OK, it's a little passed Monday morning in the UK, but I hope I'll be forgiven.
Previously, on My Wife the Boss ....
Lois' stare focused on the two men as they hurried through the bullpen and disappeared into the elevator before turning back to the staff. “What are we waiting for people? We have a job to do, so let's get to it!”
There was a scrape of chairs and pounding of footsteps as people filed through the conference door, but Lois remained still, a strange feeling of deja vu creeping along her spine. It had been years since she'd been anywhere near an explosion.
What was she thinking? She and Clark had just happened to drive by a truck which had somehow exploded some time later. It was a coincidence ... nothing more.
*****
Part 3
“Jim, Clark, can I see you in my office?”
A little more than an hour later, Lois leaned her head round the door of her inner sanctum and invited the two men inside. She walked back to her desk and perched on the edge ... waiting.
When Lois spoke with just that tone, her staff knew she must be obeyed and, seconds later, both men strode into the room, Jim finding a seat on the couch, while Clark stood behind the big plaid chair. Perry's furniture had been refurbished but never changed.
“What happened with that truck?” Lois' gaze shifted between the two. Normally, she wouldn't be riding her staff this way, but this time she couldn't restrain her curiosity.
Jim shrugged. “It was no big deal. I mean the truck didn't really 'explode' explode. Apart from a slightly buckled side and some burn damage, you'd never know anything had happened.”
“Was it an accident?” Lois continued to pry, noticing Clark's hands tightening on the back of the chair.
“Definitely not,” Clark answered. “It appears a package blew up. The police aren't saying much, but they do suspect it was a small bomb.”
“Jim!” Lois threw the seated man a disapproving look. “I thought you said it was no big thing. Now it seems we might have someone sending bombs through the mail.”
“One bomb, Lois.” Jim defended himself. “And only a small one. Sergeant Peterson said it was little more than a large firecracker.”
“Even firecrackers can maim,” Clark said, his mouth set obstinately.
“No one was hurt. The delivery guy wasn't even in his truck at the time,” Jim fudged, yet he refused to look the older man in the eye.
A confused frown marred Lois' brow. She couldn't ignore the uneasy tension between the two reporters. “But if someone had opened the package, they might have been injured, so it's no thanks to whoever sent the thing that no one was hurt.” She stood up and crossed her arms, taking charge of the situation. “You didn't by any chance find out who the package was meant for?”
Clark shook his head. “The wrapping was pretty badly damaged, and I'm afraid my telescopic sight isn't as good as it once was, so I couldn't make out the address,” he said quietly, adjusting his glasses in a gesture that smacked of frustration. “We can check with Speedy Deliveries later. They're bound to keep records, but it might take them some time to narrow it down. Meanwhile, the bomb squad took what was left of the package away for investigation, but Jim managed to persuade the sergeant to let us know what they discover.” Clark cleared his throat and sent Jim a quick glance. “I'm sorry, Jim. I don't agree with you that this is no big deal. That bomb could have gone off prematurely, and I believe the perpetrator meant to harm someone ... maybe not enough to kill.”
Lois decided to end the meeting. Something else was going on here, but she was fairly confident she'd get nothing more out of either man while they were together. It was a case of divide and conquer and Lois had no doubt who would throw in the towel first. She moved around her desk to continue with the work she'd been doing before they had returned.
“OK, you seem to be on top of things for now.” She halted in mid-stride, as if she'd just remembered something. “Oh, Clark, don't forget you still have to interview a Mr. Donovan at the Metropolis Bus company. I took the liberty of calling over to arrange an interview for you. Why don't you let Jim write up what you have on the explosion so far and head on out.”
It was Clark's turn to frown. Didn't Lois trust him to arrange his own interviews? “I have time, Lois. I can help Jim and still get over to the bus company.”
“Clark! Now, if you don't mind.” Lois remonstrated, leaning her hands on her desk to keep them still.
Perhaps she shouldn't have paved the way for Clark. She just wanted to make his life a little easier. Surely, there was nothing wrong with that, but from the look on Clark's face, he didn't appreciate her ... meddling. Was that what she was doing?
Lois continued a little more fiercely than she intended. “I want that story for this afternoon's online edition. You forget we have more deadlines to meet these days, if we want to keep ahead of the competition.”
Clark grimaced. “Sorry. I did forget. I guess I'm not really up to speed yet.”
“You only started back yesterday.” Lois' voice and eyes softened as she continued. “No one expects you to be up to speed.”
“I do, Lois,” Clark stated baldly, with a little shrug of his shoulders, while he backed through the door. “I'll get you that story.”
For the second time today, Lois watched Clark almost run from the newsroom, her heart aching somewhat. Then she turned back to Jim.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” she said, her tone deceptively offhand.
Jim, however, was not fooled. He squirmed back into the couch, finding the pattern of the cushions suddenly deserved his full attention. “What's what about?”
“Come on. Don't play games with me ... pretending there wasn't a story.” Lois advanced on the younger man, causing him to blanch.
“Lois, it really was a small explosion ....”
“Jimmy!”
“OK. It needs investigating .... Jed Peterson's in charge. He promised he'd get back to me.”
“Then why did you play it down?”
“I still think it might be a dead end.” Lois was almost standing over him, making him even more uncomfortable. He really didn't want to get between Lois and Clark, but he knew she wouldn't be sidetracked. “All right. I thought maybe I should try to rein CK in a bit. He's a little uptight ....”
“He's trying so hard, Jim,” Lois explained, sadly, turning away, hiding her eyes.
“Too hard, Lois.” Jim stood up and shifted so he could see Lois' face again. “He says he has a gut feeling about the bomber.”
Lois glanced up at the ceiling and gave a slightly shaky laugh. “He could be right, you know. I never ignored my instincts.”
“Facts, Lois. Hard facts. Wasn't that what Perry taught us? It's what you'd tell any other rookie reporter.”
“Clark's not a rookie!”
“No, and I'm not saying he's wrong either, just that he needs to take a few steps back and view this a little more rationally. He has some weird idea that the bomb might have been meant to go off sooner ....”
“While we were driving down the street?” Shocked, Lois' hand flew to her mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Strangely enough, that idea occurred to me too. I couldn't help but think that Clark's just back on the job and already he's in the near vicinity of a bomb blast.”
“Actually, he thinks you were the target. I had to remind him that you haven't been in the line of fire for quite a few years.” Jim let his arm steal round Lois' shoulder. “Lois, I know this is a tense time for both you and Clark, but don't go seeing boogey men around every corner. There's no evidence that bomb was meant for either of you ... and it wouldn't have dented the paintwork of your jeep, let alone hurt you.”
Lois patted Jim's arm, her eyes closing briefly. “You're right. Of course, you're right. I'm letting this whole Clark getting back to work thing get totally out of perspective. I used to complain that he was over-protective and now I'm in danger of doing the same thing with him.”
“What did you expect?” Jim asked gently, letting his arm drop from Lois' side. “Don't go giving yourself a hard time over that. Even I found myself trying to babysit him out there. It just made him more determined, so I stopped.”
“And I should too?”
“Lois, I'm not saying anything.” Jim grinned sheepishly. “Now how about I get out of here and do that investigating you pay me for?”
Finally, Lois smiled. “Thanks for reining me in too.” The phone on Lois' desk rang, demanding her attention. “Sorry, Jim, I need to take this. Let me know what you find out from Peterson, though. Hopefully, the police will get their man and you can write the story before Clark's imagination goes into overdrive.”
With a mock salute, Jim returned to his desk.
*****
Much sooner than expected, Lois looked up to see Jim knocking on her door. She eagerly set aside the overtime claims she'd been going over and beckoned him inside.
“Hey, Lois, I just heard from Peterson about Metropolis Bus ....”
The smile froze on Lois' face and, underneath her makeup, her skin paled. “Why? What's happened at the Bus Company? Was Clark involved?”
“No! Nothing has happened at Metro Bus. At least, not that I've heard. It's what was going to happen.”
Lois laid her pen carefully on the desk and regarded Jim with a stern look. “I can do without the cryptic clues, so why don't you explain.”
Jim pulled at his tie and sauntered a little closer to his boss. “Jed got a call from Speedy Deliveries ....”
“That was quick.”
“Yeah. Speedy Deliveries must live up to their name ... but if you want an explanation, don't interrupt.” Jim grinned, taking the sting out of his words. “The delivery guy was new and he wanted to impress his boss, so he got out early and was on his way back to the depot. He only had a couple of deliveries left, so it was easy for him to narrow the recipient down. Seems the package which blew up was addressed to the Metropolis Bus Company.”
“It was?” Lois' eyes widened in shock as her brain started racing. “But Clark ....”
“.... is over there.” Jim leaned his hip on the other side of the desk. “It's a coincidence, Lois. It has to be. How would the bomber have known we were covering the bus story, or that you would send Clark? You know, sometimes coincidences do happen.”
“I guess.” Lois tipped her chair back. “So, what do we think this is? A disgruntled passenger who'd also heard about the rate hikes?”
“Could be, or a disgruntled ex-employee. Jed's already checking into their employment records and I'll run my own searches, though I'm thinking I should call CK.” Jim stared at his hands for a second before returning his gaze to Lois' face. “Ask him to do some digging around while he's over there. I wanted to check with you first, though.”
Lois lifted her pen, and found herself tapping out a tattoo on her desktop, while the seconds ticked by, then she shrugged and threw the pen down. “My first reaction was to say no, he has enough on his plate ... but you knew that anyway.”
A tiny grin lifted the corner of Jim's mouth. “You assigned the story to Clark and me and, right now, he's Johnny on the spot. Let him do his bit, Lois. Clark's not going to get into any trouble. If there is a bomber, the guy's just found out he's missed his target. I doubt he's had time to set anything else up, and don't forget, that bomb was nowhere near lethal.”
“OK, I agree. Would you mind if I call Clark though?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I would.” Jim clasped his hands together and stood up a little straighter. “Think about it. If you were still Clark's partner, wouldn't you expect to handle the story between you? Would you have been happy if Perry had interfered?”
Lois' lips had tightened in a thin line at Jim's words, then they suddenly relaxed into a rueful grin. “No. Didn't stop him from doing it, though. But, I suppose the circumstances were different.”
“Lois, if you make the call, Clark might think you're checking up on him. In this case, Clark's your reporter not your husband.”
“Yes, I know. You told me before. Let him do his work.” Lois stood up and came round the desk, linking her hand through Jim's arm as she walked him to the door. “You make the call, then we can head out to Callard's for lunch, if you have the time. All this mental hat-juggling is getting to me.”
“What?” Jim's face screwed up in question.
“Never mind. It's a private joke. Go.” Lois waved him out. “Call Clark and when you're ready to go, let me know.”
*****
The rest of the day went as planned, or as close to it as one could expect in the headquarters of a major metropolitan newspaper. Clark returned with information on both stories. Mr. Donovan had explained the rising fares as the only way to recoup the company's expenditure on a new fleet of 'green' vehicles. As to the second question, Donovan wasn't aware of any ex-employees who might want to vent their anger on blowing up the premises, at least, not without checking back on employment records, which he would be happy to do if The Planet's report on the increased fares was without bias.
A rather indignant Clark explained that the Daily Planet always reported stories in a fair and factual way, and reminded the man that the newspaper wasn't in the business of writing puff pieces. Thankfully, Donovan had been a subscriber to Metropolis' foremost newspaper for many years, and he not only remembered the reporting team of Lane and Kent, but was in fact a member of the public who'd been happy to hear of Mr. Kent's miraculous return.
He'd accepted Clark's assurances readily and promised to look into the other matter forthwith.
Both stories made the next edition of the paper, though neither were front-page news. Lois and Clark were happy with his writing up of the fare increases, and Donovan was satisfied he'd got an evenhanded hearing, while not a total endorsement of his higher rates.
The case of the exploding package, unfortunately, reached a dead end. As promised, Peterson had kept Jim informed, but there was little to tell. The police had traced where the package had entered the system, a depot in the dockland district, yet no one could identify who had mailed it. Plus, the forensic team had studied the package but had found nothing to link it to any known perpetrator, or unknown one, for that matter. Whoever had made the bomb had been very careful and worn gloves throughout, or wiped his -- or her -- prints off every surface, and no trace of DNA was found.
The makeup of the device gave nothing away, either. It was just your run-of-the-mill small explosive, something that any Tom, Dick or Harriette could find out how to construct from a Web site.
Donovan also called Clark to tell him that he had spoken with some of his longtime employees, and was able to highlight the names of three workers who had left under acrimonious circumstances. However, none of these leads had planned out.
Clark's research uncovered that one guy had been killed in a drunk-driving incident, the second had moved to New Jersey and started a small transport business, which was doing well, so he was actually quite pleased that he'd been fired, and the third was a woman who was at the moment in the hospital having twins. Clark doubted she had much time to be constructing bombs.
For now, the case was on hold, both at the MPD and The Daily Planet, and Clark was less than thrilled. He still had a funny feeling in his gut, and, though Lois wouldn't deride such instincts, she couldn't see what else Jim and Clark could do.
Only, this time round, Lois wasn't about to kill Clark's story. Instead, she asked him to put it on hold, until something else happened to turn up, and she also made it clear she wasn't averse to him investigating in his spare time ... if he had any.
Now that he'd proved he still had what it took to be a reporter, over the next week Clark was assigned regularly to what he referred to as 'middle of the road' stories. That, however, didn't stop him looking for the 'big' story, the one that would confirm, more to himself than anyone else, that he was back on top.
Lois had to laugh, if somewhat ironically, at their role reversal. These days, Clark was the ambitious, impatient one, while she was the one urging caution, praying he'd do things by the book. Still, she had to admit that it felt great to look out of her office window and see her husband in the newsroom again.
*****
The rain dripped steadily from the ceiling into the old buckets and pans which were dotted round the basement room, a single room in a dilapidated block of apartments in one of the poorest areas of Metropolis. A room that had been home to Thomas Timmons since the bank had repossessed his house ... just because he'd missed some payments.
Technically, it was more than just a few payments. But what did they expect? He'd been taking care of a sick wife and been fired from his stupid job in the process. All their money had gone on Mary's medical treatment ... and even that hadn't been enough.
Yet those faceless people at the bank hadn't understood. All the letters in his mailbox ... month after month. The demands that he come to see them, probably to have his fingers wrapped by a snobby, well-paid financial adviser. Did they really think he'd play their game?
Well, he hadn't! He'd even stopped opening the letters.
In the end, they'd foreclosed on him. He'd lost everything ... just as he'd lost Mary, and everything that reminded him of his few short years with her. Now all he had were some photographs of her in happier times, and they weren't nearly enough.
Well, the bank would pay for his living in this pit. Everyone who'd ruined his life would pay in time. He'd begun his revenge. OK, he hadn't exactly done a lot of damage, but it was a start. Speedy Deliveries had been his first ... like a test. He'd never realized he could be so clever, learning his explosive technique's from the Internet. Just as well he'd patiently written down all the instructions he needed as there was no way he could connect to the Internet from this rathole, and he couldn't use an Internet Cafe or a library; it would be too easy to trace what he'd been checking out.
No, he'd copied everything he needed to know before his house and his possessions had been taken away, but they hadn't gotten his computer. He'd smashed that to bits. No one would be able to trace him through technology. Funnily enough, he'd learned that from the Internet too.
His tongue popped out of his mouth and licked his lips, like a cat savouring its last meal. He'd made the news. A sly gleam lit up his eyes as he perused The Daily Planet's coverage of the bombing. They were way off track, thinking the Metropolis Bus Company had been his target. He'd simply chosen that address because he'd happened to be on one of their buses when he'd decided on his first target from the list.
Not that Met Bus weren't on that list, but it was just a minor offender. He had sent an application to the company once, but they'd never even bothered to reply. Not like Speedy Deliveries, which had once employed him for a short time, but fired him for tardiness and too many sick days. Selfish morons! Didn't they understand that someone who suffered from depression and low self-esteem often found it difficult to get out of bed in the mornings? And it had been his first job. He'd have finally gotten into the way of things, if they'd only given him a chance.
Now was pay back time.
He'd gone for a motion sensor bomb, primed to go off when the package was picked up by one of the Speedy Deliveries employees. He'd stuck 'handle with care' labels on the wrapping, certain that someone would ignore the warnings. He'd even worn gloves and a disguise when mailing it to prevent anyone recognizing him.
So the bomb had exploded at the wrong moment, only causing the company a damaged truck and a bit of annoyance, but he would definitely get better with practice. In future, he would try a more reliable type of trigger.
One thing he knew, without a shadow of doubt, this role of an avenger made him feel good, and he wasn't going to be stopped. Most villains were caught by the cops building up a pattern of their crimes. Well, he wouldn't be so obliging. He had a list, a long list of victims, and from now on, he would choose his next target randomly. With that thought, he pulled out his pin ... one of Mary's old dressmaking pins ... and stabbed it into the well-folded sheet of paper.
Oh, good. This particular target was from his earlier life, way before he'd met Mary, but it was here he'd begun the downward spiral into his sad life, from which Mary had rescued him for a few years.
If only he'd found the courage to stand up for himself earlier, perhaps he'd have been able to save Mary.
“Oh, Mary,” he whispered to the empty room. “I miss you ....”
He swiped at his eyes with shaking hands. There was no room in his life for sentimentality.
Right now, he had to get his butt in gear if he wanted to make it into work on time. He hated working as an all-night waiter at that sleazy cafe; the hours were long and the regulars treated him like some sort of indentured servant, but he needed the money to fund his plans.
And that made it bearable.
*****
tbc ....
