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Part 4/11
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"Are you alright, honey?" Perry looks worried. I look a mess. I managed to repack my gym bag after I cried myself out but that was as far as my initiative went. I didn't do anything about my makeup beyond swiping away the tracks of my melted mascara.
"I'm fine, Chief. It's just been a long day."
He looks at his watch. "It's only two-thirty."
"What's your point?"
"Ah, well, " Perry gives my shoulder a reassuring pat. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No. Thanks."
"Where's Clark?"
"He was going to get stuff from his apartment. We're meeting Henderson at three o'clock."
"Alright. Well, I've got Jimmy looking into the history of the Schafer Building."
"Thanks." I put out my hand for the keys.
Perry pulls the keys from his pocket and gives them to me. "You'll let me know if you need anything else?"
"Of course."
"And call and let me know where you are on this thing?"
"Yes."
Perry looks reluctant to leave. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Never better." I open the door and step inside. Perry continues to linger outside. "Are you coming in?" I ask, hoping that he won't.
"No, ah, I'd better be getting back to the Planet. You'll call me if you need anything?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Good girl." He gives me a smile and pulls the door shut, leaving me all alone.
As soon as he's gone I regret pushing him to leave. I should never have agreed to stay here. We've only been here once before, on a stakeout to watch Sheldon Bender. Not only did that stakeout end with Sheldon getting killed, it was also our "almost first date" and that didn't end well either.
It was the first time Clark had asked me out. I had started to see him as dating potential, although it seemed like a bad idea. He had been dating Mayson Drake and, as much as I hate to admit it, I was jealous of her. I didn't want to get involved in some sick triangle but my competitive hackles were raised. However, instead of showing him my charming and flirty side, I ended up getting sick on Chinese food.
Kennebrew's condo is also where Clark opened that magically chilled bottle of champagne. I give myself a mental whack to the head. Instantly cold champagne, exploding light bulbs… and I call myself an investigative reporter? Then again, he distracted me. With nothing more than a quick tumble onto the couch, a pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt. It doesn't sound like much, but I assure you, it was a distraction.
I stop at the couch in question, dropping my gym bag onto it. I flush, thinking about how it felt to lie on top of him. How neither of us was in a hurry to move from that position. How he carried me from the couch to the bedroom door. I've spent more nights than I'd care to admit thinking about how things might have gone differently that night.
I feel just the teensiest bit bad about yelling at Clark earlier. I know I should apologize but I have no idea what to say.
As I leave to meet with Clark and Henderson I can't help but wonder if I would have been better off left chained to that pipe this morning. It would be a lot less to deal with.
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Clark and Inspector Henderson are both at the Schafer Building before me. Henderson speaks first. "I was just telling your partner here that the preliminary results came back on your bomb. It was a remote detonation and it seems to have a distinctive signature to it."
"Whose signature?" I ask.
"Dermot Delaney. He had ties to Intergang."
"Dermot Delaney? You mean 'The Engineer'? The guy they killed off last year after they found him skimming profits?"
"That's the one."
"Clark, do you think 'E' could mean 'Engineer'?" I look over at Clark but he doesn't meet my gaze.
Clark turns to Henderson. "Wasn't Delaney's body identified by his dental records?"
"You got it," Henderson says. "When we fished him out of the Hobbs River there wasn't much left to him."
"What if someone switched his records?" I ask. "Isn't it possible that Delaney is still alive?"
"But why would he go after us? And why wait until now? The guy's been dead for over six months." Clark doesn't even look at me as he shoots my idea down. The slight hurts more than the way he just dismissed my theory.
Henderson shrugs. "All I know is someone wants you two out of the picture. I don't suppose you have any vacation plans you want to put into action, do you?"
Neither of us answers so Henderson moves on. "Okay, just promise me you'll be careful. If we have to count you two we've got three homicides so far today. This is ruining our stats. If I have any questions for you I'll leave a message at the Planet."
"What if we need to get in touch with you?" I ask.
"Leave a message with my office. You don't have to leave your name, just tell 'em it's regarding my dentist appointment."
As Henderson walks away I turn to Clark. "Did you see Bobby when you went back to the warehouse earlier?"
"No," Clark shakes his head, but still won't look over at me.
"I'm going to go find him and see if he knows anything about E that's useful." I head out of the alley, wondering if it's duty or curiosity that compels him to follow.
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By six o'clock it's obvious that Bobby has fled town. One of his co-workers at the buffet told us that he came in around noon, nervous and jumpy, picked up his check and left quickly. We checked his other usual haunts but no one else had seen him.
"He's probably worried that he's going to be implicated in killing us," I say as we leave the Fifth Street Mission, the last place on our 'Where's Bobby?' list.
"Or he's worried that he's next," Clark adds.
We are, at least, talking to each other. The last few hours have been spent in a sort of polite avoidance. We only communicate when necessary. Clark has taken great pains not to come too near me. It's odd not to feel comfortable with him but I still have no idea how to apologize. Why should I apologize anyway? Tell me one thing I said that wasn't true. He's the liar, not me. I've been hovering between anger and remorse all afternoon. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. I just want to go home and crawl into bed. It depresses me even more that I have no bed left to crawl into.
Clark raises his hand to flag a cab. I want to bicker with him about wasting the money. After all, he could just fly us to the marina. But that would involve fighting with him and I don't have the energy. Flying with him would involve touching him and I'm not sure I could handle that right now either.
A cab stops and Clark holds the door open for me. I can't fault him his manners - those have always been impeccable. That should have been another clue, shouldn't it?
Oh god, it feels so good to sit down. What was I thinking wearing heels today?
"Where to?" the cabbie asks.
Clark looks at me, or rather, at my shoulder. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really." I shake my head. I haven't eaten since breakfast but it would take too much effort to be worth bothering now.
"The marina," Clark tells the cab driver.
As the cab pulls away from the curb I turn to face Clark. "Don't you need to get anything from your place?"
"No, I, uh, already went by there and took my bag to the marina." He still won't look at me.
"Oh. Did they do the same thing to your apartment?"
"Yes." He looks out the window as he answers and I feel a rush of sympathy.
"How bad is it?"
"About the same as your place. They tore the mattress to pieces, gutted the closet, emptied all my drawers." He shakes his head wearily. "They took my laptop and every notepad I had at home."
"So this must go back to a story we worked on -something in our notes. We did several stories about Dermot Delaney."
"Including the one about his death," Clark finally looks me in the eye. He looks as tired as I feel. Does he really get tired? Or is this just another act?
"It would be easy for someone with Delaney's clout to switch records. My gut feeling is that he's still alive." Not that he's giving any credence to my gut feelings - then again, why should he? I'm easily fooled.
"But why would he want to kill us? Why now?"
"I don't know. Maybe he had to leave Metropolis for a while and now he's back to tie up the loose ends? There must have been something in all our story notes or he wouldn't have taken them. Something that he thought someone would find after our deaths."
"Maybe," Clark concedes grudgingly. "Okay, so if E is the Engineer, why didn't he just shoot us when we got to the warehouse?"
"Because he would have had to shoot Bobby, too? Maybe he is in on this…"
"Why tell us about the Schafer Building? Why chain us up? It would have been quicker to just shoot us. Do you want to know what I think, Lois?"
"What?" I'm distracted - he might be right. Why did he chain us up? Is Bobby in on this?
"I think E needed an alibi. He couldn't be anywhere near that warehouse when it blew up. So he chained us to the wall and fed us a fake story to keep us complacent. I'd bet that Bobby really did think he was coming back to release us."
"A dead man doesn't need an alibi, Clark."
"Exactly!" He taps his nose and then points at me. "But E isn't a dead man."
"Hmph." I turn to look out the window while I think.
"Our best bet is still to track down Bobby. Maybe after we get to the marina I could, um, Superman could fly around and see if he spots him."
I turn away from the window. "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"You could call Perry and have him get on our computers at the Planet and print out all the notes and stories we have on Dermot Delaney."
"I thought you said this had nothing to do with Delaney."
"I never said that. I said that E wasn't Delaney. But someone made a bomb using Delaney's signature. There must be a partner or someone out there who wants Delaney to be blamed. Why else would you make a bomb like that?"
"As a warning?" I venture. "E wants to put the fear of Delaney into someone else? But who? Someone at Intergang?"
Clark shrugs. "I don't know."
I go back to looking out the window. Somewhere in Metropolis there's a person who thinks he's killed us. Is it Delaney? Is Bobby in on this? Or is he dead in some back alley? The thought makes me queasy. I hope Clark can find him, safe and sound.
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I call Perry as soon as I get to the condo and explain about Delaney's bomb. "… So we just need you to get on our computers…."
"Ah, no can do," Perry interrupts.
"What?"
"While I was down at the marina with you this afternoon someone from Computer Support came by and picked up both your hard drives. He told Jimmy there was a virus on them and they had to be pulled from the mainframe."
"What!" I slump against the wall, unable to believe what I'm hearing. "What about all our notes? Can you bring me the notepads in my desk? My Rolodex?"
"Hold on a minute." Perry covers the mouthpiece so all I hear is his muffled bark at Jimmy. After a few moments I hear an indistinct conversation between Jimmy and Perry. Then, "Lois, I don't know how to tell you this…"
"Let me guess - they're gone."
"Lois?" It's Jimmy's voice. "I'm sorry. I got a call from some guy in Personnel asking me to put all your stuff in boxes. Perry said to go ahead and do it, that we'd put them in storage and hold them for you. I just checked the storage room and they're not there. I can look around…"
"No, Jimmy. Don't bother. They're gone."
"I'm sorry…."
"Not your fault." Truthfully I'd like to scream at both Jimmy and Perry but it really isn't their fault. "Don't apologize, Jimmy, really. Can you pull all past stories with any mention of Dermot Delaney for me? Perry can tell you where to bring them."
"Sure, I'll get right on it."
"Hey Lois?" It's Perry again.
"Yes?"
"Is Clark there?"
What do I say? Obviously I can't tell him that Clark's out flying over Metropolis. But where else would he be?
"Uh, yeah. He's in the bathroom. Do you want me to give him a message?"
"No, that's alright. Check in with me again tomorrow. Good night."
"Good night."
I pace the room for a few minutes after I hang up the phone. My mind goes in circles. E has taken everything from us - or at least anything that would be useful in tracking him down. I feel trapped. It's so unfair. I can't stay here right now. I pick up my bag off the couch and rush into the bedroom to change into jeans and a more comfortable pair of shoes.
As soon as I'm changed I rush out the door onto the waterfront path. There's a little newsstand at the end of the marina, I'll go grab the evening edition. I'm curious to see what kind of coverage our deaths got.
The story is front page, but below the fold. I skim the article written by James Olsen. Warehouse explosion, cause unknown, police baffled. It mentions that two bodies were found inside and they're waiting for forensic identification. There's a picture of the warehouse in flames with Henderson and another cop off to the side.
I walk back to the condo slowly. The sun is setting and the river has turned a molten red. I can't help thinking that it's a sunset I wasn't meant to see. I look over my shoulder. No one is there. Still, it gives me a eerie feeling to know someone out there wants me dead. A couple holding hands strolls slowly towards me. They're far too into each other to notice anyone else.
Was it really only last night that Clark and I walked together like that?
Yet another thing I lost today, although that one might be more my fault. With new eyes I see last night differently. I know it's not productive but I can't help wallowing in the memory.
We had lingered over dinner, very much like our real first date. I smile, remembering how Clark literally walked into the restaurant's owner, Marco, and another customer as we left. He really is a klutz. He'd apologized profusely but Marco had seemed to take it in stride. I suggested that we walk back to my place instead of taking a cab, but only if he thought he was sober enough to make it. Clark had leaned on my shoulder and asked if I'd carry him
It had been so romantic. We held hands and bantered back and forth as we slowly walked home. We had stopped at the fountain in Centennial Park and Clark gave me all the change in his pockets to make wishes. Tonight I can only wish for that moment back.
When I wouldn't tell him what I wished for he had teased me, picking me up and threatening to toss me in the fountain. As he set me back down I was sure he was going to kiss me. Instead he gave me a smile that promised it would be worth waiting until we got home. And that's when I started my mental machinations - I had to get him inside my apartment.
And then, right on my front steps, he made his excuses and left me standing there. I realize now that he was only off to rescue someone, probably from some life or death situation. But that doesn't change the rejection and frustration that I felt all night long. The rejection and frustration I've been feeling ever since we started getting close.
I started out on the wrong foot this morning, being angry with him over that. But how could he expect me not to get upset? Why couldn't he have just told me the truth back when his disappearances first became an issue? Sure, he said he wanted to tell me, but the cold fact remains that he didn't.
How can we get back to last night? How can I ever look at him the same again? After the blow up in my apartment he won't even look directly at me. I know I've hurt him but can't he understand how badly he hurt me? I can't take back what I said anymore than he can take back all the lies.
I know I'm being irrational. I know that Clark's lies were done as self-preservation. That still doesn't make me feel any better. He should have told me!
I walk back to the condo in a funk. Once I'm inside I sit on the couch, spreading the newspaper out on the coffee table in front of me. I reread the story about the warehouse. Judging by the picture, the area we were locked up in has been completely gutted. An anxious flutter goes through my stomach. We missed that by only a few minutes. Well, I missed that. Clark would have been fine.
I hear the door open and look up to see Clark adjusting his tie. It dawns on me that it wasn't some obsessive-compulsive tic, he was just getting dressed again.
"Is that tonight's paper?" he asks.
"Yeah." I have to slide the paper more to the center of the coffee table since Clark sits at the far end of the couch. If he meant that as a snub then it's working. I didn't think I could feel any more miserable today but I was wrong. "Did you find Bobby?"
"No." Clark pulls the paper closer to himself. "I don't think he's in Metropolis. I just hope he's okay."
We both think about that for a moment. Then Clark breaks the silence. "Is Perry bringing over our notes?"
"They're gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. Our hard drives, our notes, Rolodexes, everything. Gone. Jimmy's going to bring over all past articles about Delaney but, honestly, I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear that E managed to get into the archives and steal those too."
"You seem to be taking this pretty well," Clark says.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I stand up, spoiling for a fight.
"Nothing. Forget I said it." He doesn't even look up, pretending to be engrossed in the paper.
"No, you meant something by that. You think I'm being irrational about all this, don't you? You think I've gone over the edge on this one. You think I'm being hysterical!" It irritates me all the more that he continues reading during my tirade and then he interrupts me.
"Lois, did you see this?"
"See what? You didn't answer my question."
"This," he points to an article. "Marco Canfora died in a house fire this morning."
"What?" I take the paper from him.
'An early morning fire broke out in the New Troy home of restaurateur Marco Canfora. Initial reports from the fire marshal's office indicate that the fire started from smoking a cigarette in bed...'
"Poor Marco," I say, momentarily distracted from my own problems. I sit back down, the urge to fight with Clark has left me. "Was that where you went last night?"
"No - Marco died this morning. I wasn't in Metropolis this morning." He flips through the newspaper in a blur then shoves it in my direction. "I was in the Alps." His voice has gone cold and distant.
I look down at the paper. '20 Car Pileup In Alpine Tunnel'.
"Oh," I say, feeling very small.
He tilts his head and says, "I have to go." This time he doesn't stop after he spins into the Suit, he's just a red and blue blur before the front door slams.
I've heard enough of Clark's flimsy excuses to know one when I hear one. I'd bet what's left of my apartment that there was no emergency. He just didn't want to be around me.
I can't blame him. Right now I don't want to be around me either.
