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Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Clark TOC can be found Here

Where we left off on How the Cape Flaps… Part 148

Lois had been serving dinner for about a half-hour when she looked up and saw a set of familiar eyes gazing back at her. The plate of meatloaf in her hand almost slipped to the floor. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing around to see if anyone else had seen him.

“Nice to see you too,” the homeless person with Jimbo’s face replied. He held out his hand and she saw a square of paper tucked inside it. He dropped the paper on the pass bar as she handed him his plate.

Lois pocketed the note and continued serving. She’d find a moment when the line died down to excuse herself to go to the restroom. “Enjoy the meatloaf. I helped fix it,” she called.

A panicked expression bolted across Jimbo’s face, causing Lois’s lips to pinch together. She bet Lucy was behind that expression.

It took another twenty minutes before Lois was able to get away. She locked herself in the bathroom stall and unfolded the note.

Part 149

Who sent Prof D. the data?

Lois scowled. What the hell? What kind of note was that?

No ‘Hi. How are you? We miss you.’

No ‘We’re falling to pieces without you.’

No ‘Luthor bought us out. Come home.’

Just another one of her stories being hijacked. Terrific. She had half a mind to not tell them and let them squirm.

How had Perry learned about her EPRAD/Nightfall/Daitch investigation, anyway? She recognized Perry’s handwriting, so she knew Jimbo wasn’t looking into this on his own. Had Jimbo recovered from his bad case of amnesia regarding Daitch’s spreadsheet that she had him analyze a month ago? Was that how Perry had found out? No, she had never told Jimbo where she had gotten the disc. Had Jimbo let something slip to Jimmy or Perry? Thankfully, Perry was involved. Jimbo certainly wouldn’t have known on his own that she was doing her community service down at the Fifth Street Mission. He also wouldn’t have known to come incognito, because Luthor was having her watched. No, this had the Chief’s directive written all over it.

Had Clark told Perry about her Daitch investigation? No. That didn’t make sense. Superman had more to lose than anyone did, if the truth about Nightfall Major ever saw the light of day. Anyway, according to Bobby, Clark had been suspended from the Planet for being a lunkhead, her choice of words, not Bobby’s. Of course, Clark’s suspension had the earmarks of Lex Luthor written all over it. Payback for Clark saving his life, for being too close to Lois while they had been handcuffed, or for proposing… oh, God! Please tell her that Lex didn’t know about Clark’s proposal.

Lois pushed that idea out of her mind for the moment, not having time to dwell on that possibility. She knew that she couldn’t currently work on the EPRAD/Nightfall/Daitch virus story, no matter how much she wanted to jump ship from this investigation into that one, but still…It hadn’t broken yet. Wouldn’t it keep until she returned? Especially when Clark wasn’t around to work on it. Perry had to know that she wouldn’t trust just anyone on this story.

Maybe Clark had requested the assignment before he was suspended. That made sense. Perry had to know that he couldn’t hand over a story of this explosive nature to just anyone. On the other hand, why hadn’t Perry put Clark on the assignment to help Lois nail some crime to Luthor’s behind? Wasn’t that more urgent?

She hoped that Clark didn’t stumble upon Eugene Laderman’s involvement, or all her work to secure Clark a history would have been for naught. Eugene had felt uncomfortable how Lois cashed in the favor he offered her and was liable to spill the beans if Clark talked to him directly. Instead of using the same cover story she had told Louie, that Clark had needed a fake background for his undercover gig at the Metropolis Star, Lois had told Eugene that the Ides of Metropolis virus had destroyed Clark’s identity.

It wasn’t until she produced “Clark’s” birth certificate and school records, the former supplied by the Kents and the latter by Louie, that Eugene did some digging to double-check her facts. Finally, he believed her and agreed to restore Clark’s past. She had to explain that they hadn’t discovered that Clark’s past was gone until he went to replace his missing driver’s license only to find that, according to the government, he no longer existed. She still wasn’t sure if Eugene bought her whole ‘computer glitch’ explanation.

She had only received the birth certificate back from Eugene the Friday morning right before Clark ended his undercover gig at the Metropolis Star by revealing Carpenter’s involvement in the assassination attempt on Secretary Wallace. She barely had enough time to switch the note from Jonathan, the birth certificate, and packing slip to a fresh overnight envelope and drop it on Clark’s desk before heading out to meet him and the Met Star skank for some B&E in Preston Carpenter’s office.

Perry must have had a darn good reason to make her EPRAD/Nightfall/Daitch investigation a higher priority than her attempt to save the Daily Planet, Superman, and herself. She’d make sure that she asked him what it was, when she called him later. Lois tore off the bottom half of the paper and scribbled down where Jimbo could find the name and email address that she had gotten from the printed copy of the email Professor Daitch had shown her.

At least, she knew the story would be safe in Clark’s hands.

***

“What do you mean ‘it isn’t there’?” Perry White bellowed. “Look again!”

Jimbo took a step back, swallowing. He knew this would happen. “I’ve emptied the entire box, sir. Her notebooks aren’t there. I even double-checked her old desk. Nada.”

The Chief snapped his fingers. “Kent! He’s… was her partner. He would know where she keeps her story notes.”

“CK’s been in the office less than twenty-four hours in the last three weeks, not including the night we were held hostage, and even less than that since Lois quit,” Jimbo reminded him.

“No, you’re right. If he knew where she kept them, he would already have them… Maybe she took them with her?” Perry guessed.

“Then why tell me where I could find the information if she had the notebooks at her apartment?” Jimbo said.

Perry’s brow furrowed. “Good point,” he mumbled as his hand went to his forehead to rub away the tension. “I bet that’s what she did. You might not know this about Lois, but she doesn’t like to share, especially her stories. If I hadn’t twisted her arm around her back, she never would have partnered with Kent. She was angry as all get out that we didn’t tell her about…” He cleared his throat. “Kent’s undercover gig at the Metropolis Star.”

Jimbo couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto his face nor was he unable to suppress a momentary giggle. “Jimmy told me about that.” He winced in sympathy for CK. “Hot coffee in the face. He was lucky not to get burned.”

His boss stared at him out of the corner of his eye for a moment. “And we’re all lucky that Kent’s not litigious. If Lois had done that to…” He froze, stiffening. His voice went cold. “Is Ralph in today?”

Jimbo shook his head. “Nah. Jimmy told me yesterday when I was looking for him that because weekends are a slow time for financial reporting Ralph usually takes off early on Fridays.”

Perry turned his hard gaze upon his intern. “Search his desk.”

“Pardon?” Jimbo gulped. That seemed to go beyond his job description.

“Ralph brought me the story and refused to tell me his source. Search his desk,” his boss’s voice held no room for argument.

“Maybe I should just call Ralph and ask…”

“Go!” Perry roared, and Jimbo went.

Thankfully, the Chief followed.

***

“Hey, Ralph,” Wally whispered over the phone.

“Not so loud,” Ralph groaned.

“Tied one on too tight last night, huh?” Wally rubbed it in, and Ralph could just hear his smirk.

After Chrissy had left the night before, Ralph had paid the extra twenty dollars for not cleaning up the room himself. He had taken the money from her purse while she was washing up in the bathroom. Then he had headed to a nearby sports bar to wash away the horror that he might have revealed things, while tickling her fancy, that he should have kept secret from her. Thankfully, she seemed to take his gloating as him preening his peacock feathers.

Ralph could tell that Wally knew, from his barb, that Ralph was still recovering from his monster hangover. “What do you want?” he snapped back, causing his headache to double.

“Just thought you’d want to know that Perry and one of his brown-nosing lapdogs are searching your desk,” Wally said.

“What?” Ralph gasped, pulling himself to a sitting position.

“Rumor has it, he thinks you stole a story,” Wally continued.

Stole a story? How can I steal a story from someone who doesn’t work there anymore? Recovered a piece of Daily Planet property is more like it. Ralph knocked a few empty beer cans off his coffee table in front of him and picked up Lois Lane’s notebooks. “Let him search, Wally. I’ve got nothing to hide, but thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime, bro. I didn’t think it was true. It must be one of the new policies put in place by our new boss man,” Wally replied.

“I know you work City Hall and I work the financial alley, but in case you don’t know, Lex Luthor is a genius. I’m happy he bought the Daily Planet. With his billions backing us, there's no way for our paychecks to bounce now.”

“Good point,” Wally said and signed off.

Ralph drummed his fingers on the cover of the notebooks. Did Kent know about Lois’s investigation of EPRAD? Was that why their illustrious Editor-in-Chief turned Ralph’s story over to the suspended Kent? Because investigating was one of those things that Kent and Lane did between bumping pelvises? Crap! He needed to come up with something more substantial on it or White would hang him out to dry with the new boss. Ralph grinned. Unless he found a way to push White, Kent, and Olsen – the bootlicking twerp – into the line of fire.

***

Superman landed in the alley behind Professor Daitch’s house.

He had called the Professor’s unlisted number, given to him by a confidential and worried source at EPRAD, but hadn’t received an answer. Correction: given to Clark. Professor Daitch apparently went to lunch on Friday, after sending for security to throw Ralph out of the building. According to Clark’s off-the-record sources at EPRAD, Ralph’s accusations that EPRAD Control and Professor Daitch had been concealing a computer virus from the general public, which had made them think that Nightfall Major would have hit Earth, had the space program scrambling for answers. Professor Daitch never returned to EPRAD Control, and hadn’t been heard from since. The higher echelon at EPRAD was getting nervous.

Since Professor Daitch knew that Clark could contact Superman, maybe he would be willing to talk to him and tell him what he told Lois. If that didn’t work, surely Daitch would tell Superman.

After a quick scan, Superman noticed that Professor’s Daitch’s car was still in the garage, so he knew that the man should be home. One whiff and he knew that the motor was running and filling up the garage with carbon monoxide gases. Another more thorough scan told him that Daitch was passed out inside his car.

Superman tore the garage door off its hinges and pulled the sedan out of the garage. The exhaust pipe of the car was plugged with an oily rag, which he removed a split second before trying the door. Daitch had locked himself inside. No matter. Another split-second later, the door sat next to Superman on the driveway and Daitch fell out of the car and into his arms. Superman reached inside and turned off the engine, leaving the keys behind for the police investigators.

A neighbor rushed out and stood next to the driveway, her mouth ajar. “Superman? Is he…?”

“Call the police and report what’s happened. They’ll want to investigate. Inform them that I’ve taken this man to the hospital and will be in contact with them to issue my statement,” Superman said, scooping up Daitch into his arms and flying off to the nearest hospital emergency room.

As Superman set Daitch down on an empty gurney, he noticed that the man was holding a piece of paper pinched between his fingers. Superman glanced down at it. It was a copy of an e-mail sent to Daitch, reading: “The asteroid F2794 will strike the Earth. Double check your data. I did.” Below the note, someone had written, “I’m so sorry. Stephen D.”.

Clark wasn’t convinced that it was Daitch’s signature. Enough murderers had left fake suicide notes with their victims for him to distrust any vague notes found at crime scenes.

“Nurse!” he called, pushing the gurney into the nearest empty examination room.

***

Lois wasn’t quite sure how she ended up walking into work at LNN on Monday morning. She knew how she got there and why she was there, but a part of her was still unsure if it was the right thing to do. One thing felt good though. The buzz of excitement, the rushing of feet, the energy in the air, this was all her element, and she sure had missed it. It had been way too quiet at her apartment that she was beginning to think she could hear the surveillance equipment lurking within her walls.

She had frustratingly spent Friday night trying to reach either Lex or Perry. She called Perry both at the office and at home from the Mission before she left, but according to both Joe and Alice, the Chief wasn’t in. He must have been in transit, but she couldn’t chance calling him from her tapped apartment phone.

Then Lois had spent the next few hours trying to have Nigel connect her directly to Lex. The irritating man kept insisting that Mr. Luthor wasn’t available. After leaving countless unreturned messages over the next three hours, she told Nigel that the matter upon which she was calling was urgent. She also said that she knew that as Mr. Luthor’s Chief of Staff, Nigel would be able to reach his boss with one phone call, if necessary. Okay, she admitted, that had been an educated guess. Then she told Nigel that if Lex didn’t return her phone call within twenty minutes, she would accept that his boss no longer had any interest in her and for Luthor never to call her again.

That had been a stupid move, motivated more by anger and frustration, than by the knowledge that her ultimatum would work. She was unemployed. Lex Luthor now owned the company for which she had last worked, and hoped to work for again once her investigation was over and they found a new non-criminal publisher. According to the messages left on her answering machine from the Gotham Gazette and the Washington Post, the rumor mill, which Bobby had said would ruin her, apparently was hard at work. The Washington Post said that they had hired another candidate and wished her luck. The Gotham Gazette had lowered their offer to under what Lois had been making at the Daily Planet, and still wanted her to work the city beat in Gotham. She hoped she was never that desperate.

Lois didn’t know who had started the rumors about her being Lex Luthor’s mole at the Daily Planet, but she thought the person might be the third richest jerk in the world or his wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am secretary. She wasn’t jealous of Mrs. Cox, not in the least. Personally, she preferred Lex satisfied by another woman, because even considering what that poor Mrs. Cox must endure made Lois nauseous. She certainly wasn’t going to add ‘selling her soul to the devil’ to the list of things she was willing to do for Clark, the Daily Planet, or even Superman. Even she had lines she would never cross for a story.

Lex had called twenty-five minutes later, so apparently her ultimatum worked; although, Lois bet Lex would claim otherwise. What she had failed to mention to Lex’s chief of staff was that she wasn’t going to start her timer for ten minutes after she hung up, to give Nigel plenty of time to reach his boss. So, technically, she had been giving Lex a thirty-minute window in which to call.

He had given Lois some lame excuse about being in Washington D.C. for a fundraiser. Lex didn’t even have the decency to tell her which fundraiser it was.

“You sabotaged my interview with the New York Times,” she had stated. This was why she hated phone interviews. Telephone conversations only told her part of the whole story. Were his eyes shifting? Was a bead of sweat gathering on his lip? Would he spit blood when her fist contacted with his jaw?

Yeah, so. Patience is overrated. I should have stormed LexCorp this afternoon.

“How so?” Lex had asked.

“By buying the Daily Planet, where I used to work, within minutes of our lunch together, without even a hint of a warning,” she had said. If he wanted to get into this over the phone, so be it.

“I thought you didn’t see a future in the Daily Planet, Lois,” he drawled. “I disagreed with you and bought it. It’s still a grand paper, and Metropolis would surely miss her if she failed.”

“I worked there for practically ten years, Lex. Of course, I’d care. Do you think so little of my opinion that you never even asked me if you should buy the paper?” Lois said.

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” he replied.

Duh.

“On top of that, you made me look like a fool. You let me walk into a job interview without knowing that my friend, with whom I had just lunched and who had recently proposed marriage to me, had bought my former employer without telling me. If you wanted me to have egg down my face at my interview, Lex, why didn’t you crack one over my head at lunch?” she growled. “They’ll never hire me now!” Mostly, that was because she blew off the interview, but she didn’t need to elaborate for Lex’s benefit. “How could you have done this to me? You said that you loved me. This is a fine way of showing it.”

“Of course I do, darling,” Lex said without actually saying the words.

After she and Lex had argued about how Lex had ruined her livelihood and her reputation with his little stunt at the Daily Planet, Lex had offered her a job, two jobs in fact. She could choose: either head back to the Daily Planet or start a new job at LNN. It sounded a whole hell of a lot as if Lex was testing her.

“Well, this is fortuitous, Lois, because I didn’t want you to work at the New York Times.” His answers were louder now, so he must be alone. “I want you to work for me.”

“You haven’t offered me a job,” she reminded him.

“I’ve offered you more than a job, Lois,” he said.

Lois’s teeth had ground together. Why did every conversation they had worm around to this same topic? She had told Lex ‘no’. Fine, she wasn’t an idiot and knew from her non-serious tone that Lex never would have bought her rejection, but reject him she did. She decided that Lex knew darn well what her reaction would be to the news that he had bought the Daily Planet without telling her, and planned to be out of town on purpose. She had swallowed her pride and asked the question on the tip of her tongue. “Did you buy the Daily Planet because of me?”

Lex had chuckled. “I try to keep work and pleasure separate, darling.”

Which was she, Lois had wondered, work or pleasure?

“Anyway, I thought you hated the dusty relic of a place,” he continued without answering her question.

An ever growing part of Lois wished that she could return to her old life that she loved at the Daily Planet, to Perry, Clark, the Jimmys, and Cat, especially Clark, but the Daily Planet as she knew it was gone now that Lex owned the paper. “So, now you want me to come crawling back on my hands and knees, because you bought the Planet?”

“Or you could walk in with your head held high,” Lex suggested.

Lex promised improvements to the Daily Planet and how management ran things, which could have been double-speak for clipping Perry’s wings. Perry was made of stern stuff, and she knew he could handle whatever Lex threw his way.

If Lois returned to the Daily Planet still undercover as Lex’s… ugh… girlfriend, it would put her in an awkward position of being wedged between her friends and colleagues and the man with whom she was supposed to be romantically involved. Not to mention, it felt something akin to surrender or retreat, neither of which was in Lois’s vocabulary.

Returning to the Daily Planet meant she’d also have to confront Clark and the humiliating way she had responded to his horrid proposal, and face him with a very visible audience. How would she be able to live with herself, walking into the Daily Planet on Lex’s arm, when she knew every time Clark saw them together it must have been killing a part of his soul, whether Lois was doing it for show or not? Clark valued Lois’s reporting and undercover skills, but she was sure even he had his limits. Moreover, one glance at his big sad brown eyes could have her in tears.

Lois didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had been so emotional lately. Every little thing, every setback, made her burst into tears. She had never been like this before she had fallen for Clark. It was as if Clark had accessed a part of her that she had never explored before. Damn him. She felt guilty.

“I’d rather work for LNN,” she had grumbled under her breath, knowing she’d never be able to hold her head high at the Planet as long as Lex owned the paper.

“Sold!”

Lois hadn’t realized that Lex could hear her. “I haven’t been offered a job at LNN.”

“A mere formality, Lois,” he said, brushing aside her concerns. “I promise.”

With Lex breaking most of the promises he issued, she wouldn’t hold her breath. On the other hand, he could have mentioned his marriage proposal again, this time specifically.

Robertson, the news director for LNN, had called back the next day, yesterday, sounding much less congested. They talked for a few minutes about her career at the Daily Planet, and then he offered her a job writing copy for LNN’s talking heads. She had accepted.

Lex had finally come through on one of his promises and it turned out to be the one she hoped in her heart that he wouldn’t have.

Lois headed to the Human Resources department to start filling out her employment paperwork. Oh, joy.

***

Superman had returned to Daitch’s house, after leaving the hospital and had given his statement to the detective on the scene. He had stayed long enough to listen to the murmurings of the crime scene techs, but all he learned was that even they didn’t know if it was attempted suicide or homicide. By the time Clark had arrived at the office, it was late enough that most of the weekend staff had already left. Jimmy hadn’t worked, and Jimbo had already finished his part-time shift by the time Clark had arrived. Perry had left him a folded and taped note on his desk apologizing that his source had hit a wall. Fortunately, Clark had gotten that information from Daitch. Unfortunately, not in the way he had hoped.

Clark had given Jose, the nightshift editor, his story about Daitch being admitted to the hospital due to carbon monoxide poisoning at his house. He only briefly mentioned Superman’s involvement. He had then spent most of the rest of Saturday afternoon in the office, hunting down the name which went with the email address on Daitch’s email. Without either of the Jimmys it was slow-going. Eventually, using some old tricks Mr. Olsen had taught him in his old dimension, he had gotten the name: Dylan Gilbert.

He wished he could have Lois and her reporter’s instinct there to assist him with the monotony of the research, and even had lifted up the receiver to call her, before recalling that she didn’t work for the Daily Planet anymore. His sadness was tempered only by a brief smile at the pleasure it would bring Lois to know how much he needed her as his partner.

On Sunday morning, Clark had stopped by the hospital, but the spokesperson refused to issue any more of a statement than that the Professor was still alive. After a quick scan, Clark found Daitch wearing an oxygen mask asleep in his room. He figured his time was better spent tracking down the correct address for the correct Dylan Gilbert in the London area, rather than confirming Daitch’s condition. By the time Clark whittled down the list to the ten most likely candidates, it was too late to fly to London to interview them.

Now, it was Monday morning again, and Clark would finally have Jimmy or Jimbo to help him narrow down the list further. As he stepped out the stairwell door, he could see Jimmy packing up the items on his desk.

Clark quickly approached him. “What’s going on?”

“Ask ‘Chip’,” Jimmy said snidely, and then realized to whom he was speaking. “Oh. Sorry, CK. I’m cleaning out my desk.”

“But I thought you and Jimbo got your jobs back?” Clark asked.

“Oh, we got our jobs back. Yeah. But not the same jobs. We report to the printing plant tomorrow morning,” Jimmy said, picking up his couple of boxes worth of personal items from his desk. “And you know, it’s funny, because I’m having a tough time seeing this as a lateral career move.”

“But we need you,” Clark stammered dumbfounded as he watched his friend head towards the elevators.

Jimmy turned back and smiled. “Thanks, CK.”

“Good luck!” Clark called. He turned towards his desk and wondered if he’d have a similar notice awaiting him. He sat down and saw that he fortunately didn’t, but with Luthor at the helm, who knew how long his luck would last. As he checked his messages, he saw Lex Luthor cross in front of his desk, without acknowledging him, to stop in front of Eduardo’s desk.

“This is an excellent piece of writing, Eduardo, but I think we’ll hold off on running it,” Luthor said, handing Eduardo’s story back to him.

“Why, Mr. Luthor? This is the story I was assigned,” Eduardo replied.

“It’s controversial.”

“Of course, it’s controversial. It’s about excessive rate hikes at Metropolis Electric,” Eduardo said. “Anyway, controversy sells papers. Isn’t that what you want?”

“That the necessary rate hikes are excessive is your opinion and not the opinion of this paper,” Luthor responded.

“If you had actually read my article, Mr. Luthor, you would see that I found that the only reason I could find to raise rates was to pad the salaries of the top employees and the board of directors. Whose only contribution to the company, I may add, is to have fancy paid luncheons once a week, a cocktail party with the works every month, and to vote on the recommendations that the lower rung, underpaid employees thought up,” Eduardo said. “But, I guess, you would already know that being that you’re a member of the board of directors for Metropolis Electric.”

“That only goes to show that you obviously don’t know anything about the utilities business,” Luthor responded, his gaze narrowing.

“My father spent his life working at a hydroelectric dam upstate, and I spent my summers tagging along with him and learning everything he knew. It was my dream to follow in his footsteps, until someone else’s error caused a valve to be left open when it shouldn’t have been, and he was killed. The hydroelectric company said it was my father’s fault for not following protocol, refused to pay our family death benefits, and I switched my major from electrical engineering to a dual-major with that and journalism. My first major story shut down that dam over safety issues, earned me praise from the governor, and assured me a job with the Planet. Perry agreed I should look into this story, so I don’t see how it’s not the opinion of the paper.”

“I’m running this paper now and I say it’s biased. We’re holding off on it,” Luthor said, turning on his heel and walking off, as if to say that was the end of the discussion.

Eduardo looked at Clark in disbelief, mouthing the words ‘who died and made him king?’

Clark hoped the answer was ‘nobody’ but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure anymore.

“Clark Kent?” A young blond man in a business suit stopped at his desk.

“Yes?”

“I’m Chip Peterson…”

“Oh, Chip. Nice to meet you,” Clark said, extending his hand. “Jimmy mentioned you. You’re the new research assistant Luthor hired, aren’t you? Welcome on-board!”

“No, Mr. Kent… Clark,” Chip said, adopting a patronizing posture similar to Luthor’s, and Clark knew he had guessed wrongly. “I’m the new Supervising Editor-in-Chief.”

Clark withdrew his hand and raised his eyebrow as he sat back down, staring at the man. “Supervising?” This kid?

“I’m perfectly capable, I assure you. I’ve just graduated top of my class from Harvard’s Business School,” Chip informed him.

“Oh, so you used to write and edit for the Harvard Crimson, then?” Clark inquired.

“No.”

“The Harvard Business Journal?” Clark pressed again.

“No.”

“The Harvard Law Review?” Clark guessed, sounding doubtful.

“No.”

Clark took a shot in the dark. “The Harvard Lampoon, then?”

“No,” Chip said, his reaction a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance.

“How are you qualified to be an editor, again, if you’ve never written for or edited a newspaper or journal?”

“Mr. Luthor hired me,” Chip replied as if that and a degree were all the experience he’d ever need to work at, let alone run, the Daily Planet newspaper.

Perry White would never have given Chip a job above researcher with that resume. How did Luthor expect to turn the Daily Planet around with some inexperienced kid in charge of the newsroom? At least, the Chief would make sure to keep the paper afloat.

“Oh. Well, good luck with that,” Clark said, reaching for his phone to make more inquiries about the Dylan Gilberts on his list.

Chip cleared his throat, and Clark realized he was still standing in front of his desk. “Kent, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to do research without any support staff, apparently,” Clark responded. It wasn’t like him to mouth off to management, but he didn’t appreciate the changes Luthor was making to the Daily Planet.

“You were suspended last week due to walking off the job without notice,” Chip said. “According to your personnel file, I notice that you quit several weeks ago to work for the Metropolis Star.”

That wasn’t exactly what happened. “I had been undercover at the Met Star and helped catch Preston Carpenter who was causing accidents to out-scoop other media outlets.” A story Chip here would know about if he had done any research about the paper at all, such as reading one. Had he walked into this job blind? “There was a misunderstanding with HR over my suspension. Perry cleared it up and asked me to come back early to work on an important story,” Clark said.

“Well, I’m in charge now. I want you to drop everything and head over to Fort Truman. There’s a press conference scheduled about…”

“I’ll do it!” Ralph said, hijacking their conversation.

Clark hadn’t even realized Ralph was in the office. The lackadaisical reporter usually spent Monday mornings over in financial alley, digging up dirt from down on their luck stockbrokers.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” Chip asked, turning towards the interloper.

“Ralph Spagoda and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Kent here, Mr. Peterson,” Ralph said, holding out his hand.

Clark was sure he could have helped it, being that his desk was on the far side of the room from his.

Chip shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ralph.”

“I’m so excited about all these changes Mr. Luthor is bringing to the paper. I’m a huge fan of the way Luthor can take the old and make it new again. He’s an amazing leader,” Ralph continued, and Clark could swear he could see Ralph’s nose get browner by the moment. “I’m willing to do anything and everything Mr. Luthor or you require of me. I can even take the press conference off Kent’s hands. He’s busy on a follow-up on an old story. Anyway, I did my basic training at Fort Truman. It’s a no-brainer.”

Ralph had been in the military? Clark wondered with surprise, repressing his natural inclination to scoff. He had learned recently that people weren’t always what they seemed to be.

“All right, Ralph,” Chip said, handing him the fax about the press conference. “I like your attitude.”

Ralph took the paper and grinned at Clark as if he were rubbing the fact in his face that he had stolen the press conference from him. He must not have liked that Perry had reassigned the Nightfall story to Clark.

Chip turned back to Clark as Ralph ran up to the elevators. “Kent, I’ll wrestle you up another story.”

“I can get my own stories. Thank you,” Clark replied.

“Well, your recent suspension hints at follow-through problems, so I’ll be approving all your stories from now on,” Chip said. “Before you do anything, it needs my ‘okay’.”

“That’s not going to work,” Clark said. For me or Superman. “Reporters can’t function if they need approval to go to the bathroom, let alone follow their hunches or talk to their sources. News doesn’t wait around for approval. It just happens, and reporters need to be ready to fly, with or without prior approval from management, or they miss out on the story. The Planet isn’t in the business to write up other media’s scoops. If that happens, and there aren’t any original stories to print, the Daily Planet will fold, and we’ll both be out a job.”

“Tell me about your follow-up story, the one Mr. White brought you back for,” Chip insisted.

Clark was about to set his elbow on his research folder, and then realized that would be giving himself away. Instead, he set his arm from his elbow to his hand down on his desk; his elbow was on his Dylan Gilbert research he’d spent all weekend digging up and his hand on the background information on Fuentes and his gang. “If you want to know what I’m working on, ask Perry. He assigned it to me.”

“Perry left fifteen minutes ago, Kent. He wasn’t feeling well.”

I bet.

“From now on, I’m in charge,” Chip announced, grabbing the Fuentes file out from under Clark’s hand. “And we’re going to do things differently around here, so you better get used to it.”

Clark’s jaw dropped. This guy couldn’t be serious. He had no idea of how to run a shoeshine stand, let alone a major newspaper. A business degree would only get him so far. No experience was still no experience. So much for Perry’s pep talk yesterday at the bar. It looked as if both the Daitch investigation and saving Lois from Luthor fell directly on Clark’s shoulders now… if Lois wanted to be saved, that was.

*** End of Part 149***

Part 150

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