Clark was hovering by the side of his desk as she approached. He looked as mad as she felt – of course, she realised, he must have listened in with his enhanced hearing. “I’m sorry, Lois,” he said. “If I’d known he was going to act like such a jerk towards you-“
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she fumed. “I’ll figure something out. But what he said about you – that was outrageous!”
Clark shrugged. “I’m used to it. But you...what will the clinic do if you can’t get a job?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m assuming that so long as they know I’m actively looking for a job, they’ll let me stay. They can’t just throw me out on the street.”
“I guess not.” He pursed his lips. “But this is where you belong, Lois! I can’t imagine you working any place else.”
She grimaced. “Me either. Maybe if I talk to one of the department heads I can persuade them to take me on. Finance and Business, perhaps, or International News. Arts and Media, even – we’re investigating an art theft, after all.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good idea. They might have some useful contacts.”
“Who should I speak to over there?” she asked.
He gave her the name of the Arts editor, and she headed straight over, knowing that if she waited, she’d lose her nerve. Screwing up her courage to ask the Chief editor for a job had been bad enough; doing it again was going to be twice as hard.
But she had to keep trying, even if the consequences were exhaustion and frayed nerves by the end of the day.
***************
Two hours later, she was sitting opposite Clark, learning how to use the computer system to conduct searches on the internet. The Arts editor - a tubby, unkempt man with long, shoulder-length hair and a huge, fuzzy beard – had told her he couldn’t give her a permanent position, but would put her on his list of freelancers. In the meantime, if she could come up with an original Arts story, that would help her chances of further work in the department.
It wasn’t much of an offer, but on the other hand, if she and Clark could break the art theft story, that would be her ticket back to work. Crucially, too, she now had limited, but legitimate, access to the Planet’s facilities.
She glanced over to Clark and raised her eyebrows questioningly. He shook his head: still no sign of the email.
She sighed and went back to her internet search again. Art thievery wasn’t big on the net yet, it appeared. Maybe galleries were nervous of admitting their losses on such a public forum.
“Lois?”
She looked up to see Clark beckoning her over. She leapt up and stood behind his chair to watch as he opened the newly arrived email. Quickly, she scanned the ten names listed, but none of them meant a thing to her. But then, why should they-
“Oh, God.”
Clark had gone very still beside her and was staring fixedly at the screen.
“What?” she asked. “Do you recognise one of the names?”
“This can’t be right,” he muttered, his hand shooting out to grab his phone. He jabbed the keys frantically, then waited impatiently for an answer, one finger tapping rapidly against the desk. “Come on, come on...”
“What is it?” she asked, scanning the names again to find what he’d clearly spotted. “Who-“
“Mayson,” he said urgently. “It’s me. This list of names you just sent – are you sure it’s correct?”
Lois heard a faint, but distinctly indignant, squawk from his contact.
“Did you look at it?” he demanded. “Well, look at it now. Third from the top.”
Lois read the name. Steve Pirelli. So?
“It can’t be right,” he told his contact. “I know him...well, know of him. He’s a businessman, not an art thief.”
More faint squawking from the receiver.
“Okay, okay,” he replied. “I know all that, but I also know this guy. He’s the dullest, most unimaginative person in the entire city. There’s no way he’d have the flair needed to rob an art gallery.”
His finger was beating a rapid tattoo against the desk again. Lois thought it was quite possible he’d end up drilling a substantial hole there.
“Can you get it checked?” he asked and then pursed his lips at the answer he received. “Well, I’m telling you, it’s wrong....no, I’m not being belligerent, I’m being thorough!”
“Hey,” murmured Lois, laying her hand over his in an effort to calm him down.
He snatched his hand away and swivelled away from her. “Mayson, do you even know who this guy is?” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Well, find out and then you’ll see what I mean!”
He slammed the phone down and remained with his back to her, breathing heavily.
Tentatively, she laid a hand on his back. “Clark, what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” he muttered, then shot out of his chair towards the elevators.
She hurried after him. “Where are you going?”
“To the men’s room.”
Where he’d brood for goodness knows how long, completely out of her reach. She ran around in front of him, blocking his way. “Oh, no, you don’t. I never got to run away when I was upset, so neither do you.”
He tried to push past her, but she dodged in front of him again. “Conference room,” she ordered. “Now.”
“Lois, I don’t have time for this,” he said wearily.
“Neither do I,” she replied crisply, crossing her arms in front of her. “Either you join me in the conference room right now or I go over to the DA’s office and ask to speak to this Mayson person myself. I’ll soon find out what’s upsetting you.”
He sighed. “I’ll bet you would, too. Okay, if you insist.”
Triumphant, she led the way back to the conference room.
*************
“So, who is he, this Steve Pirelli?” she asked once they were safely ensconced behind closed doors and shuttered windows.
Clark flopped down onto one of the chairs. “Lana’s husband.”
Lana? As in... “Your ex-fiancee’s husband?” she exclaimed.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Exactly,” he said.
“Do you think she knows?” she asked fearfully.
“I have no idea,” he replied. “But I doubt it. Lana thinks she married Mr Perfect. At least,” he added bitterly, “that’s what she took great delight in telling me.”
“So you think he really is an art thief?”
“No. Yes.” He leapt up from his chair and began pacing. “God, I don’t know. What a mess.”
He did believe it. She was pretty sure of that. He just didn’t want to believe it.
And suddenly, some pieces of the red kryptonite puzzle began to come together. Lana was from Smallville. She’d grown up with Clark. If anyone knew where to find red kryptonite, it would be her. In fact, didn’t she even have a motive for wanting to hurt him? He’d dumped her, hadn’t he?
“Clark, are you sure Lana doesn’t know about her husband?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Because...well...she knows you, and-“
He whirled around. “You think she told him, don’t you?” he demanded. “Told him where to find the stuff, told him what it does to me?”
She nodded slowly, hating the anguish she could see etched on his face but unable to deny her train of thought. It all seemed so horribly logical.
“Well, you’re wrong,” he said flatly, then laughed mirthlessly. “God, she even came to visit me when I was sick just to tell me how perfectly normal he was.”
Which sounded exactly like the actions of a spiteful woman who’d tell her thieving husband how to hurt the man who’d dumped her.
And Clark knew it.
“Hell,” he muttered, turning swiftly away from her again.
What could she do? There was nothing she could say or do which was going to make this right for him. “Maybe you’re right,” she offered. “Maybe he coaxed the information out of her. Pretended he was lending her a sympathetic ear.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe she hates me so much she’s packaging up another sample of the damned stuff right now.”
“Clark...”
“I have to go and see her,” he said. “Find out what she knows.”
Not a good idea. He’d blow the whole investigation out of the water if he went blundering in there in the state he was in now.
“But what if you’re right, and he’s not an art thief?” she said.
He snorted dismissively.
“You didn’t believe it yourself a moment ago,” she insisted. “I think we should investigate him first. If it turns out he is who we think he is, then you can talk to her.”
“Okay, and how do we do that?” he demanded. “How do you investigate the most boring man in Metropolis?”
“Easy,” she replied. “We break into his office.”
*************
Breaking and entering used to be second nature to Lois. She knew all the tricks – how to use a set of lock picks, how to sneak past most security camera systems, how to dodge security guards on the prowl, and the best time of day or night to enter most types of building.
However, in her long and illustrious career as an information thief, she had never, ever, approached a building from the air.
This was definitely an advantage, she reflected, as Clark flew them silently through the dead of night towards the roof of Steve Pirelli’s office. For once, she wouldn’t have to worry about dodging security cameras – Clark having already confirmed his theory that there were none on the roof or in the stairwell leading downwards. Who, after all, would expect a break-in from the roof?
Their choice of approach, of course, was all down to Clark’s extreme caution – or paranoia might be more appropriate.
“Superman can’t afford to be seen breaking into a building,” he’d said during the planning stage of their operation, “so if we’re doing this at all, we’re doing it my way.”
“Fine,” she’d replied. “But once we’re inside, we do it my way.”
He’d sighed. “I really wish you’d let me do this alone. It could be dangerous.”
She’d scoffed. “He’s an insurance salesman – the most boring man in the entire city, I think you called him. Besides, we already agreed all this yesterday. I’m not having this argument again.”
Yesterday, the day after Clark had made his devastating discovery about Lana’s husband, he’d spent some time finding out where Steve Pirelli worked. He’d also scanned the building to establish exactly which office he occupied. Fortunately, and not altogether surprisingly, he had a whole office to himself, unlike the majority of salesmen working there.
“We did,” Clark had conceded. “But why,” he continued a little plaintively, “is it I feel like it was nine-tenths your decision and one tenth mine?”
She’d grinned. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
So now here they were, heading for the roof, from where Clark would do the necessary with his special abilities to get them inside.
She was nervous. So nervous that, despite the coolness of the night, her hands were sweaty and slippery as she gripped Clark’s neck. Many years had passed since she’d last done anything like this, and back in those days, she’d had far more self-confidence that she possessed these days. Half of her wondered what the heck Lois Lane the flake thought she was doing breaking into buildings when, less than two months previously, she’d been a mute mental wreck.
Still, she was doing her best to brazen things out. Clark, she could tell, was nervous enough for both of them, and given how upset he still was about Lana’s involvement, she really wanted to get to the bottom of Steve Pirelli, insurance salesman-cum-art thief.
Clark touched down softly, and together they jogged quickly to the staircase entrance.
****************
“Forms, forms, sales brochures, and more forms,” she muttered as she rummaged through Steve Pirelli’s desk. “Who would have thought selling insurance was so exciting?”
“Shhh,” hushed Clark from the filing cabinets he was rifling.
She looked up to give him a glare. “No-one knows we’re here,” she said.
“And I’d like to keep it that way,” he whispered. “In fact...”
<<Why are we talking at all?>> he asked.
<<Smart-*** >> she replied immediately, although she had to admit he had a point.
<<Can you stand back?>> he asked. <<I want to scan the desk for hidden compartments.>>
She stepped aside. <<Be my guest>>
He tipped his glasses down his nose and stared intently at the desk for a couple of seconds. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. <<I spy with my little eye...>>
<<Something beginning with ‘S’?>> she continued for him.
<<Huh?>> He stretched right across the desk and slid the entire top section forward to reveal a channel for computer cables at the back. Then he reached inside the far right-hand desk leg and pulled out a thick rolled-up wad of papers. <<Not unless they’ve changed the spelling of ‘inventory’>> he replied, removing an elastic band and letting the papers unroll onto the desk.
<<I meant ‘S’ for secret compartment, stupid...oh, boy.>> She’d picked up a few of the sheets he’d found. Each seemed to relate to a separate storage location, and contained a list of works of art, together with some kind of status code for each piece of art, and in most cases, an intended final recipient of the piece. It appeared that Steve Pirelli stole to order, and did it on a grand international scale.
<<I guess Mayson’s roster of suspected art thieves was correct after all.>> he commented.
She looked up from her list to find him staring bleakly at the large stack of paper. <<I’m sorry, Clark.>>
<<I just can’t believe Lana knows about all this. I mean, she’s bitter, but she’s not a criminal.>>
<<People change,>> she observed.
<<Not this much.>>
Perhaps not. However, this really wasn’t the place or the time for long soul-searching conversations about ex-fiancees.
She closed the distance between them and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. <<Look, what are we going to do with this stuff? Personally, I think we should take the whole lot with us - there’s a good chance we’ll find the red kryptonite at one of these locations.>>
<<But then he’ll know someone broke in here.>> objected Clark.
<<Only if he needs these lists before we return them, and since today is Friday, chances are he won’t be back until Monday.>>
He stared at her. <<Return them? Are you serious?>>
<<It’ll be a piece of cake the second time around. You’ll breeze it.>>
<<I’ll...? You mean you’re not planning on coming with me?>> he asked.
<<Of course not. It’s dangerous. You said so yourself.>>
<<Lois... Did anyone ever tell you you’re the most exasperating person a guy could ever work with?>>
She grinned. <<No, but then I always used to work alone.>>
<<I can see why.>>
She swiped his arm playfully, but the fact was, she was really enjoying their joint escapade. Her nerves had disappeared as soon as they’d begun searching Pirelli’s office for clues, and now that they were successful in their search, she was on a triumphant high.
Perhaps the old Lois wasn’t so deeply buried after all.
***************
