Continued from
Investigate - Chapter 3/? (Debut) [CHAPTER 4 - Connections]
Lois sunk into her couch, kicked off her shoes and picked up her chopsticks. She had left work late and was starving; although, after glancing at the four boxes, maybe her eyes had been bigger than her stomach. . . . Oh, well.
The smell of pepper steak quickly filled her apartment as she opened the first box. Taking her first bite, she reached for her drink, but was suddenly interrupted by a knock at her . . . window?
Jumping to her feet, she instinctively grabbed her purse in preparation to swing it as she looked toward the sound. Cautiously, she approached her window and, gathering her courage, yanked the curtain aside while raising her purse in case she needed to swing.
Her eyes took in the red and blue with the central yellow 'S' and instantly felt herself flush in embarrassment as she fumbled with the latch.
“Superman, hello!” she greeted, hoping her voice didn't sound too frantic.
“I apologise for startling you once again, Ms. Lane, as well as interrupting your dinner. I didn't realize how late it was and should have called beforehand. Would it be better for me to return another day?” he asked, briefly glancing beyond her.
“No! No, of course not. And don't apologise. I'm glad you stopped by,” she said in a rush, stepping back and waving him in while trying to picture him using a phone. It just seemed strange for some reason. Never mind the question of how he would get her number; it was unlisted.
Smiling, Superman glided in and gently landed on her floor.
She tried not to stare at him while doing her utmost to take in every feature she hadn't been able to see the first time he was in her apartment, particularly his face. She had seen a few photographs of course, including one of him coming out of the nearly blown up subway, but none had been close up, and seeing someone in person was almost always better than seeing them in a photograph.
Despite knowing he was from another planet, she couldn't help but try to pinpoint a nationality he looked closest to, but she couldn't select one. It was as if he was the perfect blend of several, each balancing the other. And his dark brown eyes . . . who knew eyes could be dark and handsome all on their own?
She mentally slapped herself, grateful only a few seconds had passed.
“And actually, Superman, I have a few things I need to talk to you about, so if you would like to join me for dinner -- I mean, I ordered way too much, so if you would like some, you would be doing me a favor if you ate a bit. Otherwise, I'll have leftovers, and leftovers for me is never good because I never remember I have them until after I've ordered another meal, and . . . I'm sorry, you must have come for a reason. Would you like to sit?” she said, halting her rambling and fighting back another torrent of words.
“Sure, and yes, since you're offering, I wouldn't mind some Chinese. I haven't gotten the chance to eat much today. I technically don't need to eat, but I like to,” he said, taking the offered spot on the side chair beside the couch.
Lois returned to the couch and opened the other containers before handing him a spare set of chopsticks, inwardly beside herself with glee that Superman was actually going to have dinner with her.
“Thank you,” he said before glancing down at his options. He raised his eyebrows a bit, amused. “I see what you mean by the amount of food.”
“Yeah . . . but it all looked so good, I couldn't not get it all,” she defended. “But anyway, shall I go first?”
“Go first?” Superman asked.
“Be the first to talk. Henderson wanted me to talk to you about something,” she clarified, mentally pattering herself on the back for getting back on task and maintaining a semblance of professionalism.
“Oh, I gather this is about the bombs?”
She nodded. “Henderson found something rather alarming.”
Superman nodded, grim. “I know. I ran into Henderson a little bit ago. Someone set up cameras and microphones at all of the sites, no doubt to see how I would respond.”
“Whoever is responsible for all of this must be extremely powerful,” Lois noted worriedly. “Do you think it could be the government?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I don't think so. I think we're looking at someone else.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Off the record, the explosives were not military grade. They were too sloppy. Sophisticated in detonation, yes, but I doubt the government would have utilized such an old design, especially if it was to test me. There's also the fact that civilians were placed in harm's way. I'm not saying the United States government -- or any government for that matter -- has never done anything questionable, but to harm civilians when there are less damaging ways to get answers from me. . . . No, whoever did this is extremely confident about not getting caught and isn't concerned about political fallout or loss of human life.”
Lois nodded in agreement. “Well, I've investigated organizations who thought they were pretty slick and I caught them. I'll do the same thing here.”
“Thank you, Ms. Lane, but please be careful. These people obviously don't care if they hurt anyone and I doubt they will just let you reveal them if they realize what you're doing.”
“I’ll be careful, Superman, no need to worry about me,” she said, touched by his concern and happy he didn't suggest that it was too dangerous for her. “So, your turn. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well, I have been thinking about something for a while and I finally realized I need help with it,” he said, causing her to shift forward a bit.
What on Earth did Superman need help with?
“I've watched how people have responded to me these last few weeks, and I'm mostly reassured, but . . . I've also seen my emblem being sold and other memorabilia concerning me and . . . I'm not opposed to people making money, and I don't plan on taking anyone to court over this, but I also can't ignore the fact it's money that I should have some say in. I hope you understand what I'm saying.”
Lois nodded slowly, wondering the extent of Superman's concerns and monetary desire.
“So . . . you need help with the legal aspect of getting rights?” she asked.
“Partially, but more on helping me organize and publicize something. A foundation, I suppose. A place for that money to go which will then--” he shrugged. “I want at least some of the money that's being made to go somewhere meaningful and useful. I would like some of it to go to hospitals, schools, shelters, things like that. I can't be everywhere at once, but with this, then in a way I could.”
Lois stared, amazed.
“What?” he asked, suddenly a little nervous.
She shook her head. “You're serious, aren't you?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You are literally the strongest being on the face of the Earth and you choose to also be the kindest,” she said.
Superman blinked. “I highly doubt I'm the kindest, and there's more than one sort of strength. There are people I know who have endured more than I can ever comprehend, and yet they persevere. To me, they're stronger than I'll ever be."
“I suppose that may be true, but there's not a whole lot of people who would seek to do what you're wanting.”
“I don't need a whole lot of money,” he said, unconcerned. “But anyway, would you happen to know anyone who could help me?”
“Actually, maybe. This guy came around,” she said, reaching for her purse by the edge of the table and pulling out the business card she had been very close to throwing away earlier that day. “A bit timely, although I'm not sure I'd suggest you going with him for what you want to do, but it’s proof there are people out there interested.”
Superman slowly nodded, reading the rather flashy and eccentric business card before looking up at her.
“Well, at least I know he likes what he does.”
Lois snickered. “His card is nothing compared to him, let me tell you. But if nothing else you can see what he's offering exactly and you can go from there. As for other help for your foundation, I can convince Perry to run a piece in the Daily Planet. Free publicity, letting companies out there know about it, and I imagine you'll probably get straight donations before too long.”
Superman blinked before looking thoughtful. “I might need to find more people than I thought to help in this.”
“There is a lot to consider, and depending on what and how you want to do things, this could be a full time job for more than one person,” Lois agreed.
“I think you’re right,” he said, apparently coming to a decision. “Thank you, Ms. Lane. I knew coming to you was a good idea.”
Lois beamed before growing a little solemn, suddenly wondering how many people he really had that he could go to for help. “Is it hard? I mean, being you? I imagine being in a world where there’s no one else like you. . . .” She looked down, realizing how random and personal her question was in that moment.
“Sometimes, but I like to think I have more things in common with humans than differences. Off the record, I have a higher body temperature and a slower heart rate than humans, but the only physical difference is what I can do--at least as far as I can tell. And emotionally, I have feelings just like everyone else.”
Lois slowly nodded, quickly connecting the dots. “Hiding among us must have been easy.”
Superman shrugged. “Hard to find someone you're not looking for, and even when you are looking, it's still difficult, as you discovered.”
She smirked after finishing another bite. “The search became a long project spanning several years, and most of it I had to do in secret. At first, Perry didn't believe there was anything to find so didn't allow me to use any Planet resources.”
“What tipped you off initially?” he asked, very interested.
“Tales of miracles. The first was when I had investigated something in the Congo a few years back. Villagers spoke of a spirit who had saved a nearby tribe from mercenaries roughly two years before.
“I managed to track down several from the tribe and they are now providing a great deal of stability in the region. Anyway, I learned about how they were saved. Stopping bullets and forcing the aggressors away in a gust of wind? Definitely a story, especially when all the witnesses I spoke to told the same story, were sane and had nothing to gain by making anything up -- granted, I spoke through a translator, but still. I can read body language, and they were earnest and honest, completely convinced a spirit of their ancestors had saved them.”
Superman cleared his throat self-consciously. “You've been tracking me longer than I thought.” He shifted a bit, putting down his chopsticks. He was finished eating. He looked at her questioningly. “Why didn't you include that in your article?”
“What, the incident in the Congo? I didn't want to risk disrupting what they had. That area is turbulent enough as it is without encouraging governments to go in and begin questioning people. I know that boy that you had saved from drowning in Brazil was visited by some officials after my article. Thankfully, it was friendly and served in showing I was speaking the truth about you, but beliefs in Africa are a little different. I don't think it would have gone as smoothly, especially when officials learned exactly how that tribe was keeping aggressive groups in check.”
Superman frowned, recalling the ammunition and weaponry that had been left by the mercenaries. “Yeah, that wouldn't have gone over well.”
Lois nodded. “Anyway, I had what I needed for the story and to get your attention. I believe in having observant discretion. I report the news and will always dig for the truth, but, in rare instances, some things are better left undisclosed to the public.”
“Respectful journalism, the way reporting should be,” Superman agreed.
With a blush, Lois looked down at the indirect compliment, only to quickly discover they had eaten most of what she had ordered.
“Well, Ms. Lane, thank you for sharing your dinner. Perhaps, if rescues permit, I will bring us some take out next time,” he said, standing up.
“I look forward to it. Let me know when you would like me to write an article on your foundation,” she said as they made their way to the open window.
“When I have it ready, I'll let you know,” Superman promised.
“Looking forward to it. Thanks for stopping by, Superman,” she said.
“Kal-El,” he corrected with a smile. “My Kryptonian name. After everything, I think you've earned the right to call me that.”
“Alright, Kal-El,” she said softly before he disappeared with an appreciative nod.
O o O o O
Clark was busy for the next few days, reading up on non-profit organizations and how to form foundations between rescues and investigating the Boss. Once again, he was grateful for his ability to speed read, but it still left him with the question of who exactly he should seek to run and oversee it all--because, even being Superman, there were only so many hours in the day. He needed to delegate, especially since, as Kal-El, he had no physical address or any official identification or citizenship. Someone would have to act in his stead where it came to all the legal technicalities.
He looked into Murray Brown next and was pleasantly surprised by what he found, even after he looked into other agents. He decided he would contact Brown by the end of the week and see what he was willing to offer exactly.
But before he could do that, he wanted to have a few directors chosen, and though he had several contacts who he knew would have some capable people in mind, he could only trust one contact with all the information.
The General.
“Good morning, Burton,” he said over the phone.
“Ah, Clark, glad you called, I was just about to ask Margaret to get you on the line. We are secure by the way.”
“Oh? Is it urgent?” Clark asked, shifting gears and knowing if the General had secured the line it had to be serious.
“Yes, actually. And although it's not exactly an emergency, it is time sensitive. Please stop by at your earliest convenience. Something was found that I believe you will wish to see.”
“I can make my way over there now,” Clark assured.
“Very good,” Newcomb said.
Clark hung up and zipped over the few states separating himself and Newcomb. In a matter of minutes, he was standing in the General’s office with the window shut behind him.
Newcomb looked up from his desk, long accustomed to Clark's prompt arrivals.
“This morning I was contacted by someone I know in the Geological Society concerning a meteorite found in Smallville. A Mr. Wayne Irig sent them a sample of 'green rock’ that he had found on his land.”
Clark sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk, intrigued.
“Wayne's a friend of my family,” Clark said.
“Which is why I'm hoping you can help with this. A few tests were run on the sample, and it was found to be radioactive. Now, it's not dangerously radioactive -- at least in the initial tests -- but it's unlike any sort of material we've encountered before and we don't know what long-term effects it could have on people or wildlife. I suspect the Department of Environmental Health and the Environmental Protection Agency would advise collecting the meteorite for safety and further study. I'm hoping you will be available to act as a friendly face when we send personnel down to Smallville to collect it all.”
Clark nodded, agreeing that removing questionable material from the area was best. “Sure, no problem. Whenever you need.”
“Excellent. Now, before we go any further, you had called me. Can I do something for you?”
“Well, there’s two things, the first a bit more serious than the second.”
“The recent terrorist attacks in Metropolis?” the General guessed.
“Correct. It's obvious they were testing me, so I wanted to check in with you in case you had heard anything,” Clark said, hopeful.
“Internationally and nationally, your public appearance has stirred a few things, I'll admit, but nothing unexpected, and nothing that seems to be related to the bombings,” Newcomb answered. “And actually, we haven't even needed to maintain serious efforts in reassuring the other governments,” Newcomb continued.
“How much strife had I caused initially?” Clark asked, suddenly realizing the political impact of his existence.
Burton shrugged. “There was some question and fear concerning whether or not you would be used by our government at all, particularly in warfare. Rest assured, your actions (past and present) have answered that question, at least to the satisfaction of most international leaders,” he said, neither of them needing to point out the irony in that statement -- granted, he had never participated in actual combat.
“Hmm, I wonder if I should make a statement, make it unequivocally clear on what I will and will not do.”
“Wouldn't hurt, but it's up to you,” Newcomb said, unbothered. “If you do, I suggest doing it sooner rather than later. I can get the ball rolling with certain Congress officials if you wish.”
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, please do so. I think being politically proactive here is the right answer. Other than my statement of intent, what should I prepare and expect?”
“Assuming this goes to Congress and doesn't get handled differently, such as through the UN or an Executive Order, be ready to be invited to a session of Congress where they will have some questions for you. You will need to convince them of your sincerity and your goodwill. You will also likely need to reveal more about your background, although you already know how much I stress caution in such things. Less is often more.”
“I understand,” Clark said, looking pensive but determined.
“So, what was the second thing?” Burton asked.
“Well, the second thing concerns certain financial aspects of my side activities. I want to make a foundation but will need someone to oversee it, and possibly a few other people to help.”
“A director of sorts with assistants?” Newcomb asked, intrigued.
“Yes, to see to the day to day activities at the very least.”
“Paid?”
“Although the foundation will be non-profit, I imagine it would be too much work to expect someone to do it for free. Perhaps some part-time assistants can be volunteers, but I wouldn't feel comfortable not paying full-time people. I also want people to be committed and good at what they do. Pay usually helps with that.”
Newcomb nodded and retrieved a sheet of paper.
“Two people come to mind. Both retired military. Good, honest people. And I know one has been going crazy trying to find something to do,” he said, jotting down their names and contact numbers. “Julie Heinz is very organized and can keep track of dozens of schedules in her head without a problem. Maverick Ervin is a PR expert and very good with numbers. Either could serve as a director or an assistant. If you got both on board, you would be set.”
“Thank you. I'll definitely contact them tomorrow.”
Newcomb smirked. “I'll give them each a call in the morning to forewarn them then. They'll appreciate the heads up that Superman may want to talk to them.”
Clark rubbed his arm self-consciously. “Yeah, good idea. Thanks.”
Newcomb waved his thanks away. “Knowing you, this foundation will help the world ten times more than you already have. No, helping you with this is my pleasure. It's no trouble.”
Clark smiled, relieved he had such a diligent ally and friend.
“Well, unless there is something else, would you like to see the meteorite? I must admit, looking at it, it's easy to believe it's from space,” Newborn said.
“Sure,” he said, shifting in the seat a bit. “Do you think it could be from Krypton?”
“I would be surprised if it wasn't,” he said, retrieving a small metallic box from his drawer. “It emits an extremely low level radiation. It's very different from anything our scientists have encountered before, but it seems to be a cross between very weak gamma and cosmic radiation.” He slid it across the desk’s surface and opened it.
Green light instantly poured out, gleaming with such intensity that it didn't seem real.
Clark reared back, a sensation beyond anything he had ever felt saturating all awareness.
Newcomb looked up from the box in time to see Clark flinch back, with his arm clenched around his stomach as he let out a strangled gasp.
Instinctively, Newcomb slammed the little lid back down, blocking the glow of green light, before clamoring around his desk to Clark's side.
“Clark!”
Clark looked up at him, squinting. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure, but it didn't look good. How do you feel?”
“Dizzy, I think. The ground feels unstable. My chest hurts, and my head feels like it's pounding inside,” Clark said between breaths before closing his eyes.
“I don't know why, but you obviously reacted to that rock. I’d go as far as label it as an allergic reaction. You're sweating and you look sick.”
Clark opened his eyes and touched his forehead.
“I know it might be hard for you to explain, since you've never really been hurt before, but when I first took the lid off, what did you feel?”
“Burning. I've felt heat before, of course, but this was different. It was painful, with stabbing all over, even from the inside,” he answered, exhaling shakily.
“Is it gone now?”
“Yeah, I just feel weak and heavy now.”
“Alright. Well, you just sit and rest. I'm going to make a few calls,” he said, going back around his desk and picking up the phone.
He called the Geological Society and requested for their expert to be sent to Smallville in the morning, where they would meet with an excavation team who happened to be made up of only people he trusted. Then he looked up at Clark after making a few other arrangements.
“You feel up to talking to Mr. Irig? I think being told that the government will be excavating one's land might be received better if it came from you.”
“Sure, I'm feeling much better now,” Clark said, taking the phone. “Anything specific I should tell him?”
“The material he found is hazardous and that the government wishes to remove it all from his land immediately. He should also expect a sizeable payment from the US government by the end of the week that will reimburse any damages to his land as well as any inconvenience the excavation teams may cause him. In addition, inform him that the meteorite must be kept a secret, as the material could impact national security. The team coming will have a reason why they're there, so he shouldn't have to worry about coming up with a story. Other than that, anything you wish to add, you are welcome to.”
Clark nodded, before calling his family's neighbor.
O o O o O
He was able to confidently fly from Newcomb’s office half an hour later, though he was still inwardly shaken. It was frightening to know it had only taken a few seconds to be so severely affected. The fact anything could hurt him was scary, but that quickly? What would happen if he was exposed for thirty seconds? Five minutes? Would he die?
The only thing that kept him from panicking was knowing all of the rock would soon be collected and stored in a secure location, and that the only person who knew it could affect Superman was a proven friend.
Wayne Irig had taken the news well, accepting Clark's word of the danger and assurance that it would all be taken care of with minimal fuss. Wayne had even offered to keep an eye out for more strange rocks whenever he worked on other people's land since he often did maintenance work in the area. If he ever came across more, he would contact the General’s personal number immediately.
Clark was once again grateful for his eventful past with the military. People didn't ask questions they normally would have, such as why he was such good friends with a three star general, because they knew he had been part of a special Air Force unit.
The retrieval team that Newcomb put together completed their work within two days. Wayne Irig cooperated fully, which included keeping the knowledge of exactly what they were doing out of Smallville’s gossip mill.
Clark was relieved when Newcomb confirmed that all of the meteorites had been collected and were now being stored deep in Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs.
His parents weren’t too sure how to feel about it all. On the one hand, they were glad all of the meteorites in the area had been gathered up and taken away, but they didn’t really like that it was now essentially in the control of the government, even though the government itself didn’t know of its deadly effects on Superman.
Clark, however, trusted Newcomb and knew it would be classified and remain behind the tightest safety measures. Newcomb had adamantly advised so to the powers that be. It was a meteorite of ‘unknown’ origin and gave off a unique and unstudied radiation. They could not be too careful with it.
So, ultimately, it was in the best place it could be. Clark shuddered to think what might have happened if Trask had still been around and caught wind of it. With how paranoid and quick to latch onto wild theories he had been, chances are he would have instantly connected the rock to Superman. That would have been . . . very bad.
Thankfully, he would never have to contend with that reality.
“The team recovered about one pound of the green meteor rock and came across a few red pieces as well, although those were smaller and not as prevalent,” Burton told him later that week.
They were at Burton's home in Virginia and Burton's wife was at a friend's house for brunch, so they were alone.
“And just between you and me, I've named the rocks Kryptonite. It's off the books, but I just don't like thinking of them as 'Crystalline 297’,” Burton said before taking a sip of his drink.
“Has anything been learned yet?” Clark asked.
“No, nothing beyond what I've already told you,” Burton said. “But the scientists are excited.”
“I can imagine,” Clark said, not really liking that aspect of the situation but at least he was safely in the loop.
“Anyway, expect to hear something from Congress in the coming week. From what I understand, my little suggestion has taken hold and grown a great amount of interest.”
“Should I be concerned?” Clark asked, putting his glass down.
“No. Things are just going to get interesting,” he said with a smirk.
Clark, now a little more at ease, raised an eyebrow. “And they weren't already?”
Burton chuckled just as they heard his wife, Lisa, pull up the driveway.
Leaving with a nod, Clark disappeared out the back before the front door closed behind Lisa.
O o O o O
It hadn't been easy entering the night club, especially with a recording device, even for him, but once in, people talked. However, not as much as Clark had hoped. As soon as he felt himself inching toward the truth, people in the know would clam up and refuse to speak further. In the end, only his gentle persistence led to one tattoo covered 'gentleman’ answering his questions.
“Oh yeah, pretty lady. I saw her photo a while ago. I thought she had already been hit?” he said after Clark had showed an image of Miranda.
“She was. I'm just . . . looking for work.” Clark shrugged, his worn but heavy duty leather jacket making his shoulders appear even broader than they really were. In his current disguise, which included a genuine five o’clock shadow and makeup to create a very convincing scar across his nose, he didn't look very friendly. “I was hoping if someone knew who sent the hit, or even who made the hit, I could offer my services to help out with the next. I've worked in other cities.”
The man chortled. “We don't offer our services here as much as just do as we're told. I can tell you're experienced, but this city isn't like the other places you've worked. Here, the Big Boss is god.”
“The Big Boss?” he asked incredulously.
The man nodded. “He ordered the hit. I believe the exact instructions were to take care of the lady quietly and completely. No evidence whatsoever.”
Clark nodded slowly. “But her body was found. . . .”
“Hm, was it? Well, then I feel for the poor saps who did a sloppy job. The Big Boss does not accept sub-par work.”
“Oh?”
“That’s the most important thing you need to know here. Always do exactly what the Boss says.”
“Who is the Big Boss?”
“Don't know, I've thankfully never met him. But there's an English guy who is usually the point of contact, providing instructions for jobs and giving payment to those who have carried them out.”
“English guy?”
“Yeah. Old, a bit creepy,” he said. “Goatee, big nose. Voice like some sort of old theatre actor. Once you hear it, you’ll know what I mean.”
“So you've seen him? Do you know where I could meet him or who I can ask to talk with him?”
“You're a pretty gutsy fella,” he stated, stepping back to appraise him. “Well, I've never interacted with him directly, so I don't know, but I was there for one of the payoffs. We had roughed up a businessman a while back, some kind of turf dispute I think, and he brought us our money. As for who to talk to . . . I hear you don't find them, they find you.”
Clark nodded, knowing this was all he would be able to get from this guy. “Well, thank you, very much. Here, your next few drinks are on me.”
The man grinned, accepting the small wad of cash. “No problem, no problem.”
Clark stayed around a bit longer, not wanting to immediately leave in case anyone was watching him. He wouldn't want to make them think to question 'gentleman’ specifically. This also allowed him to gain insight into other elements of the criminal underworld in Metropolis, which wasn't very encouraging. And it all centered around the Big Boss.
O o O o O
"Finished moving into your new office, Mayson?" Henderson asked, joining her in the hall.
"Yes, thank you," she said, happy to see a familiar face among so many others she didn't yet know.
"Good. Well, I managed to snag Mr. Kent. I heard you've wanted to meet him since you learned about the solving of the case, so I hope you don't mind me arranging the three of us dinner," he said, referencing the one case he would never need to identify by name with her.
The once cold case of Gregory Tibs, her high school sweetheart.
"Oh! No, no, of course not. I have no plans, as you know. Thank you. I can't wait to talk to him, and not just to thank him," she said, falling into step beside him.
"Been hearing things about him in the grapevine, I take it?" Henderson asked, amused and not surprised.
"Hard not to, especially after what he did when he helped you arrest that scumbag," she said, referring to the sex trafficker, Jeffrey Grant. "Is it true Kent refused to be seen by the paramedics? He took four hits to his vest from what I heard, so--"
"Yeah, he got hit four times. I saw it myself. But the thing that you have to understand about Kent is that he is a very private person. He was seen by his personal physician, though, don't worry," Henderson explained as they got into his car.
Mayson hummed thoughtfully, feeling that Kent was more than private. Sounded like he was paranoid or something. Granted, being a private investigator likely meant he had seen some crazy things. Probably doesn't like being seen by medical professionals he doesn't know and trust.
"Well, as long as he was checked out," she said, deciding everyone was allowed some eccentricities, especially if they did as much good as Kent clearly did.
They arrived at the restaurant, which was a simple diner on a corner. It was a quiet night so they got in quickly and found Kent already waiting for them at a table in an empty area of the restaurant.
Approaching the table, Henderson quickly took the initiative to introduce Mayson to his friend as Kent stood up.
"Kent, Ms. Mayson Drake, our new assistant DA. Drake, Mr. Clark Kent, Private Investigator," Henderson introduced.
Shaking his hand, Mayson was struck by how downright attractive he was. It should be a crime to look that handsome!
"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Kent," she said, ignoring the subtle smirk Henderson was throwing her just out of Kent's view.
"Likewise," he said, making her heart skip a beat when a flash of recognition passed across his face. "You wouldn't happen to be the daughter of Detective Hubert Drake, would you?" It was hardly a question.
"Yes. Thank you for solving Greg's disappearance. As much as I wish it had ended differently, there is peace in knowing the truth," she said.
Kent gave a sad, sympathetic smile. "You're welcome. I'm glad I was able to bring you and everyone else involved some closure."
Just then, the waitress walked up and they sat down, breaking the solemn atmosphere. After a moment, the waitress took their order.
"Bill tells me you’re new to Metropolis. So, where did you move here from?" Kent asked once the waitress had left to retrieve their drinks.
"Boston, Massachusetts. Worked as a private lawyer for three years before helping with a few criminal cases and going from there to work for the D.A.," she said. "What about you?"
"I've done a lot of traveling working as a PI. I was also in the Air Force for a time. When my commission was up, I decided to settle here in Metropolis to return to investigative work."
Her eyes widened. "How long did you travel? Where have you visited?"
"Since 18, and pretty much everywhere. You can see a lot in five plus years," he said as the waitress set their drinks down before leaving once again with a promise that their meals would be out soon.
"How old were you when you solved your first case?" she asked, impressed.
"18," he answered, a little sheepishly.
"What?! You never told me that!" Henderson exclaimed.
"It was off the books. I asked the Police Chief to keep my involvement out of it, and he was fine with that. It was in China, so I can only imagine the legal and political implications if it became known that an American helped bring down a few sex trafficking rings." Kent took a drink, trying to ignore their stunned expressions.
"Kent, you are something else," Henderson said.
"So, what about you? What sort of cases do you focus on, Ms. Drake?" Kent asked, trying to shift the attention away from himself.
"Mayson, please."
"Alright. Then you can call me Clark," he said, happy to be getting along so well.
Mayson smiled as the waitress returned with their dinners; burgers and fries for Clark and Henderson, a garden salad for Mayson, before leaving again.
"Well, I focus on cases involving criminal organizations and homicides," Mayson answered.
"Which is the main reason why I wanted you two to meet," Henderson cut in. "Kent might have stumbled upon - as he apparently often does - some interesting information."
"Oh?" Mayson asked, raising an eyebrow.
" 'The Boss' ordered the murder of Miranda Fairchild," Clark answered softly. "And I have a lead on his right hand man."
“Should we be discussing this here?” Mayson asked, glancing around and finding the closest occupied table was well over four tables away and the occupants didn’t seem to care about them at all.
“We’re alright talking here. I checked before you two arrived,” Clark said confidently.
Mayson felt far more reassured than she expected. His tone held no hesitation and she had the distinct feeling he was extremely experienced in verifying such things.
“Alright. So what do you have?" Mayson asked.
"Nothing that'll stand up in court yet, but I have a strong lead. I'll let you both know when I learn more, but I will say that if my suspicions are correct, the Boss is extremely powerful. We can't trust anyone, even those within the precinct."
"Then why are you trusting me by bringing me into this?" Mayson asked, a little disbelievingly.
"Henderson wouldn't introduce you to me like this if you couldn’t be trusted, and I did a brief check on you during the case. You're trustworthy, although I should warn you that you especially need to be careful."
"What do you mean? Why should I be careful?" she asked.
Clark took a deep breath, glancing at Henderson. "This is dangerous knowledge, but I think it would be foolish to not tell you both. Have you heard of Intergang?"
Mayson froze, not expecting that at all while Henderson stiffened.
"They're suspected to being a secret international criminal organization," Mayson said. "I don't know a whole lot beyond that, other than how good they are at pulling the strings from a distance."
Clark nodded. “I don't know how much they are involved, but I have no doubt that the Churches, Bill Church Sr. in particular and perhaps his son, are connected to Intergang."
"What!?" Mayson all but shouted before quickly glancing around apologetically but her outburst didn’t seem to cause that much disruption.
"I'll share with you what I have if you wish. Unfortunately it's mainly circumstantial, little things I've encountered in my travels throughout the years, but my gut, which has never failed me, is telling me there is more to the Churches than just being owners of a budding store empire. So please, just be careful and don't let anyone know you suspect anything about the Boss or Intergang."
"So you think the Boss is head of Intergang?" Henderson asked.
"No, I think they're rivals. As far as I've been able to determine, Intergang is barred from any influence in Metropolis by the Boss. The Boss is extremely possessive. If Intergang learns we have a lead on bringing him down, they might try to work a deal with him by warning him. Or worse, they might begin a turf war knowing he's about to be distracted by us," Clark warned.
Mayson slowly nodded. "Alright, I'll assume you're right and keep this close to my chest, but I want to know everything you know."
"As do I," Henderson said, a little irked in not being told about Intergang sooner.
"Of course," Clark said. "And I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, Bill, but it's not the sort of thing that's easily brought up."
Henderson nodded his forgiveness, acknowledging that Kent did tell him before too long. They had been forewarned, and thus, were forearmed.
Their food came out not long after and then they were free to discuss again.
"Have you determined anything with the bombings?" Mayson asked Henderson.
Henderson nodded grimly. "We're certain whoever is responsible was testing Superman."
Mayson frowned and she couldn't keep the sliver of annoyance from her face upon hearing Superman's name.
"Oh, Kent, you should know, Mayson doesn't like Superman," Henderson pointed out somewhat unnecessarily.
Mayson sighed at the true accusation. "It's not that I don't like him, I just don't think anyone should operate without proper authorizations. I mean, what if he accidentally hurt someone, who is going to cover that? And does he know how to not contaminate evidence? And what about the legal implications of his involvement in a case, however minimal? If handled inappropriately - mistrial anyone?"
"Well, in his defense, he's been extremely helpful during the bombing investigation and, from the attempted bombing of the Messenger, he left the bomb components completely intact. He seems to know a thing or two about handling evidence."
"But who is he? Why is he helping us?"
"Kent, any thoughts?" Henderson asked, noting his silence.
"I think those are valid points and questions, but I also know that much of that should be addressed pretty soon - if one of my contacts is correct. I won't say much more than that, but Mayson, you're not the only one who has those concerns, and I'd like to think Superman knows and understands that people are unsure about him."
Henderson nodded thoughtfully. "Would make sense considering the few times I've interacted with him."
Both Mayson and Clark perked up at that, wanting to hear his opinion of the flying man.
"So?" Mayson prompted.
"He's very polite, always asked before doing anything, and was cooperative. He seemed to sense when people were uncomfortable in his presence and did his best to keep his distance while giving his statements."
"Well, I'm glad to hear he's considerate at least, but I hope he understands the precarious position he places law enforcement and my department in."
"Oh, you don't need to tell me, I've done plenty of paperwork concerning it already, but he has prevented a number of rapes and a few murders beyond his major rescues, so I think the few legal hiccups his presence causes may be a fair trade," Henderson defended.
"I'm not saying he doesn't do good. I'm just concerned. What if his presence causes criminals to be allowed to get off and they end up committing more crimes and hurt more people?" Mayson asked, knowing she was sounding a bit like an alarmist but it was a legitimate fear.
Clark leaned forward, and she couldn't turn away from his dark brown eyes.
"What would you do in his place?" he asked, his tone curious as much as serious. "If you were an alien, lived here in secret for many years, perhaps in fear of being discovered - because, come on, you'd be stupid not to be - but had these abilities to help people? Would you sit back while knowing you could save people's lives?"
Mayson heaved a big sigh. "No, but I would also learn enough about a planet to understand the importance of its laws. No one should be above it or be allowed to operate outside of it, and if nothing is done he could set a dangerous precedent," she argued. "There must always be a system in place to hold people accountable or all of society will eventually pay for it."
"I agree," Clark said, smiling.
"Just like that?" Mayson asked, confused, having expected a bit more of an argument.
"There's a but," Clark added.
"Of course."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Bill, but Superman has only stopped people from getting hurt and prevented suspects from leaving the scene until officers have arrived, which any civilian is technically allowed to do in such circumstances."
"That's right, and he has yet to interfere with petty crime. All of his actions have only been to safeguard someone's life and physical well-being," Bill explained.
Mayson frowned, but it wasn't from disapproval, but deep consideration. "I see."
Bill beamed, quite pleased with himself as he finished off his burger.
Clark and Mayson both noticed.
"Why are you so pleased?" Mayson asked, a little annoyed because she had a strange feeling she had been set up in some way.
"I knew Kent here would be able to convince you to at least consider giving Superman a chance," Henderson said, completely unapologetic.
"Fine. I'll wait until this mysterious event Kent’s source referred to comes about before I decide how to feel, fair?" she relented.
"Yes," Henderson said before he pulled out the mini menu by the salt and pepper. "So, dessert? How about a
Super Creme Brulee?" he asked, reading the dessert’s name.
Mayson groaned at the not so subtle jab, but she had to admit, dessert did sound good.
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