TOC Now for this section:
He was painfully late to work and he hoped Lois had covered for him. After getting to his apartment the afternoon before, Lois helped him clean most of the blood off of his face and out of his ears. After she left he managed to crawl into bed and had fallen into an exhausted sleep. When Clark finally woke up, he was already several hours late getting to the Planet. He hadn’t heard the alarm clock go off at all and wasn't sure if Lois had turned it off or he had simply slept through it.
Sharp sounds still sent ice picks into his brain and his sense of balance wasn’t right. But staying home simply wasn't an option.
The elevator seemed to take forever, creaking and groaning as it made its way to the bullpen floor. The doors opened and he made his way to his desk, hoping no one noticed how wobbly he was.
There was a copy of this morning’s edition of the Planet on his desk. He glanced at the headline: THIEVES LOOT DIAMONDS ‘"Sound Man" and Gang Put Whole Block to Sleep. One Man Dead.’
“Too bad Superman’s gone,” Jimmy said as Clark dropped into his desk chair. “He’d’ve taken this guy
out.”
“Maybe,” Clark said.
Perry came out of his office and walked over to Lois’s desk. “Are you okay, son? Lois told us what happened.”
“I’m still a little rocky, but I’ll be okay,” Clark assured him. Perry didn’t look convinced.
“Preliminary autopsy results on the man killed in the robbery came in and Doctor Arnold called. I told him we’d be over as soon as you came in,” Lois said. “Unless you still think it would be better if we divide our efforts…”
“There are still two of us and two of them…” Clark reminded her.
“There something going on between you two I should…?” Perry asked.
“No,” they both said.
“Hello, Metropolis,” a voice said from nowhere and everywhere. Clark recognized it. It was the same distorted voice that had said: ‘Didn’t you hear? Superman is dead.’ The voice of the killer in the Diamond District.
The voice continued. “For those of you who haven't read the papers, I'm the one who brought the police to their knees and cleared out the gem merchants… In celebration of that momentous event, I'm creating a new tax. A sound tax. The rate: fifty percent of all money in Metropolis banks. Seem like a high price? Then don't pay. And find out what a high price really is.”
Lois and Clark exchanged glances.
He’s already killed once.“The money will be bagged and waiting outside each branch by nine AM tomorrow. Oh, and one final message... to the cops… Try and stop me.”
“Not exactly subtle, is he?” Perry commented.
“Lois, you said Doctor Arnold wanted to see us?” Clark asked.
She nodded. “You can read the autopsy report on the way.”
-o-o-o-
The medical examiner’s report was a little surprising, but then Clark realized it probably shouldn’t have been. It made sense that the one person who hadn’t been affected by the sleep-inducer sound had been profoundly deaf. His name was Franz Muller and he was a gem cutter. Death had been caused by his brain being reduced to mush inside his skull.
“You know, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you too,” Lois commented.
“Lucky for me, the Sound Man wasn't gunning for Superman,” Clark said. “I have a feeling his weapon could be tuned to hurt me, even if my powers were at full strength.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I was. My invulnerability has been back for some time, but that sound weapon knocked me for a loop. You saw that,” he said. “My sense of balance still isn’t right. I doubt I could fly right now, even if that had come back. I’d end up running into a building or the ground or something.”
“That bad, huh?”
Clark nodded then grimaced as the vertigo returned. He took a deep breath to calm the complaints coming from his gut.
“Did Jimmy come up with anything on Camden’s funding?”
Lois blew a long breath through her nose. “You’re not going to believe it. When Camden lost his position at the University, he went to work for Lexlabs. But he walked out on them over some sort of ethics issue. Apparently he was strictly anti-gun, anti-violence and objected when they wanted to test the non-lethal weapon he’d designed for them on animals.”
“Sounds like something LexLabs would have done,” Clark commented.
“When Camden left, they shelved the project, supposedly,” Lois continued. “He had non-compete contract, but then ACL Corporation – you remember them? – started funding him and managed to get him out of the non-compete… I’ve put in a call to Camden’s doctor at the hospital. Hopefully he’ll talk to us.”
Doctor Arnold was waiting for them in his lab. “Just so you know. I’ve already passed my findings onto the police. The sound on the bank tape was designed to create delta waves in the hearer. According to my colleagues over in medical, delta waves are associated with deep sleep. But that’s not all I found.” He turned on the tape recorder on the table. A low musical voice came out of the speakers:
‘You are tired. You are sleepy. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.’ The voice repeated the phrases in several languages.
“The voice is buried in the sound. I’ve slowed it down and removed the delta wave inducers so it can be made out,” Arnold told them. “Between the delta waves and the subliminals, I’d say it was pretty effective. STAR Labs is looking into a way to combat the sound.”
“You know the Sound Man killed someone yesterday, don’t you?” Clark asked.
Arnold nodded, his mouth settling into a grim line. “I know. And I don’t know of any technology we have that can counter it, at least nothing that’s portable.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Clark said, turning to leave.
“Hey, I just wish I could be more help,” Arnold said.
“So, where does that leave us?” Lois asked as soon as the pulled out of the parking lot.
“Pretty much the same place we were before,” Clark said. “Camden or Stoke, unless you think Doctor Arnold is involved.”
Lois’s cell phone chirped and Lois pulled it out. “Lois Lane…Yes, Doctor Green… We’ll be right there…” She hit ‘end’ on her phone and dropped it back into her purse. “Camden’s doctor is willing to talk. He’s meeting us at the downtown Big Belly.”
Lois’s phone chirped again. “Lois Lane… Jimmy? Where are you…? You what…? You did…? We’ll be right there.” She glanced over at Clark. “Jimmy spotted that jacket and the van like the one you described.”
“You want to drop me off at Big Belly while you chase down Jimmy?”
Lois sighed. “After everything, including you getting hurt, you want to split up?”
“Lois, that’s not it,” Clark protested. “We can cover more ground separately right now and you know it. I’ll go talk to Camden’s doctor while you find out what Jimmy’s found.”
“Fine,” Lois spat. “You go track down Camden. You’ve been wanting to ever since you heard about him.” The jeep screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant.
“We’ll meet back at the Planet?” Clark asked.
“Whatever.”
“Lo-is.”
“Doctor Green is waiting.”
-o-o-o-
Lois wasn't sure why she was annoyed with Clark. It made perfectly good sense for them to split up to track down the two leads they had. Was she really afraid he’d bring in the story without her?
No, that wasn't like Clark at all. Claude might have done it to her – hell, he had done it to her, but Clark wouldn’t. The Kerth committee chose his series on old people and nursing homes over her series on drugs. That’s what it came out to. They hadn’t even looked at what it took to get the drug cartel story, how close she had come to losing her life (Superman not withstanding), how hard it had been to get the goods on the cartel members. The committee chose to honor the investigation that had posed no danger in getting the facts, except for being bored to death. One hundred twenty hours of taped interviews, nearly twice that in time for background, off the record interviews and sources that wanted to remain anonymous. Lois had to admit she wouldn’t have been able to even begin such an investigation but Clark had simply started and slogged though to the end.
Lois Lane had lost the nomination to Clark Kent. She realized that was what was irking her. She had always strived to be the best, and getting the nod from the Kerth committee these past years was simply validation that she really was the best. Now her still wet-behind-the-ears partner was being considered for that title. There was only one top spot, right? Right.
She spotted Jimmy and his old battered motorcycle in front of City Hall and pulled the jeep in behind where he was parked.
“What have you got?” Lois asked, catching his attention. Jimmy climbed into the passenger seat.
“I spotted a gray van and a bunch of guys planting micro-speakers on buildings and light posts,” Jimmy told her. “Got some good shots of them, too, before the cops ran me off.”
“And?”
“The guy with that fancy biker jacket is one of them,” Jimmy continued. “I traced the jacket to one of the custom embroidery companies.”
“And?”
“It was ordered by a fellow named Quinn Gallagher. And guess where he works.”
“Jimmy…” Lois warned.
“Stokes Club.”
-o-o-o-
Green was waiting at one of the outdoor tables at Big Belly, which was one of the favored haunts of Daily Planet employees, being only two blocks east of the Planet.
“Doctor Green? I’m Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” Clark introduced himself. Green looked concerned. “Miss Lane sent me,” Clark added. The older man gestured for Clark to take the seat opposite his.
One of the waitresses spotted him and dropped off another menu. “I’ll just have coffee with cream, please,” Clark said. She sauntered off.
“I assume Miss Lane told you why we’re interested in Derek Camden,” Clark began.
Green nodded. “You and the police are trying to locate him.”
“From our research, he is one of the few people around with the knowledge and skills to design and build the weapons the Sound Man is using,” Clark told him.
Green took a deep breath and picked the valise that had been leaning against his leg. He opened the case and pulled out a slim folder. “These files are normally confidential, Mr. Kent, but under the circumstances...” He opened the file and skimmed the top sheet contents as if reacquainting himself with its contents. “Camden was released into the care of a friend. Lenny Stoke.”
“Stoke? I heard they hated each other.”
Green shrugged. “I spoke to Derek not long after his release. He said he and Stoke had a new business venture in the works. And the last address I had for him was…”
“Let me guess,” Clark interrupted. “Stoke's.” He sat back in his chair as the waitress brought him his coffee and sat Green’s meal on the table.
“Doctor Green, is there anything you can tell me about Camden’s condition,” Clark asked. “Without violating doctor-patient confidentiality, of course, that would help us find him before things get worse for him.”
Green’s lips drew thin as he considered Clark’s question. “Derek was a pacifist, completely against violence. I can’t see that he would willingly have had anything to do with these crimes.”
“Was there another doctor he was working with at the hospital? Maybe they have some thoughts on this?” Clark asked. It was a long shot. He knew that the New Troy Public Mental Health Hospital frequently had private practice physicians giving time to patients pro bono.
Green seemed to consider Clark’s statement for a long time before speaking. “He was in the care of Doctor Arianna Carlin, up until the time of her death. Her death set him back quite a bit.”
“But he recovered quickly enough to be released six weeks ago, within a week of Carlin’s death,” Clark pointed out.
“She had already started the paperwork for his release,” Green said. “It would have been difficult to keep him under those circumstances, especially when Mister Stoke stepped up and agreed to take care of him.”
Clark and Doctor Green chatted a while longer as Green finished his meal. The psychiatrist gave him a list of names, staff members Camden had spent time talking to at the hospital, but warned him it was unlikely any of them could add any more to what Clark already knew.
It was a short walk to the Planet. Lois was nowhere to be seen. Clark wished, not for the first time in recent days, that his x-ray vision had come back. It would make it a little easier to figure out where she had gone. He hoped she wasn’t planning on doing something dangerous – Superman wasn't around to pull her fat out of the fire.
“If you’re lookin’ for Lois,” Perry said, seeing him settle at his desk. “She was here for about half an hour then took off lookin’ like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“Any idea where she went?” Clark asked.
Perry shook his head. “I’m just the ring master in this here circus.”
-o-o-o-
Lois looked around the large, industrial-looking room. The Stoke Club’s doors had opened only ten minutes before but the floor was already crowded with young women dressed in very little, and men ogling them.
The ceiling was invisible, hidden in cigarette smoke and darkness. The club was in an old municipal warehouse converted to a dance club not long after Stoke’s first album came out – the only commercially successful the musician had released. The others had been well received by critics, but not by the purchasing public. The club, however, remained a favorite haven for Metropolis’s underground rock crowd.
The music was loud, reverberating in her chest as she made her way closer to the stage. Stoke himself was scheduled to play this evening. That was one of the reasons the club was so crowded tonight. Stoke was supposed to be playing tonight.
Someone bumped into her and a man’s hand landed on her bare midriff. “Watch it,” she warned, slapping the hand away. She turned around and looked up at the man who had bumped her: Clark.
“Lois? What... what are you...? Why are you dressed like that?” he managed to stammer.
“You're just too much competition, Clark, so I'm chucking my career and becoming a groupie,” she said, swaying to the music. Clark just stood there, looking overdressed and out of place in his suit and tie.
“Look, I've got a lead on Camden. He was staying here and…”
“That's great, Clark, I'm really happy for you. I'm on a lead of my own, so what else is there to say but... see you at the finish line?” With that she danced away from him. As much as she wanted to hear about his lead on Camden, she wasn’t about to let him blow her chance at getting to Stoke. She had done her homework. She was dressed and made-up just like his last three conquests, complete with nose ring even though he did like them younger than she was. She had a plan. She even had a bugging device with her, courtesy of Jimmy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it's time,” a voice announced over the public address system. “In his first appearance on his own or any other stage in over two years... The Recluse of Rock, the Duke of Decadence... the one, the only... Lenny Stoke!”
The lights on the dance floor dimmed as the stage lights blazed to life. Lenny Stoke, devilish, debonair, was on stage, wearing black leather from head-to-toe leather. He was sporting a pair of metallic elbow-length gloves as he grabbed one of the microphones, shrieking into it as the three other leather-clad members of his band began their set.
Lois waved back at Clark, watching him long enough to make sure he was leaving. She smiled to herself as he plugged his ears with his fingers and shoved his way out of the club. Then she turned her attention back to Lenny Stoke. The crowd was enthralled, entranced, especially the tightly-packed groupies closest to the stage. They almost seemed drugged.
She tried to push her way to the front row, but the girls already in position shoved her back. Then the latex and spandex amazons the Stoke Club used as ‘security’ dragged her to the back of the room and dropped her there without saying anything.
Lois glared at the three as they went back to their stations, watching the crowd. She stopped five big men with beards and beer guts. They weren’t dancing, but they were watching the girls who were. After a moment, Lois pulled a wad of bills from her purse and waved it at them.
Within moments Lois was in front of the stage with her new body guards. The groupies who had shoved her out of the way were glaring at her from the sidelines. Thanks to some well spent cash, Lois had a space of floor all to herself. She could see that she had caught Stoke’s attention. He was grinning appreciatively as she gyrated seductively in front of him. Step one completed.
-o-o-o-
Clark checked the address he’d gotten off the wall of Camden’s room at the Stoke Club.
The club bartender had been surprisingly helpful, pointing out the room at the back of the building, telling him what little the man knew about Camden: “Camden was living in one of the rooms in back. Weird little guy… Jumpy. Gave me the creeps but Stoke said the guy was an old buddy of his who was goin’ though some bad times.”
“So, when did he leave?” Clark had asked.
“About a week ago,” the bartender said. “Just up and disappeared. Stoke wasn't real happy about it. But hey, it’s a free country.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where he went, would you?” Clark asked, passing the bartender the tab and a sizable tip for the pint of beer he’d been handed.
The bartender shrugged. “Can’t help ya there, sorry.”
Clark had given the man his thanks and had gone to check out Camden’s room. It was small, without windows. An unmade bed, a dresser, a night stand and a desk. Clark had checked the desk, keeping an ear out for intruders. Empty. There wasn’t even a writing pad in the desk. Clark spotted a blotch of ink on the wall near where a phone had obviously been mounted at one time. He had just been able to make out the name and number that had been written on the wall then scribbled over using felt-tipped marker.
That was when one of Stoke’s security people found him and forcibly escorted him out of the room. Luckily for him, he was invulnerable, although that hadn’t helped when he found Lois in the club, dressed like a hooker or a groupie, chasing him away from her.
A quick call to the Daily Planet research department got him an address for the phone number. It was in Suicide Slum. He found the building easily enough, several blocks from the club. It was a boarding house that had seen far better days. He knocked on the door and when a sullen looking boy answered the door, he asked for Ms. Valdez. The boy disappeared inside and a few moments later a frightened-looking woman with dark hair and swarthy skin came to the door.
“Ms. Valdes? I'm Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet? I'm looking for Derek Camden,” Clark said. “Your phone number was on the wall of his room.”
She didn’t seem to understand him.
“No ingles?” Clark asked. She shook her head. He switched to Spanish, hoping his accent wasn’t too execrable. “Senorita Valdes, mi nombre es Clark Kent, yo soy un reportero...”
