CHAPTER NINE
Henderson allowed himself to slump against the wall, his back scraping up against the rough, undressed rock that made up his cell. It was like a scene out of a bad B-movie. He would never have guessed that such cliched, dungeon-like places actually survived the middle ages. But he was wrong, because he'd been the guest in one for the last three days.
It was dank, and smelled like sewage, which was understandable since his 'bathroom' consisted of a six inch wide hole in the floor in the far corner of the small cell. He wasn't sure how large the pit under the small opening might be, but the water inside didn't seem to be moving, nor was there any evidence that it contained any chemicals to break down his waste products. In short, the place stank.
The only nods to modern times were a dim, low watt light fixture that was buried deep in the ceiling behind a tough steel mesh that prevented access to it, and a thin foam mattress that covered a rough wooden pallet that he assumed was supposed to act as his bed. The light came on and went off automatically to a schedule he hadn't yet figured out. He had been able to deduce that the light was off much more than it was on.
There was no other furniture, nor were there any windows. The door was made of heavy iron with a small, square, barred opening set high in it. The place was positively medieval. Leave it to St. John to provide such 'luxurious' accommodations.
Suddenly the light came on, and a few seconds later the imposing door creaked slowly open. A heavy-set fellow came through the door. He was your typical nondescript thug; overly large, overweight, and not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
"Mornin', Sunshine." Henderson chirped as the thug set a tray on the floor near him. As was usual, the fellow just glared at him. "Have I mentioned how much I enjoy our little chats every day?" Bill reached for the tray, which held a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water. "What, no brown sugar?" The thug just grunted, turned and left. "Thanks, it's been great talking to you," he called out over the 'thunk' of the door closing.
Henderson picked up the bowl, sniffed, then wrinkled up his nose. He tossed the bowl into the small hole that served as his toilet. He hated oatmeal. At least the water was wet. It was warm, but it was wet. He drank the tepid liquid then threw the cup down the hole after the bowl of oatmeal. He knew it was a petty thing, but it amused him to do so, and under the circumstances his amusements were few and far between.
He flopped back on the pathetically thin mattress and used his arm to prop up his head. You'd think that they could have, at least, given him some sort of pillow. Of course, they hadn't provided a blanket of any kind either, so he guessed not having a pillow was in character. He supposed he was lucky to even have the mattress. Maybe they didn't know he had it.
Not for the first time since he'd been taken, his thoughts strayed to Lois. He wondered what she was thinking. Did she think that he'd run out on her? He had mentioned the possibility that he might have to leave town. Maybe she thought that was what he'd done? He could only imagine what she thought of her 'friend and partner' now. From her point of view, he'd abandoned her.
She might think he was dead. He almost preferred that to her thinking that he'd just cut and run. Not that he wished to cause Lois any pain. He knew she cared for him, just not quite the same way he did for her. Still, it might be better to grieve for a dead friend than to think that he was a live coward.
A hoarse chuckle escaped to echo through the small cell. This had become his new game. He'd been worrying about what Lois had been thinking since they brought him here. Perhaps his time might be better spent worrying about his own skin.
He had no idea why he was being held captive. St. John surely couldn't think that he'd change his mind, go back to the force, and work as his pet cop, could he? He should be dead. He thought he was dead when that laughing super-whatever had grabbed him and flown away. He'd tried to scam his way out of the situation, but the 'superman' had known he was lying. That meant that St. John knew he was lying. So, why wasn't he dead?
Just then the door opened again. The giant musclehead entered. A wry smile creased Henderson's lips. Be careful what you wish for. In his typical verbose manner, the hired help grunted and gestured for Bill to follow. Not wanting to disappoint his host, he rose from his uncomfortable repose and fell into line behind his jailer. The thought of possibly attacking the fellow and making his escape never entered his mind. Aside from the fact that the gorilla could probably break him in half, Henderson had no clue as to where he was, or how to get out of there. He needed more information before he could even begin to formulate any plan.
He was led only a few yards down a plain rock-walled hallway and led into a simple bare room. This room wasn't like the cell; it had plaster walls and adequate electricity. There was a small wooden table in the center of the room and two chairs.
Without being told, Henderson moved over and took one of the chairs. As expected, Mr. Personality shambled over to stand near the door. Also as expected, a few minutes later, Nigel St. John entered and sat in the chair opposite.
Bill leaned insolently back in his chair. "Hello, Nigel. I have to say that the accommodations in your hotel really suck."
One gray brow rose slightly. "You're alive, aren't you?"
Henderson nodded. "Yeah, I am. Why is that, exactly?"
The other gray brow rose. "We could easily rectify the situation."
Bill shook his head. "No, I don't think so. If you wanted me dead, I already would be. You have something else in mind." He waited only a beat, not allowing St. John to answer. "Oh, and the answer is no."
"Droll." Nigel sighed, sounding like a long suffering father needing to school a recalcitrant child. "But you are correct. I do have something else in mind." St. John allowed himself a small self-satisfied smile. "I've known for some time that you weren't going to 'play ball' as they say."
"So?"
"So, Mr. Henderson, I still would like to have someone on the inside that I control." Nigel folded his hands in front of him.
Henderson snorted. "What about Chief Andrews? Everyone knows that he was in Luthor's pocket."
Nigel inclined his head in deference to Henderson's assertion. "Andrews was Luthor's man, but Luthor is gone, and I don't trust the man. Too many people are aware of his past loyalties to make him of any use any more. Besides he's a stupid, greedy little man."
"I would think you'd admire him for his greed."
"There's greed, and then there's greed."
Henderson had to laugh. "My isn't that deep. Do you have that embroidered on a sampler somewhere?" St. John just stared back at him. "So, if I'm not going to be your inside guy, who is?"
Nigel's grin became positively feral. "I would think it would be obvious. Detective Sergeant Lois Lane."
Henderson was thunderstruck. "Are you nuts? There is no way that Lois would ever do business with you. There isn't a more honest cop on the force."
St. John leaned back in his chair. "I think you underestimate your value as leverage."
Bill felt a chill go up his spine. She wouldn't. They were friends, and Lois was willing to help him with his troubles, but unlike him, she would never cross the line. Not for anyone. He had to believe that.
"Bad choice, old man. Lois and I aren't exactly on the best terms anymore." Henderson grinned, not exactly sure who he was trying to convince. "She knows that I've been playing house with you, and now she thinks I've run out on her. Not exactly the best leverage, if you know what I mean."
Nigel nodded. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean. But as I said, you underestimate your value." Nigel unfolded his hands and used them to push himself up from his chair. "She didn't think you ran out on her, she thought you were dead. But now she knows that's not true."
"How?"
"Because I told her."
***********************
Lois hadn't gotten any sleep that night; she'd spent the time alternating between shock, disbelief, and worry. She was shocked to find out that Bill was still alive, and she was having a hard time believing that he was now a captive rather than having been immolated in some volcano as the fake Superman had promised. As his friend, she was worried about him, but she was more worried about why she had received the envelope which led to the revelation.
The envelope had contained a picture. It was a picture of a very disheveled Bill Henderson sitting on some sort of cot in a rock-walled room. It looked almost like an old-time dungeon. There had been a few words written on the back of the photo. It had read simply, 'You will be contacted'.
It never entered Lois' mind that the picture was somehow faked, or had been taken before that night in the alley. There would have been no reason for that. She was more worried about what it meant. Why was she sent the picture? Was it just to torture her? Or was it something more sinister?
There was no doubt that Bill was now in the hands of St. John. But why? It was clear from what he'd told her, and what he'd told Clark, that he wasn't going to go along with Nigel's plans anymore. So why hadn't they just killed him? Not that Lois wasn't glad that he wasn't dead, it just didn't make much sense... yet. The note had made it clear that she would find out soon.
Even though she was expecting it, the sound of the phone ringing caused her to jump. She walked over to the instrument, and taking a couple of deep breaths, answered it on the second ring.
"Lane," she said.
"Ah, Detective Lane, it's so nice to find you at home." She recognized the cultured English accent of Nigel St. John.
She gritted her teeth. "What do you want, St. John?"
"What, no good morning? no, how are things with you?" Lois just expelled a loud breath of air. "Very well, to business then." He paused briefly. She swore he did it just to add to the dramatic. "As you are now aware, your partner is actually alive and is currently my guest."
"From what I can tell from the picture, your accommodations suck." Lois tried to keep a tight control on her anger.
"Amazing." A dry chuckle came across the line. "That's just what Henderson said. I think you two have been partners too long." Lois just let silence fill the pause. "Right, to the point. It's simple really. I need a reliable contact in the police department. You know, someone to keep me apprised of any sort of investigation that I might find... interesting. Since my old friend Henderson seems to have had a change of heart, I am looking for someone to replace him."
Lois was dumbstruck. "You can't be seriously thinking that I would agree to work with slime like you? I'm going to be the one who brings you down, St. John. I'm going to be the one to expose your complicity in everything that Luthor was involved in, everything you did to betray Lex, and every illegal enterprise you are still involved in. Then I'm going to testify at your trial, and after you are convicted and sent to prison I'm going to go dancing to celebrate."
"My, aren't you the spiteful one. I never knew you cared that much for Luthor?"
Lois' derisive snort was quick and clear. "Don't kid yourself that I'm going to put you away as some sort of retribution for what you did to Lex. Luthor got what he deserved. A crook is a crook, and I'm a cop. Putting creeps like you behind bars is what I do. Of course, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it."
"So you are telling me that you aren't interested in my kind offer?"
"What planet are you from?" Lois voice rose revealing her exasperation. "Weren't you listening?"
"Yes," Nigel said in an irritatingly calm voice. "But apparently *you* haven't been. I have your ex-partner, and if you don't wish to play by my rules, then I have no reason to keep him alive, now do I?"
"What are you saying?"
"Oh come now, Detective, I know you aren't that dense. The rules are these. You do as I ask, and your partner lives. If not, he dies. What could be simpler?"
Lois suddenly found herself unable to speak. He was serious. He expected her to work for him. If she didn't, Bill would be killed. She couldn't let that happen. But how could she let herself be used by someone like Nigel? It went against everything she believed in. But it was Bill's life. She'd been willing to risk her career to help him out of his problem, but this was different. She never questioned why Bill had done what he'd done. Well, not to his face. She didn't understand why he'd done it. She knew it had something to do with his feelings for her, his hatred of Lex, and some misguided notion that she needed saving from Luthor. But she didn't dwell on the why. What was done was done. She was only concerned about how they could solve his problem.
Now things were different, very different. She was going to be asked to commit felony-level crimes. Clark's reaction to the revelation to what Henderson had done flashed through her mind. She quickly squashed the thought. This was her problem. Could she do it? She shook her head. What was she thinking? Of course she could do it. Bill's life was at stake. Her mind was made up. She would play St. John's game... for a while. Just because she was being forced to do the man's bidding didn't mean she would stop trying to find a way to bring him down. If fact, it might give her more access to the kind of proof that she'd need.
"Okay, St. John, for Bill's sake I'll play along. But I'm going to lay down a few non-negotiable ground rules." She rushed on, not letting Nigel interrupt her. "First, I need proof that Bill is alive and well. That photo could have been faked, or taken anytime. I want irrefutable proof that he's alive and okay. Second, better accommodations. If the place I saw in that photo is where he is, that's not acceptable. He gets a decent bed, decent food, and decent sanitary facilities. And lastly, I won't kill, or allow someone to be killed. Those are my conditions. Take it or leave it." Lois held her breath as the silence on the other end of the line grew. She was gambling with Bill's life, but she assumed that St. John would put up with her requests to get what he wanted.
"I think we can accommodate your demands, detective." Lois would swear she could hear a smile in that unctious voice. "You'll be contacted in the next few days with instructions." There was a slight pause. "Oh, and I don't think I need to tell you not to be sharing our agreement with anyone else. If I find out that has happened... well, let's just say it could have tragic consequences. Have a nice day."
Lois didn't have a chance for a response. She just heard the sound of the disconnect from the other side. She slowly put the receiver back into its cradle. Absently, she went into her living room and sat down heavily on the couch, not even noticing how uncomfortable it was. What had she gotten herself into... and what was she going to do about it?
********************
Clark stood in the outer office belonging to the personal secretary of Arianna Carlin-Luthor. He'd been passed through three security checkpoints and two assistants before making it to this lofty position. He knew that Gloria Steness, as her nameplate proclaimed her, was one of six personal assistants to Mrs. Luthor. The position was manned 24/7. It was obvious that Ms. Steness was the lead dog in the secretarial pack.
Clark had done a bit of research going in and found out that the intimidating woman sitting calmly behind her large functional desk had been employed by LexCorp since its birth over twenty years ago. She had risen to the position of senior assistant secretary and had reported directly to a Mrs. Cox until her disappearance during the Luthor investigations.
The woman had survived the fall of the House of Luthor mainly because she was, and always had been, exactly what she appeared to be... a very competent secretary. When Arianna had been looking for someone to organize and head up the pool of assistants, Gloria had been the natural choice.
Clark wondered if the woman knew Nigel St. John. She had to have seen him around, and must know him by sight, but Clark doubted she'd ever had a lot of contact with him. According to Lois, Nigel held a special position as Luthor's personal aide. She wasn't sure, but she didn't think he had much, if anything, to do with the day to day business of Luthor's legitimate holdings. St. John was likely Luthor's man in the area of not so legitimate businesses.
"So, Ms. Steness." Clark paced the large outer office. "You said that Mrs. Luthor knows I'm here?"
The woman barely glanced up from her computer screen. "Please sit down, Mr. Kent. Ms. Luthor is in a conference. She knows you are here and will see you as soon as she can."
Clark frowned, but did as he was told. He only had to wait a few more minutes until the intercom on Gloria's desk finally buzzed and, after a few clipped sentences, Clark was allowed to enter the inner sanctum.
He was impressed by what he saw, but was also a bit puzzled. He had entered into an impressive office. Gleaming, modern furniture graced a large room, with a wall of bookshelves on one end, and large floor to ceiling windows behind the desk. It was a really nice office, but somehow it wasn't what he would've expected of Luthor. It was too... corporate. It looked like a lot of other CEO's offices that he'd been in. He'd somehow expected more.
"Welcome, Mr. Kent, please sit down." The well-dressed woman indicated one of the leather and chrome chairs in front of her desk. A slightly amused smile greeted him. "Something bothering you, Mr. Kent? You seem a bit surprised." She arched a brow. "Not what you expected?"
Clark took the seat offered. "It's very impressive, but I have to admit that I'm a bit puzzled. I have been in Luthor's private office, and this isn't it."
"Ah yes, of course, you were there at the final showdown, as it were." She laughed. "You're absolutely right, this isn't Lex's private office. That office is in the penthouse. That's where I live. This is my corporate office. This is where I conduct my daily business. I keep office hours as does any corporate officer." She moved some papers from one tray to another. "This is where I interact with my employees and the public. That's not to say that I don't work up there on the top floor. I'm sure you can understand that running a company this large is not a nine to five endeavor, but I like to keep my private office - private."
Clark nodded. "Fair enough. So, Mrs. Luthor..."
She held up her hand. "Please, call me Arianna, or if the familiarity bothers you, Ms. Carlin. I'm not particularly fond of the name Luthor. I merely put up with it for the sake of the company."
Clark found her statement interesting. "But you were married to the man."
She leaned back in her chair. She seemed very at ease. "Yes, and he divorced me - or thought he had divorced me. I was young and blinded by this charming, handsome young man who seemed to have the world by the tail. He wasn't anywhere near as wealthy then. His holdings were were few. He only owned a couple of companies, but I could see that he had what it would take to succeed. And succeed he did."
She rose and stared out the window for a few seconds. "I know what you're going to ask next. Did I love him?" She turned to face Clark again. "I did, or at least I thought I did, but apparently he didn't feel the same way about me. Unfortunately I soon found out what it was that Lex really loved."
"Money?"
She chuckled as she shook her head. "No, money was the means to the end. What he really always craved was power."
"And you?" Clark asked.
"What, did I love the power? No, I wanted the man, but I quickly found out that as he acquired more wealth and power, he needed me less and less. In fact, at the end he didn't even bother to use me for sex. I no longer held any interest for him so I was discarded, like last year's suit."
"Yet, here you are, in control of his entire empire." Clark folded his hands in his lap. "Don't you find that... strange?"
Arianna cocked her head and gave Clark a piercing gaze. "Strange? In what way? Was it totally unexpected? Sure. Was I flabbergasted that something like that could have happened? Absolutely. Once I left Lex's life I never gave a thought to ever coming back. But life can be particularly ironic at times... don't you think?"
Clark pursed his lips. It was time to try and steer the conversation in a more useful direction. "Yes, about that clerical error. I was no expert on Lex Luthor, but what I did know makes it hard for me to believe that he would have made such a mistake. He always seemed like the kind of man who paid attention to details."
Arianna sat back down and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "Oh, he was. But that was the problem. I no longer rated his personal interest. The details for ridding me from his life were left to underlings, who passed the tasks down to assistants, who filed it in their to do pile and forgot about it." Her smile was not one of amusement. "I guess you could call it poetic justice."
Clark readjusted his position in his chair, not that he was uncomfortable, but to gain a few moments before asking his next question. "What about Nigel St. John?"
The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Arianna's lips. "What about him?"
"You know him?"
She shrugged. "Not well, but yes I know who he is. After our marriage broke up, Lex took him on as some sort of personal assistant. After all this happened -" She waved her hand to indicate her opulent surroundings. "I briefly considered taking him on as an advisor. I'd hoped he'd be able to give me some insight as to the inner workings of such a large operation. Turns out he was merely a personal aide to Lex and didn't really know much about the business side of LexCorp. It was my understanding that he wasn't implicated in any of Lex's illegal dealings." She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the polished desktop. "Was I wrong?"
Clark shook his head. "Not formally, but there still is some question as to how involved he might have been. The police would have liked to question him, but he seems to have disappeared."
"I can't say that surprises me." She leaned closer and spoke as if sharing a secret. "Truthfully, I found the man rather creepy." She settled back in her leather chair. "I couldn't have worked with him even if he had the knowledge I was looking for."
Clark frowned but kept it from Arianna. This was getting him nowhere. Either she knew that he suspected her, and was giving him all the answers that would make her look innocent, or... she was innocent. But that was something he couldn't bring himself to believe. She had to be involved, it was just too... convenient.
He spent the next several minutes trying to get her to say something, anything, that he might be able to interpret as incriminating, or even the least bit unusual. But she was always there with the 'correct' answer, or a guileless explanation. And that made him even more suspicious. No one was that virtuous. The more he talked with her the more he was convinced that she, at least, knew more than she was saying, and he'd bet she'd been in on it from the beginning. But she was too good. She never said anything he could actually hang his suspicions on.
The interview had turned into a pointless exercise in Arianna Carlin-Luthor propaganda, so he made his excuses and left after only fifteen minutes. He would swear that the grin she gave him as he left her office was more smirk than smile.
********************
Arianna stared at the closed door of her office for several moments after Kent had left. Her brow was knitted in a frown and she tapped her finger on the desk top. Finally, letting go a disgusted sigh, she reached for the phone. This was one call that Gloria wouldn't be making for her. Arianna punched in the set of numbers that only a handful of people still living knew.
She held the receiver to her ear and waited. The phone on the other end was picked up but no one spoke. She took another breath. "Nigel, I think we have a problem. Clark Kent was just in my office and I think he suspects my involvement." Her words were met by more silence so she continued. "I know you don't care a fig about me, but realize that if I go down, you go down. So I think it's in both our best interests if you take care of that little problem."
She hung up the phone, never having heard a voice on the other end. She hadn't had to. The message had been conveyed and received. She had no doubt that any problem that Clark Kent could pose, would soon be rectified... permanently.
