
“Well, she’s the doctor,” Lois said. “She’s probably right.”
-o-o-o-
Lois spent the weekend cleaning her apartment with several hours off to treat herself to the indulgence of a massage, haircut, and manicure. It had been a hectic two weeks – hell it had been a hectic six plus weeks since Superman’s presumed death. Too full of grieving and surprises, regrets and discoveries.
She needed a few days to herself to come to terms with the truth – that Superman wasn’t dead. He just didn’t remember being Superman, even though his powers seemed to be creeping back – that was the only way Clark could have saved Laderman that night.
Lois wondered what had really happened out there while he was all alone facing the asteroid. What he felt when he realized his air was gone? She shuddered. Maybe that was what had driven him to forget.
But Clark had always struck her as being very resilient and, despite calling him ‘Mister Greenjeans’ and a hack, she knew from reading some of his earlier work that he’d seen, and written about, horrors better left unimagined. He had walked away relatively unscathed from car bombings and assassinations, although she did wonder what his nightmares were like. She had spent several weeks in Africa earlier in her career chasing down a story. She still had nightmares about what she had seen there - the petty cruelty, the desperation, the open hatreds. But she had survived and so had he.
Were his problems somehow related to the makeup of the asteroid itself? Possibly. Some of what fell to Earth had been radioactive and resembled kryptonite.
Laderman had found evidence that Lex Luthor may have been involved in Superman’s ‘death’. It was a forgone conclusion that Luthor had found Superman’s disappearance to be extremely convenient. So had the rest of Metropolis’s criminal element. The MPD had beefed up their patrols in traditionally high crime areas but petty crime was still on the rise. It was amazing how Superman’s mere presence in the city had cut crime rates.
Her musings were cut short Sunday afternoon when her phone rang. She’d been letting her answering machine screen her calls all weekend. Clark hadn’t called but she knew that some of his old friends from high school were visiting Metropolis and he had promised to show them around the city.
‘Lois, I know you’re there so please pick up,” Lex Luthor’s voice announced over the answering machine speaker.
Luthor was the last person she wanted to hear from. Her, and Clark’s, investigation into Luthor’s dealings were technically on the back burner. Superman’s notes had given them some good leads but caution and double and triple checking the facts made it slow going.
She took a deep breath and picked up the phone handset. “Hello Lex.”
“Lois my dear, you haven’t been returning my calls,” Luthor chided.
“You know how it is, Lex. Work, work work,” Lois responded. “So you knew I was here? Was that a good guess or do you have my apartment under surveillance?”
There was a pause then. “Missus Cox called your office and she was assured that you were taking the weekend off. I took the chance that you were sending some of that time at home.”
His explanation was so smooth, so glib that if she hadn’t found the surveillance devices in her apartment two months before she might have believed he was telling the truth. “Well, you were right. Here I am.”
“You sound like you’re not pleased to hear from me,” he chided.
“I’m sorry, Lex,” Lois said, trying to sound contrite. “It’s just been a hard couple weeks, that’s all. What can I do for you?”
“We never did get together for lunch after the funeral,” he reminded her. “I was hoping that enough time had passed for you to be out of mourning. The city certainly is.”
“Superman was my friend,” Lois told him, making her decision. It was time to take the investigation into the jackal’s den. “But you’re right. It’s time to move ahead. My calendar’s pretty free this week so far. What day would work for you?”
“You make it sound so business-like,” Luthor told her. “I had hoped we had moved past my simply being someone to interview.”
“You’re right and I’m sorry,” Lois said. “But you do have to remember, I’m a working girl. So flying off to Venice for dinner and an opera has to be a weekend outing.”
“I am hoping that at some point that won’t need to be a consideration,” Luthor said. A chill ran down Lois’s spine and settled into her belly. She had hoped he had finally given up his obsession with her but apparently he still had plans to woo her.
“However, since as you say you are still a working girl, how does lunch on Tuesday sound?” he continued.
“Tuesday sounds great,” Lois said hoping Luthor couldn’t hear how choked her voice was. Her mouth was dry. She could barely make words come out.
“I’ll tell Chef Andre to prepare your favorites,” Luthor promised.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Lois said. She hung up the phone and hugged herself before remembering that Luthor had no doubt had more surveillance cameras put in her apartment. With any luck, whoever was watching would interpret her action as simply being chilled.
Now all she had to do was convince Perry and Clark that she’d made a good decision in renewing her association with Luthor.
-o-o-o-
The next morning was cold and oddly enough Lois made it into the newsroom before Clark did. Everyone else was already hard at work on their assignments but Lois was having a hard time getting started. She still hadn’t come up with an angle to convince Perry and Clark that she was doing the right thing, having lunch with Lex Luthor. She also wasn’t having any luck coming up with an angle that would make the piece she was working on come together – the newest crime statistics for Metropolis.
Jimmy and Cat weren’t doing much either. Jimmy was reading a magazine and Cat was filing her nails with geometric precision, watching the elevator doors open and close. Lois was attempting to ignore the both of them – at least she was trying to work.
Jimmy grunted as he set aside his magazine.
“What?” Lois demanded, looking over at him.
“According to Metropolis Science Magazine, the statistical probability that any two people living in Metropolis are blood relatives is over ninety percent,” Jimmy stated.
Cat stared at him. “You and I are related?”
Jimmy nodded. “As long as our families have lived in the area at least three generations.”
“I don't think so,” Cat stated, returning to her nails.
Lois got up and crossed over to Jimmy’s desk, cupped his chin in her hand and gave Cat an appraising look. “I don't know... There is a definite family resemblance.”
“I don't think so,” Cat repeated.
“Wanna bet?” Jimmy challenged. “That you and I are related by blood?”
Cat stared at him. “What are the stakes?”
“If I win... a night of passion,” Jimmy offered.
“Yours or mine?” Cat asked dryly.
“Optimistically, ours. Realistically, mine,” Jimmy replied with a grin.
“And if you lose?” Lois asked. She was bored enough that even this was looking interesting.
“When you lose,” Cat corrected.
“Name it,” Jimmy ordered.
“You repaint my apartment, every room, top to bottom. Pink fades,” Cat stated.
Lois noted the hesitation on both sides but after a moment Jimmy and Cat shook hands.
“I expect detailed family histories including charts from both of you no later than tomorrow,” Lois announced. “Also, blood tests.”
As Lois spoke, she noted that Clark had finally arrived. He was now sitting at his desk and seemed oddly subdued as he turned on his computer.
Perry came out of his office and went to the ramp. “Everyone, listen up. Your editor-in-chief has an announcement,” he said.
Lois chose to ignore him for the moment. The bet between Cat and Jimmy was more interesting.
“Why blood tests?” Cat demanded.
“She's kidding,” Jimmy said.
“No I'm not,” Lois told him. Lois figured that given Cat’s history, Jimmy had the right to know what he was getting into. Literally.
“Your editor-in-chief has an announcement to make to anyone currently employed by the Daily Planet and about to undergo their quarterly salary and expense review,” Perry announced loudly.
That caught Lois and Cat’s attention. They both turned to look at him.
Perry smiled. “Much better…” he murmured then raised his voice again, “Everyone!”
Finally the bustle of the newsroom quieted.
“It is my pleasure to announce that this year's candidates for the Meriwether Award for Journalistic Excellence have just been released and the Daily Planet's very own writing team of Lois Lane and Clark Kent are among the nominees,” Perry announced.
The newsroom broke out in applause and congratulations. Lois was pleased but it wouldn’t do to show how proud she was to be nominated for the Meriwether. While not as prestigious as the Metropolis Press Club’s Kerth award, it was still an honor to be nominated for the East Coast Publishers’ award.
Jimmy gave Clark a high five. “C.K.! You're the man!”
Lois glared at the gofer. “And you're the woman,” he added as an obvious afterthought.
“All right, all right, back to work,” Perry said as the hubbub died down. “It's an announcement, not a national holiday.”
As everyone else settled back at their desks, Perry turned to Lois and Clark. “Good job you two. Just don't expect to rest on your laurels.” He nodded to Lois. “How you coming on that piece on the recent rise in crime in Metropolis?”
Lois shrugged. “You know, gathering information, checking sources, compiling data. That sort of thing.” She glanced at the blank screen on her computer monitor.
“That bad, huh?”
“I'm still looking for an angle,” she admitted.
“Angles just don't drop from the sky, Lois,” Perry told her pointing up for emphasis. “We have to create them… The Committee vote on the Meriwether Award is only a couple of days away. Be nice to show them a strong finishing kick.”
Lois watched Perry head back to his office. Nothing like a little pressure, Lois mused with a sigh. She settled back at her desk and the empty monitor screen.
Clark’s phone rang. At least that was another distraction. Clark didn’t say much to the person on the other end of the line, but his expression became more and more upset. Finally he said “I’ll be right there…” just before he hung up and grabbed his coat.
“What?” Lois demanded.
“My apartment's been robbed,” he told her. “I've got to go.”
“Clark, how awful. I am so sorry. To be violated like that, to have absolute strangers pawing through you personal belongings, to endure...” Lois went on. Clark seemed to be ignoring her as he headed for the elevator.
She grabbed her own coat and ran after him. She finally had the angle for her story. “Wait! I'm coming with you!” She looked to heaven. Her prayer for an angle had been answered. “Thank you.”
-o-o-o-
Clark’s apartment was a mess. Books had been pushed off the shelves, clothing thrown around on the floor. It looked like whoever broken in had been looking for something. Even the pictures on the walls had been shoved aside as though to look behind the frames.
Clark seemed dazed. Lois was furious at the wanton disregard for personal property. Clark knelt down to pick up a book that had fallen open on its spine.
“Clark, don't touch anything!” she ordered. “This is a crime scene.”
His jaw set into a familiar stubborn line as he picked the book up and placed it on a shelf. “It's my crime scene.”
“How do you expect the police to catch whoever did this...” Lois began.
“I don't,” Clark stated flatly.
“... if you insist on tainting the evidence?” Lois finished.
“Someone call a cop?” A familiar voice called out from the broken front door. Lois turned to see Bill Henderson making his way down the front steps.
“Finally. Okay, Henderson, what's our first move?” Lois demanded.
Henderson gave her a bemused look. “You live here, Lois?”
“No.”
“Then our first move is for you to butt out,” Henderson told her cheerfully. His expression became more serious as he turned to Clark. “Morning, Clark. Anything missing?”
“Yes, Inspector. I mean, I haven't checked everything, but the TV and VCR are gone and so are my tapes and CDs.”
Henderson reached into his jacket and pulled out a form which he handed to Clark. “Fill this out. Bring it down to the station.
“What is it?”
“Inventory of stolen items. Don't forget serial numbers. Something turns up, we'll call you,” Henderson explained. “Don't hold your breath. We've had a lot of these type break-ins in this neighborhood lately.”
Henderson stared up the steps to leave.
“That's it? That's all?” Lois asked, appalled by his callousness. “Don't you look for clues? Dust for prints?”
“Waste of time.”
“Waste of...” Lois didn’t believe what she was hearing. Henderson was supposed to be their friend. “Let me tell you a little story, Henderson.”
“Shoot.”
“It's late at night. A sweet, innocent little old lady, probably someone's grandmother, is preparing for bed. Suddenly, burglars burst in, knock her down, and steal her life savings from underneath her mattress,” Lois began. “Wanna know why?”
Henderson gave her another bemused look. “Why?”
“Because some cop like you was too lazy to dust for prints on a prior, so the burglars were never caught.”
Henderson chuckled. “Good story.”
“Thank you.”
“Now I got one. Wanna hear it?”
“Shoot.”
“That same sweet, innocent, little old grandmother is preparing for bed when she hears burglars breaking into her house. She rushes to the phone and dials 911, but, by the time help comes, it's too late. Wanna know why?”
“Why?” Lois asked knowing it was a trap.
“Because all the good cops are out somewhere else dusting for prints.” With that Henderson climbed the steps and walked out with a sympathetic wave back at Clark.
Lois was furious.
“Calm down, Lois,” Clark ordered. “This is my problem.” He disappeared around the corner to his bedroom.
“Hey, I'm sympathetic!” Lois called after him as she followed.
The bedroom was as trashed at the living room had been – books thrown on the floor, the bedcovers ripped from the bed. Even the mattress had been shoved off onto the floor. She watched as Clark surveyed the damage.
“At least Superman’s globe wasn’t here,” Lois said.
“I don’t know if it was or not,” Clark told her. “Mom and Dad still won’t tell me what they did with it.”
“So, what else is missing?”
“Just some... personal things,” Clark answered, looking around more carefully. “Trophies, keepsakes... some art pieces from my travels… irreplaceable.”
“Not bad. Forget the monetary loss: it's stealing parts of a person's past,” Lois said, thinking aloud for her article. “The sense of vulnerability, the sense of invasion. Urban angst. You feel...”
She looked over at Clark, at his stricken look in her direction. She sighed, recognizing how heartless she sometimes seemed when on the trail of a story. Only this time is was Clark she was doing it to. She took his arm. “Don't worry, partner. We'll get your stuff back. Maybe the police can't help, but I know who can.”
-o-o-o-
Clark was quiet as Lois drove them into one of the less savory neighborhoods in Queensland Park. Clark had filled out the form for the police and they dropped it off at the precinct house nearest his apartment. He had a copy of the form in his pocket.
Lois pulled the jeep in front of a non-descript storefront with blacked out windows in a block of taverns, pawnshops, and tattoo parlors. The urban renewal that had been going on in the area hadn’t reached this section yet and when it did some of the neighborhood color and charm would fade away into urban uniformity. She hoped it wouldn’t happen for a long time. She had fond memories of this part of town. Clark seemed uncomfortable and she wasn’t sure if it was the neighborhood or he simply didn’t want to be a bother.
Inside was as dark and smoky as she remembered. It felt good, almost like visiting home, only visiting home had never been this comfortable. There were only a few players at the pool tables at this time of morning. She walked up to one of them.
“I'm looking for Louie,” she announced.
The player didn’t seem to notice her as he lined up his next shot.
“He's not here,” Clark said. “Let's go.”
In answer Lois picked the cue ball off the table and tossed it to Clark.
“Louie,” Lois stated with exaggerated clearness. “Tell him it's Lois Lane.”
The player set his cue on the corner of the table and stared at her a long moment. Then he disappeared through a door at the back.
“This is a mistake,” Clark told her. He picked up the cue stick and laid the ball on the table.
“What are you so nervous about?” Lois wondered aloud. It wasn’t like him to be so ‘twitchy’.
“Where do you know this guy from?” he asked in return as he lined up a shot.
“Around,” Lois responded. “I'm a reporter, Clark. It's my business to know the people who know what's going on in this city.”
Clark made his shot and a ball fell into a side pocket. “And?”
He wasn’t buying her story. “And, his daughter was my tennis doubles partner in college,” she added.
A fat middle-aged man had come out of the back and was waving at them. “Hey, kid. Over here.”
Lois grinned and headed over to the table he was settling in at. Behind her, she heard pool balls being struck. She turned to see Clark at the pool table sinking each ball like a pro, or a hustler. After a few moments the pool table was empty and Clark joined her at Louie’s table.
“He’s good,” Louie commented.
Lois grinned. “He’s just full of hidden talents.”
Lois and Louie chatted for a few moments before getting down to business – finding Clark’s stolen property.
“Kicked in the door?” Louie asked around his sandwich.
Clark nodded.
Louie shook his head scornfully. “Amateurs.”
“What do you think?” Lois asked.
Louie considered the question for a long moment as he chewed his sandwich. “I can maybe find 'em.”
“How?” Clark asked.
“They gotta try and sell the loot. I know guys who know guys,” Louie answered. “I'll need a list. Anything special I should watch for?”
“No, not really,” Clark said. “Look, the police have all the information. Maybe we should just leave it to them.”
Louie shook his head, giving Lois a look of sympathy. Lois wasn’t sure why Clark was being so difficult.
“Clark, this is great stuff,” Lois told her partner. “If nothing else, for my article.”
“Uh, Lois, these guys I know don't exactly like to read their name in the papers,” Louie said nervously.
“Louie, this is Lois,” she responded, insulted that he would even think that of her.
“So, if you do this, what are we supposed to do for you?” Clark asked.
Louie pointed at Lois with the remainder of his sandwich. “For the kid? It's a freebie. What a backhand she had.”
“When do you think...” Lois prompted.
“I'll call ya,” Louie told her. He turned to Clark. “You need help on the insurance claim? I know guys who know guys.” He gave Clark a toothy grin.
“Uh, no thanks.”
Louie turned back to Lois. “Straight arrow, huh?”
“You have no idea,” she said with a chuckle.
-o-o-o-
Her mood was more serious by the time she and Clark got back to her jeep. “Clark, what has gotten into you?” she demanded.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were as ansty as a cat in a room of rocking chairs,” Lois told him, throwing the jeep into gear. “What’s going on? What are you not telling me?”
“Lo-is…” he began. “I just had a real bad night and then this happens.”
“What happened last night?”
He shook his head.
“More nightmares?” she speculated.
He sighed. “Yeah. Luthor mostly. Screaming at me, laughing as I fell from the sky. But there was a different one, too. A strange one, not a nightmare really.”
“Want to tell me about it?” Lois asked. “It might help.”
“It probably doesn’t mean anything,” Clark told her.
“And maybe it does.”
He took a deep breath. “There was a man in a white robe with Superman’s symbol on his chest. He said his name was Jor-El and he was my father. He was calling me Kal-El. He said that Krypton was getting ready to explode from some problem with its core. He and his wife, Lara, were working on building a spaceship to get their son off the planet.”
“Some dream,” Lois commented. A thought occurred to her. “Do you think it has anything to do with Superman’s globe?”
“Maybe it was a message for him and the globe doesn’t know he’s dead?” Clark asked. “But why send me the message?”
“Maybe the globe knows something we don’t?” Lois suggested.
Clark gave her a disbelieving look. “You still think he’s alive somewhere and the globe is trying to contact him?”
Lois nodded, keeping her eyes on the traffic.
“So why give the message to me?”
“Maybe the globe thinks that you know where he is,” Lois said. He opened his mouth and she continued before he could start his protest. “Maybe not consciously, but buried in your subconscious.”
“Lois, I felt him die.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Lois asked. “What if what you felt wasn’t his death, but his despair at thinking he failed to save Earth?”
“If he didn’t die, then where is he?”
“Someplace safe where he can recover?”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was studying her.
“I wish I could believe that,” he said after a long moment. “I wish I had your faith.”
“It’ll be okay, Clark. I promise.”
Foundling was written by Dan Levine
