Ring!
Ring!
"Hang on a second," Lois said, reaching into her purse later that day.
They'd finished speaking with Tiffany and had attended the police press conference about the collapse of the theater and the young woman who’d been trapped inside when the building had come down. The official police statement hadn't given them any real new information, but Clark had been able to speak with Henderson again, strengthening what Clark was sure would become a solid working relationship with the man.
"Yeah, sure," Clark said, as they moved over and leaned against the side of a massive pharmacy store.
Lois nodded and pressed the talk button on her cell phone. "Hello? Oh, hey, Bobby. You're what? Where? Okay, for how long? That's on Ashland Avenue, right? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, great. See you there."
"Wrong number?" Clark joked.
She shot him a withering look. "Come on. We need to get to the deli." With that, she started walking at a brisk pace.
Clark blinked and watched her in shock for a moment. Then he went after her. "The deli?" he called out, confused, as he closed the distance between them.
"Ronnie's, to be exact," she clarified.
"What's at Ronnie's?"
"A whole lot of food."
“Are you hungry?” he asked, still trying to piece together what was happening.
“Not in the slightest.”
***
After a quick stop at Ronnie's Deli - where Lois spent nearly forty dollars on the "Bobby Special" - they headed to a soup kitchen on Ashland Avenue. Walking in the door, Clark was hit with a ton of memories from his time living on the streets of Gotham. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as the memories flooded him. His fist tightened on the deli bag he was carrying for Lois and he felt himself sway a little on his feet.
Please, I know I'm late getting in. Isn't there anything left? A piece of bread even?
Phil! You leave that young boy's plate alone! You've had your share tonight! That's his plate of ziti! I catch you so much as eying his food again and I’ll throw you outta here myself!
Here, sir. You look like you need this sandwich more than I do today.
"Clark?"
He snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he'd hesitated at the doorway. He was gripping the molding to keep himself upright. Slowly, he released his grip and mentally tried to shake away the memories. He shot a glance at the molding, and felt a rush of relief that he hadn’t left impressions of his fingers in the scuffed and chipped wood.
"You okay?" Lois asked, eyeing him.
"Yeah," he lied, still reeling a little.
"You look like you just saw a ghost," she replied in disbelief.
"It's nothing."
"You've never been to a soup kitchen before, have you? I guess it's a bit of a culture shock," she guessed.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I've been in them before. I've volunteered at some of the ones in Gotham. I just...I guess it just hurts, you know? That people have to rely on places like this so as not starve to death."
"Poverty knows no bounds," Lois agreed sadly.
Clark nodded. "I mean, look. Over there. Those kids can be more than six and ten, respectively."
"At least they have someplace to get a hot meal," Lois said softly, following his gaze. "They'll go to bed tonight with a full stomach."
"It's not enough," Clark said, shaking his head and sighing. "It's never enough." Then, to change the subject, "So, uh…why are we here?"
"Lane! You just gonna stand in the door or what?" called a friendly voice.
"Bobby," Lois shrugged to Clark. Then, turning to the man who'd called to her. "Hey, Bobby."
Bobby waved them back to the kitchen. Lois went ahead, with Clark trailing. He felt enormously self-conscious holding the bag of deli food dangling from his left hand. A part of him wished he could turn invisible, so no one would see him with the obscene amount of food. But no one looked up at him. No one saw the deli bag. Everyone kept their heads down and focused on the food before them - for some, Clark knew, it would be the first and last meal of the day. No one wanted to risk having someone else try to take their food away from them. He remembered only too well how he'd been the same way, sticking to himself, never making eye contact with anyone if he didn't have to, practically inhaling his food in order to ensure that no one attempted to steal it from him.
"In here," Bobby said, as they reached the kitchen. He opened the door and held it for them.
"This a bad time?" Lois asked. "Looked kind of busy out there."
"Nah," Bobby said, shaking his head. "The real rush won't start for another hour or two. And I've been here for hours already. It's high time I took a break. Did you get my order?"
Lois took the bag from Clark and went to where Bobby had flopped down onto a dented gray metal folding chair that was pulled up to an old, beat up, round metal table. She handed it over to the man.
"Everything's here. Even weaseled my way into getting you an extra pickle."
Bobby grinned broadly. "You're the best, babe."
Lois rolled her eyes good naturedly.
"So, I see you got yourself a new partner," Bobby went on, ignoring the eye roll. "Nice to meet you, Clark."
Clark's eyes widened a little. "How did you...?"
"Bobby's the best source in town," Lois explained.
"Nothing happens in this city that I don't know about."
Lois arched an eyebrow. "Really. So the Munoz case...?"
"Okay, okay," Bobby recanted. "Almost nothing happens in this city that I don't know about. Okay? Happy?"
"He's been a great help over the years," Lois said, ignoring Bobby. "Which is one of the reasons why I don't necessarily mind paying his fee."
"Fee?" Clark asked.
"She keeps me fed, I keep her informed," Bobby explained.
"Ah," Clark said in understanding. "Got it."
Bobby reached into the bag, pulling out the thickest sandwich Clark had ever seen. There had to easily be at least a pound of blood-red, rare roast beef between the club roll halves. A bag potato chips came out next, followed by a soda. Bobby looked at it and frowned.
"What's this?" he asked. "You know I hate the generic stuff. Gives me gas."
Lois shrugged. "They didn't have anything else. Guy behind the counter said their scheduled delivery didn't come through this week."
"Who said it? Derrick?"
Lois shook her head. "No. Must have been a new guy. I've never seen him before. He didn't even know the 'Bobby Special.' He had to ask."
Bobby nodded, opened the bottle, and drank. "Fair enough."
"Okay, so what do you have for us?" Lois asked as Bobby unpacked the rest of his meal.
"Okay, so the owner of the Majestic?" Bobby said, his mouth half full with a healthy bite his sandwich. "Huge gambler. Has a ton of debt. Six months behind on his mortgage, the whole nine yards. So, three months ago, he decides to sell the theater to this real estate group. They want to tear it down, erect an office building. You know the type."
"Yeah," Lois said, nodding. “Unfortunately, I do.”
"Word is, he got enough to cover most of, but not all, of his debts, out of the deal."
"About how much was left to cover?" Lois asked.
Bobby thought for a moment as he chewed. He swallowed, then, "I don't know the actual numbers, but I've heard it said that he still had a good fifty grand or more than he needed to pay off."
"That's nothing to sneeze at," Clark remarked.
Bobby nodded. "You’re telling me. So, right around the same time as he was negotiating the sale of the property, he takes out a life insurance policy on his step kid. Not a little policy, mind you. Apparently, it's a sizable payoff, if she dies. Like over a million."
A knot formed in Clark's stomach. "You don't think he..." he started, looking at Lois.
"Planned on her going into the theater," Lois finished for him. "I'm starting to wonder. Thanks, Bobby."
"Wait, that's not all," Bobby replied, unwrapping one of the deli pickles. "There's something else."
"What?"
"One of the demolition crew from yesterday? He was found dead in his apartment this morning. Real suspicious if you ask me. From what I hear, he was one of the guys on the explosives."
Clark's eyebrows went up, along with his dread. "I think we'd better start talking to the demolition team," he told Lois.
***
"Okay, so that got us nowhere," Clark sighed as he and Lois stepped foot off of the elevator and back into the newsroom.
"I'll try back in the morning," Lois said, checking her watch. "I know a guy who might be able to help, but I doubt I'll get him now."
"Okay," Clark said. "Let's at least combine out notes and get the preliminary article on Tiffany written up, so Perry has something to print in the morning edition.”
"Right," Lois nodded. Her stomach growled.
"Hungry?" Clark asked.
"A little," she admitted. "I can order in. We can eat while we work." When they reached her desk, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a thick binder. "Maybe Chinese?" She opened the binder to a section filled with Chinese takeout menus.
"Yeah, I could go for Chinese," Clark agreed with a smile. "But let me pick it up," he offered.
"You don’t need to. All of the places around here deliver."
"Really, it's not a big deal. I know of a place I think you'll like."
Lois eyed him critically. "You've been in Metropolis all of, what? Three hours? And you think you know better food places that me? I grew up in this city."
"Trust me, Lois," Clark said gently, holding back his eagerness to impress her. "I'm not trying to...I don't know? Show you up? I just happen to know of a place."
"Fine," she huffed.
"Great. What do you want?"
"Surprise me," she said, the words somehow sounding more like a challenge than of acceptance.
"You've got it," he replied. "Be back before you know it."
Before she could retort, he was making his way back to the elevator. He rode the car down to the lobby and exited the building, then ducked into a quiet alleyway. From there, he took off into the sky like a shot, faster than any person could dare hope to track him, then he rocketed away, angling his flight path toward China. As soon as he landed again, he went to his favorite restaurant. He'd frequented the place during his couple of stints in China, back when he'd traveled for the Gotham Gazette.
"Ah, Mister Kent," the owner's wife greeted him in Cantonese when he stepped inside. "Glad to see you again. It's been a long time."
Clark favored her with a smile. "It's been awhile since I was last in China. How are you feeling? How’s the knee?"
He spoke in nearly fluent Cantonese. He'd noticed, early on in his travels, that it was almost effortless for him to learn the myriad languages he was exposed to. In a matter of days, he could easily converse with the locals of whatever area he found himself in, usually to the delight of the people he spoke with.
“Getting better since the surgery,” she replied with a smile.
“I’m glad to hear it. And the kids? How are they doing?”
She rolled her eyes a little. “Young people these days! Never home! Always out with their friends!”
Clark chuckled, since it was clear that she was being only half serious. “One day, they’ll be glad to come home and stay home,” he assured her.
"I can only hope so. But where are my manners? Let me show you to a table."
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary," he told her. "I need to take my order to go this time."
"No rest for a reporter," she nodded knowingly. Clark had often needed to take his food to go when he'd been stationed there.
He shrugged. "The news never stops."
She smiled in return. "What will it be today?"
Clark thought for a moment, then began to place his order.
***
"Meals on wheels!" Clark announced as he set the bag of Chinese food down on Lois' desk. She was so buried in her work that she hadn't noticed him.
"Huh?" She looked up from her research, blinking. "Oh. Wow, that was fast," she admitted.
Clark shrugged. "I promised it wouldn't take long." He looked at the mess of papers on her desk. "You want to take this somewhere else?"
Lois thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "The conference room."
"After you," he gestured, picking the bag of food back up.
I’d follow you anywhere, if you only ask it of me.
Lois paused only long enough to save whatever she had up on her computer screen. Clark didn't bother to sneak a peek. He was solely focused on impressing Lois with the food he'd retrieved from half a world away. So, he followed her quietly to the conference room. Closing the door behind them, he got to work unpacking everything he'd brought.
"I got a little of all of my favorites," he explained as he worked, a little heat blossoming on the back of his neck. He found himself feeling incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden, as if his entire future with Lois hinged on this one meal. "Since I don't know your preferences, I tried to get a wide sampling of the food."
"Well, I'll admit, it all smells amazing."
"Just wait until you taste it."
“Look at the way it’s packed! It looks…authentic,” she said, appraising the containers of food. The bamboo containers were a far cry from the paper boxes Americans were so used to seeing.
“Trust me, Lois, this is about as authentic as you can get,” he promised, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on how nervous he was. His hands shook slightly and.
Calm down, he chastised himself. It’s not a date. Hopefully it will be one day, but tonight it’s just two coworkers having dinner.
Clark busied himself with opening up the containers and retrieving some paper plates and utensils that had been left, forgotten, on a shelf in the corner of the conference room. He set it all out before two chairs that faced each other.
"What can I interest you in?" he asked, ready to serve her.
"A little of everything," Lois said. "Let's see how good this mysterious place of yours really is."
"All right," Clark said with a nod. He dutifully portioned out a little of every dish out onto Lois' plate, then did the same for himself. "Dig in," he encouraged her.
After the first bite, Lois' eyes rolled up into her head and a look of bliss came over her features. "Okay, this is seriously some of the best takeout I've ever had. Where did you get this from? Because I plan on ordering from them more often."
"Oh, uh," Clark stammered. "It's an out of the way place. They don't deliver."
"Shame. They should. They could make a killing with food like this."
Clark chuckled nervously and shrugged, but his chest puffed up with pride. Fireworks exploded in his heart at her praise, even if she wasn’t directly praising him. "Speaking of killing, anything new on the Majestic case?"
To Clark's relief, Lois took the bait and dropped the subject of where Clark had gotten the food. "Nothing yet. I left a few messages around though. The more I think about the case, the more I get a bad feeling though."
"Me too," Clark acknowledged. "My money's on the whole thing being a set up. The owner of the theater had to have known Tiffany would be upset over the demolition. Upset people aren't usually rational thinkers. Maybe they do stupid things...like go inside building that are about to be torn down."
Lois nodded. "And maybe, just maybe, someone's banking on that happening, because they have a big, fat insurance policy out on the potentially irrational thinker."
"Exactly," Clark said, swallowing a bite of a dumpling. "Only it doesn't go to plan and the stepdaughter lives. How do you stop it from getting out that you've hired someone to kill your stepchild?"
"Murder the guy who bungled the kill," Lois finished for him. "I'd bet money on it."
"So would I," Clark agreed. "All we have to do is prove that's what happened."
"Easier said than done with the assassin dead now," Lois pointed out, literally poking at the air with a pair of chopsticks.
"True, but not impossible. Someone had to have killed the construction worker."
A lull formed in the conversation as they each got lost in their own thoughts. Clark only hoped he was impressing her. He desperately wanted Lois to regard him as her equal. Then, maybe, she could accept him as a partner and friend. And if she did that…
Maybe one day we can be more. Please, let us one day be more, he pleaded to the universe.
"We'll get the people responsible," Clark vowed after a time.
"You're pretty confident, rookie," Lois retorted with a half-smile. "Perry'll love that about you."
"I hope so," Clark said. "And hopefully he'll be even more impressed with me as a reporter. This job? It means everything to me." Then, switching gears, "So, uh, you like the food?"
"Like is an understatement," Lois said with a laugh.
"Whenever you feel like more, I'll be happy to pick it up," he offered.
I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night and you get a craving for duck sauce.
Lois studied him for a moment. When she spoke again, it was not what he'd expected.
"Don't fall for me, Richie Rich. I don't have the time for it."
It was like a knife in Clark's heart and his found his – admittedly fragile – ego around her deflating. He could see she was putting on a tough act for his benefit, but it still hurt to be shut down before he'd even truly tried to woo her.
"You may be used to women falling all over you, but I don't date co-workers," she continued. "Too many bad experiences with that."
"You...have?"
"Yeah. Perry fired the last one after he stole my story and put his name on the byline.”
"Ouch," Clark winced. "I know you don't know me from a hole in the wall, but, I promise, I'm not that kind of guy," he swore.
"So they all say."
"Look, Lois, I’ll prove it to you. I'm not here to ride anyone's coattails or steal stories. I'm not looking to be the competition. I just...Perry partnered us up. I'd like to work together with you and learn everything I possibly can. And maybe, in the process, at least become your friend."
"I've been burnt by so-called 'friends' before too."
"Which is unfortunate," Clark countered. "But...I'm not like other people, Lois."
"Sure. Whatever you say, Gotham."
***
"Nice work, you two!" Perry congratulated them, several days later.
They'd broken the true story of what had happened at the Majestic Theater. Gary Wilder had been arrested and was awaiting trial for conspiring to kill his step-daughter, Tiffany Bronson. He'd hired Vincent Jonas to ensure that the building came down while Tiffany was inside, if, indeed, she decided to pay her last respects to the aging theater. When the job had been botched and Tiffany had miraculously survived the attempt on her life, Gary had stormed his way over to Vincent's apartment. After a brief, but loud, struggle, Gary had overpowered the wiry young man and killed him in his rage.
It was a sad story, Clark reflected, but closing the case and helping to catch the bad guy was a huge victory for him. He felt on top of the world, not unlike how he'd felt each time Nightwing had left tied up and disarmed criminals for the Gotham PD to round up.
"Thanks, Chief," he and Lois said, almost as one.
"Boy, I never would have thought your first assignment would have turned into this, Kent," Perry laughed, patting a hand on Clark's shoulder. "How's it feel, wrapping this thing up?"
"Best feeling in the world," Clark grinned.
"Atta boy!" the editor smiled. "You're a real newsman, now," he continued. "Congratulations."
"Thanks, Perry. But, to be honest, a lot of the credit goes to Lois. Her sources were invaluable, and she taught me a lot over the last few days."
Lois appeared to fight down a blush and lost. "Well...thanks. But, I have to admit, you have pretty decent instincts yourself. Better than a lot of reporters I've dealt with over the years. Not too bad for someone new to the investigation side of things."
Before Clark could thank her, Perry interrupted. "Yeah...about that. Come into my office, you two."
"Uh...sure, Chief," Clark said, suddenly nervous.
They followed their boss to his office. Lois commanded the couch, sitting down in the direct middle. Clark opted to lean against the wall as Perry closed the door. He stuck his hands into his pockets, feeling unsure of himself, like a schoolboy called to the principal’s office.
"I've been thinking," Perry began, sounding a little uncertain of where to begin.
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Lois asked, voicing the concern Clark certainly shared with her.
Perry hesitated before answering. "Probably not."
"Great," Lois huffed, rolling her eyes.
"What's going on, Chief?" Clark asked.
"The thing is...I only meant for you two to be paired up for just that one investigation," Perry hedged. "I'm well aware to your aversion to partners, Lois. But well, when something works, it works, you know what I'm saying?"
"I, uh," Clark stammered.
"Oh no!" Lois swore. "No! No, Perry! I was a team player. I took the rookie under my wing and showed him the ropes, like I was told to. Don't make this..."
Perry cut her off. "For the time being, I'm making the both of you permanent partners."
Clark physically bit his tongue to keep from shouting for joy.
Lois, on the other hand, was incised. "Perry!" she admonished. "I refuse to..."
"Lois, honey," Perry started, raising a hand in a gesture of 'stop.' "I know what you're going to say. But I don't want to hear it. You two, working together...I think it's going to be the best thing for the paper. And you want the paper to succeed, right?"
"Well, yeah..." she stammered.
"So, it's settled then. You two will work together as partners, unless I assign you to different stories, which I will do, from time to time as needed."
"But, Perry!"
"No buts now, Lois. Clark? You have any objections?"
"No, Chief. No complaints."
That was an understatement. He was practically floating, he was so thrilled. He’d been convinced that nothing could have been better than the Chinese food they’d shared as they’d worked on the case several nights before.
Perry cracked a satisfied smile. "Good. Now then, now that we've gotten this squared away, I want you two to get back out there and find something to fill the blank spaces of my paper with."
"Got it," Clark said.
Lois glared at their boss. "Fine," she growled, when it became clear that Perry was never going to budge from his position. She slammed the palms of her hands on the couch, stood, and stormed out. Clark was about to follow when Perry called his name.
"Clark?"
"Yeah, Chief?" Clark asked, turning away from the door.
"Don't mind Lois. She can be a bit...abrasive...I know, but...try not to take it personally."
"I won't," Clark said. "She told me that she hasn't had any luck in being partnered up with someone before, so I know it's probably more of a defense mechanism for her to...be how she is."
Perry nodded thoughtfully. "Good man.” He hesitated a moment, then continued speaking. “You know, something tells me that, in time, this partnership might be the first one to work out for her.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, go on. Get back to your partner and find me something that’ll sell my papers.”
“Yes, sir,” Clark replied with a genuine smile.
To be Continued…
