Georgie Hairdo’s club had everything. Slot machines, craps tables, cards, roulette. There was no sign of Georgie Hairdo himself, assuming Lois and Clark knew what he looked like. Apparently, Georgie was camera shy. The Daily Planet did not have a photograph of him more recent than his senior high school photo and that was twenty years old. All they really knew was his real name: George Papadapoulis.
Lois stationed herself in front of a nickel slot machine and started feeding coins in. Clark stood beside her, watching the crowd.
“Lois, we're here to work,” he reminded her. He was getting annoyed at her apparent infatuation with the one-armed bandit.
“Just a few more nickels,” Lois told him. “I just got it warmed up.”
Clark just shook his head and looked over to the craps table, only a few feet away in the crowded club. A group stood around the table watching a well-dressed woman roll the dice.
“Four's the point,” the croupier announced.
Clark watched with interest. He didn’t really gamble. Dice was too easy for him, ditto roulette, and cards – well, he knew he didn’t have a poker face and cheating just didn’t sit very well with him. The woman rolled the dice.
“Seven,” the croupier said. The croupier cleared the table as the players and onlookers watched in disappointment. The next player tossed the dice.
“Craps.”
Clark peered over to top of his glasses at the dice. As he suspected, the dice were weighted – the game was rigged. He pushed his glasses back into place and smiled to himself as he watched the man toss the dice again. A two and a one, this time. But a quick breath rolled the one over on its side – a five, making seven.
“Cra...,” the croupier began. Then he looked at the dice. “Seven.” Around him, the players and onlookers screamed in delight, pocketing their winnings. The croupier picked up the dice, hefting them suspiciously.
Clark wandered away from the table, heading, more or less, back toward Lois who was still feeding the slot machine.
“Hey, handsome,” a familiar woman’s voice said in his ear. “How about some company?”
Clark turned around to see Bonnie Parker standing at his shoulder. She was eyeing him seductively, leaning into him to show off her cleavage in the little black dress she was wearing.
“Um, sure,” he said. He stepped over to the bar and took a seat. “So, uh, do you come here often?”
She sat facing him, playing with his tie. She grinned at him, coyly batting her eyelashes.
“I haven't been here in years,” she said. “I guess you could say I haven't been anywhere in years.”
“What would you like to drink?” Clark asked her as the bartender noticed them.
“Why don't you surprise me?” she told him.
“White wine for the lady,” Clark told the bartender. “Club soda for me, thanks.”
“So, you look a little wound up,” Parker said. “Why don't you loosen your tie and relax?” She reached for his tie and started to loosen the knot. He brushed her hand away.
“Whatsa matter?” Parker asked, pouting. Clark considered her a moment.
“I’m, uh, a kinda shy.”
Clark looked over to the slot machines. Lois was still playing the slots. An older woman was standing next to her, watching. Lois pulled the lever one more time. This time, she hit the jackpot, nickels pouring into the tray, spilling onto the floor. She bent down to retrieve the fallen coin, then stood to follow a man sporting an outrageously bouffant hairdo. As Clark watched she tapped the man on the shoulder.
“Excuse me. Mr. Hairdo?”
The man turned at looked at her. “You talkin' to me?”
“Yes, aren't you Georgie Hairdo?” she asked.
“Do I look like a bald dead guy?” he asked back. She looked at him blankly. “Georgie Hairdo was found floatin' in Hob’s River a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Lois said, eyes wide with consternation.
“I'm not. I owed him twenty large,” the man said with a chuckle.
“You got nice hands,” Parker was saying to Clark. She was caressing his hand. She was also making him more than a little nervous.
“Thanks,” he said. “So, do you live nearby?”
She chuckled. “That's a pretty forward question for a guy who won't take off his tie.”
“Back off, pretty boy. The lady's taken,” a man’s voice said. Clark looked up to see Clyde Barrow standing over him. Barrow sounded annoyed. No, more than annoyed. If looks could kill, Clark would have been writhing on the floor in agony. As it was, he was feeling a headache coming on.
“Knock it off, Clyde,” Parker told Barrow, glowering at him. “After sixty years, I still don't see no ring on this finger.”
“Could we discuss this later? In private?” Barrow hissed at her. “You're supposed to be watching the door.”
Clark stood, suddenly anxious to be away from them both. “Look. Um, it was nice meeting you. Both of you. But I have to go... find someone.” He dropped a few dollars on the bar to pay for the drinks, and headed off to find Lois. She appeared out of the crowd and grabbed his arm.
“Clark. I just found out Georgie Hairdo's dead,” she reported.
“Yeah. Well, Bonnie and Clyde are here,” he told her, taking her arm and heading for the door. “We've got to call the police. Let's go.” He had the uncomfortable feeling that there were eyes on him, watching. His headache hadn’t gone away. Kryptonite, here?
Lois broke free of his hand. “You go,” she said. “I've got to find a gray-haired lady with a bucket of my nickels.” As she turned, the front door burst open. She and Clark both froze at what they saw. Capone, Dillinger, and two thugs had come through the door. All four men carried antique Tommy guns and all four look ready to use them.
Dillinger fired a short burst into the air and the club’s customers began to scream. The club bouncers both reached for their guns, but Barrow and Parker were right there to disarm them. The two thugs waved their guns at the crowd and the screaming stopped.
“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for this little interruption,” Capone announced. “I just came by to announce that Georgie Hairdo has wisely decided to retire from the hospitality business. So from now on, this club belongs to Al Capone.”
Clark and Lois backed away, trying to hide themselves in the stunned crowd. The movement caught Dillinger’s attention and his eyes found Lois.
Dillinger turned to Capone, a sneering leer on his face. “Hey Al, how 'bout we name this little cutie our new head hostess?”
Lois backed away from him, trying to ignore his leering gaze in her direction but Dillinger just moved closer. “You know, I always was partial to a lady in red.” Dillinger started to run his hand down her cheek. Clark felt her stiffen and try to back away from the mobster.
Clark grabbed Dillinger’s hand away from Lois’s face. “Leave her alone,” he ordered.
Dillinger glared at him. “Who are you? Her big brother?” The mobster shoved Clark aside and made a grab for Lois. She jerked away from Dillinger’s hand and Clark moved forward to intervene, to protect her.
“Clark, no!” Lois yelled. The crowd around her watched in horror as Clyde Barrow leveled his forty-five at Clark and pulled off three shots. Clark simply looked stunned for a moment, then dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut. “Clark!”
She dropped to her knees beside him, trying to staunch the blood she knew had to be pumping from his chest. But his blood wasn’t pumping from the wounds, it was seeping. In the distance she could hear sirens. They sounded like they were coming closer.
Lois looked at the blood on her hands, the three bloody holes in Clark’s white shirt. He wasn’t really bleeding. His blood isn’t pumping. His heart isn’t beating. He’s dead. Clark is dead.
“You moron. What did you do that for?” Capone hissed at Barrow.
“He’s one of the guys the limey wanted out of the way,” Barrow defended himself.
“He wanted the other guy first, you numbskull,” Capone told him, furious. “Let's get out of here. And take the stiff. I can't afford to be linked to a murder.”
The two thugs Capone brought with him, grabbed Clark by the arms and dragged him away. His glasses were jostled off his face and fell to the floor.
“Clark?”
She started to follow them but one of the women, Haines’s wife, held her back. “There’s nothing more you can do, hon’,” she said. “There’s nothing any of us can do.”
