Meet Sam Wayne, Part 8
By: C. Leuch
At approximately 2 PM Thursday afternoon, Sam Wayne left his office, ostensibly to grab an afternoon snack, hoping that nobody would notice when he didn’t immediately return. For whatever reason, the ARB liked to schedule its meetings for the early afternoon hours, a time when most normal people would be holed up in an office somewhere. CJ suspected that the majority of the ARB members didn’t work real jobs, that if any of them had a job at all, it involved asking people if they wanted fries with their meals. It made sense that wage slaves would find themselves unhappy with the perceived uncaring corporations that they worked for. All too often perception was not reality, though. Minimum wage or not, a job was a job. In a world where tellers, clerks, and other low rent personnel were all too often replaced by a machine, the companies that offered any job, even a minimum wage one, could be considered generous. He would love to explain that point to the disgruntled membership of the group, but his other identity would never say such a thing. His other identity was just as taken with the propaganda and misconceptions as the rest of them, and anyway, he wasn’t there to try and change any of their minds.
Without fanfare, CJ made his way down to the parking ramp, then continued on to a small room hidden in an isolated corner on the lowest reaches of the structure. The room was one of many found in buildings across the city, a room that served as a staging area for Batman. A system of tunnels running beneath Gotham City allowed CJ to leave Wayne Tower in the middle of the business day and make his way to the Gotham State campus for the meeting without being caught or recognized. These tunnels carried telecommunications, power, water, and any number of utilities to buildings in the heart of the downtown and weren’t widely known to the citizenry of Gotham, with the possible exception of local engineers, utility companies, and a certain superhero.
It only took a few moments for CJ to change into his gnarly alter ego; he then used a door at the rear of the room to enter the tunnels and quickly make his way toward the University. He was wary of surveillance cameras rumored to be hidden in the walls, and surreptitiously zapped distant lights as he approached, preferring to be cloaked in darkness. Once he reached the last building on the outskirts of campus, he entered its basement, climbed the stairs, and emerged into the building’s lobby without anyone questioning where he came from or why he was there.
The sun was shining brightly as he walked anonymously through the light afternoon crowds and onto the Gotham State campus. Bruce hadn’t been upset or surprised that CJ would be leaving work for crime fighting duties, yet CJ couldn’t help but wonder how much longer this could go on, how much of his new life he could push aside to follow up on what was a very thin lead in a case that might not even be a case. The investigation into the ARB was based on nothing but coincidence and a hunch. It was entirely possible that he could attend these meetings until the end of time and not find anything to substantiate his hunch, so in the absence of any evidence one way or the other, at what point did he call it quits? A month? A year? If there was even the possibility of finding something to link those guys to what happened to Metro Air Flight 329, didn’t he have an obligation to pursue this lead no matter how long it took? It was a question that really didn’t seem to have a definitive answer, one which his heart felt one way about and his head another. Maybe, in order to answer it, he had to more clearly understand why he was at the meetings, and what he was looking for.
As he pondered it, CJ supposed that the whole purpose of his undercover work was to get close to the people in the organization. If he could gain their trust, maybe he could become privy to some of the secrets of the group. What did the local leadership really think? What did they really wish they could do? If, in the course of the investigation, he became satisfied with the fact that the organization had nothing to do with the plane crash, then he would walk away and let it be. But as long as the seeds of doubt were there, he had to continue his investigation. If that meant missed work, then so be it. The public good was more important than any of his private worries, at least to a point. He didn’t want to end up as one of those heroes with an all-consuming obsession that overshadowed his personal life, like Bruce had been. He would prefer to follow the example of his father, but he was cognizant of the fact that the work Batman did was largely different than the work Superman did.
CJ sighed as he realized that he had reached his destination. With a deep breath, he shoved all the questions and doubts from his mind, forced a vacant smile onto his face, and entered the building. After traversing a few dim hallways, he found the meeting room.
After taking a quick glance around the room, he noted that the crowd seemed larger than before. He saw the usual familiar faces, but a small group near the front of the room seemed to have some new members in it, many of whom had their backs to the door. CJ made his way over to the group of guys he had befriended earlier, and after he sat down and they exchanged greetings, he pointed toward the group of strangers.
“Who are the new dudes?” he asked. His friends followed his gaze, then collectively shrugged.
“Dunno,” one of them answered. “But I saw them cozying up to our fearless leader a couple minutes ago.”
Before anyone else had a chance to reply, the Gotham chapter leader stepped away from the knot of people that he had been talking to, said something to the group of strangers, and made his way to the front to begin the meeting. The new members sat down in chairs several rows in front of CJ without turning around and letting him see their faces.
A hush came over the room, and their leader began to speak. “Before we begin tonight, I’d like to welcome some ARB members who come to us from the west coast, via Houston, Chicago, and most recently Metropolis. They have excellent credentials and even better ideas, and have already shared with me a unique new plan, which I will let them explain to you all. Without further ado, I would like to introduce Brad Ross.” Their leader gestured toward Ross, who stood as a smattering of applause rippled through the crowd. CJ clapped dutifully, but as Ross turned around and raised a hand in acknowledgement of the applause, CJ’s hands stilled and his pleasant smile fell away. There was something familiar about Ross’s face, something that sent a chill throughout CJ’s body. Although he knew that they had never met, CJ still recognized Ross, and something told him that whatever he was going to say would validate the vague hunches that had been driving this investigation.
“Americans for Responsible Business has a long, prestigious record of standing up for human rights against the greed of corporate America,” Ross started, a pleasant smile on his face. “All around the country, we have educated the public about the evils that are committed in the pursuit of the almighty dollar, and the public has responded by supporting our cause. Sometimes, though, change has come about not by the support of the public, but through almighty justice. Fate believes in our cause, and fate has supported us, too.”
Ross’s eyes took on a steely coolness as he continued, offsetting the congenial smile which remained on his face. CJ now completely understood what his brother had been talking about when he described his interaction with the ARB. “Now we propose to educate the public and the fates on the evils of one of Gotham’s homegrown corporations, Wayne Enterprises.”
A murmur rippled through the room, and few heads bobbed in agreement. Ross began to pace, his hands locked behind his back. He listed off all the perceived evils of Bruce’s company one by one, using conjecture and rumors to support his statements. None of Ross’s accusations were based on facts, and simple research would prove that to anyone. But looking around the room, CJ saw the glazed eyes and the smiles, and he knew that the rank and file membership believed every word that was being said. Ross segued into the financial structure of the company, and the fact that all profits ultimately ended up in the hands of Bruce Wayne and “his new bastard son.” CJ shrank down in his chair and diverted his eyes, forcing a grin onto his face, although it was almost painful.
The speech ended and the cheering began, and soon the suggestion was made that all efforts be turned towards Wayne Enterprises. There would be protests and ads in local papers, coverage by the media and plenty of rumination on their organization’s web page. CJ swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and cheered along with them, promising to do his part, although he knew that his presence at the protests would not be possible. As the meeting ended and the regular members started to leave, CJ swapped pleasantries with his buddies for a moment then quickly filed out of the room. He watched to make sure he wasn’t followed, crossed an expanse of grass and found a secluded, shady place to hide himself.
Although CJ couldn’t quite pinpoint where he had seen Brad Ross’s face, he had a feeling that the answer would be found in the stack of research that had been done by Jon and their father. If that was the case, that meant that Ross was connected to the Metro Air disaster somehow, and the fact that Ross had just arrived from Metropolis helped validate that hunch. But rather than go straight home and review his research in hopes of confirming his suspicions, CJ decided his time would be better spent tailing Ross and gathering a little more information. A quick x-ray into Ross’s wallet had revealed a man with no identity, no driver’s license, and no credit cards. Trying to track “Brad Ross” through conventional research would lead to nothing but a phantom, he was sure. At least following him could lead to an apartment, or a familiar haunt, or a clue as to his real identity.
As Ross and another man exited the building, CJ emerged from the shadows. He followed at distance of at least a block, x-raying through buildings and obstructions as he tracked the pair. He didn’t have far to go; they quickly reached an apartment in the Gotham State campustown area, very near to the one Jenny had occupied when CJ had first met her. He made a note of the address, lingered for a moment, then quickly made his way back toward the tunnel system. He would need to do a little bit more…hands-on research after the sun went down. Until then, he would be going straight home to raid his notes and get wise. He found himself smiling as he entered the building he had emerged from and followed the hidden stairwells into the building’s bowels. The hunt was on, his adrenaline was flowing, and suddenly Gotham City didn’t seem like such a terrible place to be.
***
Bruce had an impressive computer set-up and research area in the cave, but CJ preferred to do his work at a large table in a dark, cozy corner, away from the hum of machinery. It was also away from the atmosphere tailored to the personality of the original Batman. The cave was very much Bruce, very dark and efficient and sterile. He was a man who had a mansion with hundreds of rooms, who could run a secret superhero operation out of any number of hidden nooks or crannies topside without anyone the wiser, but who chose to operate out of a dark, damp cave instead. Even without activating his superhearing CJ’s sensitive ears could easily make out the steady dripping of water and the rustle of winged wildlife in the distance. Given a choice, he would gladly retire to a location that wasn’t so prone to mold, fungi, and guano, but he respected tradition, and he suspected that Bruce would be upset if he decided to change things. So he kept the cave as it was and utilized its resources for his research, but also found a corner to make his own, and tended to gravitate to that area when not using the computer or other tools.
CJ’s work area was beneath an outcropping of rock near the side of the cave, and consisted of a desk and two additional tables, placed together to form a U shape around an overstuffed, high-backed desk chair. A small boom box, perched on one corner of the table, pelted out rock music with a heavy bass beat. On another corner of the table were two eight by ten picture frames, each containing a cover of Newsweek from the previous holiday season. The magazine had profiled the biggest names and news stories of the preceding year, and the top story and the subject of the cover photograph was a certain family of superheroes that had emerged at the very beginning of the year. On one cover, Superman and Ultra Woman stood locked in an intimate embrace, their eyelids heavy and their lips mere millimeters from each other, while crimson Superman looked toward the camera from a couple feet away, a long-suffering expression on his face. On the other cover, Superman and Ultra Woman stood side by side in parental poses, while Crimson Superman hovered cross legged in mid-air in front of them. Both covers were a little on the corny side, and both were obviously staged, but they also had qualities of the real people behind the masks that spoke volumes to him, qualities that most of the public would never be able to see. The pictures were personal and impersonal at the same time, family photos that could be placed on the desk of a fellow superhero without anyone realizing that they really were family photos.
All other surfaces on the desk and tables were currently covered with the research that Clark and Jon had done for CJ, organized into piles representing all the data on a given airport worker. CJ had made it through about half the piles, and was considering taking a break in his reading to catch a bite to eat. Superspeed would have many advantages, he was sure, not the least of which would be the ability to get through the volumes of tedious research in a timely manner. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, then resolved to finish one more pile before making his way back up to the mansion and raiding the refrigerator. With a renewed sense of purpose, he picked up the next stack of papers and started reading. After a couple of minutes and a few pages of notes in his dad’s neat handwriting, he flipped to a new page and stilled, a sly smile spreading across his face. A small pencil sketch showed a face that was unmistakably that of Brad Ross. No wonder he had seemed so familiar, CJ thought as he lowered the papers into his lap. Glancing down, he read the information attached to the sketch and saw that Brad Ross was apparently an acquaintance of one of the baggage handlers who had loaded the plane that day. He had a picture of the baggage handler, but couldn’t immediately place him as one of the other people at the meeting today.
A friend of a baggage handler was a weak link, but it still provided a connection between the ARB and the airplane, he thought as he took a deep breath and looked up toward the roof of the cave. It meant that he and Jon hadn’t been crazy; it meant that maybe there was something to the idea that the crash wasn’t entirely accidental. But before any further conclusions could be drawn, he would need a lot more information than just a face and a tenuous connection. It was time to start doing some more focused work, to start surveillance operations, gathering evidence, and doing whatever he had to do to establish that this Brad Ross helped bring about the Metro Air tragedy, if that was indeed what happened.
CJ’s smile grew as a plan formed. His little sister was coming to town soon, and she would need some way to keep herself occupied during her spare time between CJ and Jenny’s dates. Laura had just mastered flying, or so CJ had heard, which made her a prime candidate for surveillance duty. CJ would orchestrate further research, and would go about performing the more hands-on duties, including a little breaking and entering, an activity that he was sure his father would frown upon but his mother would silently approve of. He would also keep an eye on activities at Wayne Enterprises, ARB’s newest target. If Ross was responsible for death and destruction at Metro Air, then there was a possibility that he would try to do the same with Bruce’s company, and he would probably need someone on the inside to help him. Any snooping around that CJ did would be dismissed as the curiosity of the newest board member, and wouldn’t be considered out of character at all.
That left two tasks for his dad and Jon in Metropolis, one of which was certainly great fodder for a story, and the other a job that only a superhero could do. CJ turned off the radio, reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed his brother’s number. “Hey, it’s me,” he said after Jon answered. “Can you talk?”
“Uh, not really,” Jon said, a mild amount of background noise helping to drown out of his voice. CJ could hear him position his hand over the phone and tell someone that he was talking to a source. “How about I meet you in a few minutes?” he said to CJ, his voice a little too loud.
CJ grinned, picturing the situation in his mind. Some remnant of his inner child still loved to see his brother uncomfortable. “Yeah, OK. I’m downstairs, if you catch my drift.”
“Got it,” Jon said quickly.
“And if it isn’t too much trouble, you might want to grab Dad, too.”
“Just put a shout out and I’m sure you could do that yourself,” Jon said cryptically, although CJ thought he understood. It would make sense for his sister to come to Gotham City tonight, less than 24 hours before her first official assignment as chaperone, and he could see his father lending a helping hand. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head on over….”
“There is one more thing,” CJ said, his voice serious.
“Yeah?” Jon seemed appropriately eager.
“I haven’t had any supper yet….” CJ said, laughing lightly as he heard an out rush of air on the other end of the line. If Jon were here, he would certainly have some sort of retort, probably something to the effect that surely even billionaires could dial the local pizza joint. But because Jon was officially talking to a “source” and no doubt had an audience, all he could do was sigh. “Bring enough for three. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry,” CJ continued, visualizing the expression on his brother’s face.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Jon said, his voice flat. “See you.” With that, he hung up, and CJ couldn’t help but laugh lightly, even as his stomach growled with impatience. Usually, if he hinted to his Dad that he was in the mood for fast food, Clark would leave for a few minutes and come back with some of the best stuff that CJ had ever eaten. Clark had his haunts in every corner of the planet, and apparently kept enough foreign currency on hand to stop in every now and then for a treat. Somehow, CJ didn’t think that Jon had the same connections, although he had been to a few interesting places around the globe by now. Knowing Jon and his likely desire to get back at CJ for manipulating the phone call, he’d probably come bearing only the finest that McDonalds could offer. But right now, even that sounded good.
CJ flipped his phone closed, tapped it against his palm a couple times, then opened it again and dialed Jenny’s apartment. After a couple of rings, Jenny picked up.
“Got company?” CJ asked her.
She hesitated for a few seconds. “Should I?” she asked, her voice a little confused. CJ’s brow furrowed as he pondered the question.
“I don’t know. When was my sister supposed to show up?”
“Tonight, but not for a few hours. Why?”
CJ sighed. The thing about cryptic conversations is that their meanings have to be assumed, and it was possible that he assumed wrong. Maybe he should have tried his dad’s cell phone. “Oh, I wanted to discuss something with my dad and was lead to believe that he was, let’s say, hanging around the area.”
“You never know, but you’d think that he’d stop by or something if he was around.”
“Yeah.” The line went quiet, then CJ had an idea. “Say, can you do me a favor?” he asked, his smile coming back. “I’m not near a window, or else I’d do this myself, but….”
“You want me to yell for help?” Jenny asked. That was the standard way of summoning Superman for the average citizen, but she had no way of knowing that family members used a slightly different method.
“No,” CJ said. “I want you to yell the word ‘rutabaga.’”
“Rutabaga?” Jenny asked, then laughed.
CJ smiled. “Yeah, rutabaga. It’s a code word. When Superman’s on the job, he doesn’t bring the cell phone. For one thing, it would be embarrassing if he got a call while in the middle of something, and for another, they aren’t all that secure. It’s also pretty hard to get decent reception in the stratosphere.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“So if any of us need to get a hold of him in a non-emergency situation, rather than yell for help like any stranger could do to, we came up with a word that nobody else would ever yell. By yelling ‘rutabaga’ instead of ‘help,’ you avoid having the police called if Dad’s not able to come. And if he is, he’ll show up, generally as himself. In either case, you end up feeling a little silly, but it works. Trust me, I’ve tried it.”
Jenny groaned slightly as she rose from wherever she was sitting and walked across the room. “Even if this does work, I bet I never live it down with my neighbors,” she mumbled. In the background, CJ heard the window being opened. “That or I’ll be deluged with rutabagas. What IS a rutabaga, anyway?”
CJ chuckled, wishing he were there to witness the spectacle. “A vegetable or something. I guess you’ll find out.”
“If I find out, you’re finding out with me. We’ll be eating the rutabaga casserole together. Hold on.” CJ heard Jenny shuffle the phone around, then she said the word loudly, her voice causing a slight echo off the surrounding buildings. “Lights are coming on across the street,” she said into the phone receiver. “And your dad isn’t here.”
“Say it again. Yell this time.”
Jenny sighed heavily, then apparently lowered the phone again. “RUTABAGA!” she yelled, her voice much louder this time. CJ found that he couldn’t stop laughing, and he almost missed the small yelp from Jenny and a responding male voice on the other end. “You have a phone call,” he heard her say from a distance, and a moment later his dad was on the phone.
“I’m guessing you’re not near a window,” Clark said.
“No, I’m a few feet below ground at the moment, and had an intense craving for a certain vegetable.”
“Liar. Nobody craves that vegetable.”
“Speak for yourself. I could eat about anything right now, even a rutabaga,” CJ said as his stomach churned.
“Anyway, what’s up?” Clark asked. “Why the need to embarrass your lovely wife?”
CJ let him know about the meeting he would be having with Jon, and Clark agreed to attend. It occurred to CJ to wonder what, exactly, Clark was doing in the skies above Gotham, but decided that conversation could wait until after the meeting. After a short exchange, Clark handed to the phone back to Jenny, and was at the Batcave before CJ and Jenny finished their conversation.
“That poor girl looked like she wanted to crawl into a dark cave when I got there,” Clark said as CJ turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. CJ turned around and regarded his father, a smile on his face. They had talked plenty of times on the phone since CJ had left Metropolis, but hadn’t seen each other in person since then. CJ rose from his chair and made his way toward the center of the cave.
“Yet you leave her there as you come visit my dark cave, I see,” CJ answered as he approached Clark. They locked in a quick embrace. “I wasn’t asking her to do anything I haven’t done before,” CJ continued as they pulled apart.
“I know. But apparently you don’t remember the consequences of yelling silly words. Your friends referred to you as ‘rutabaga boy’ for a good month after that,” Clark said with a smile as he perched himself on the large table at the center of the cave. CJ’s cheeks burned as the memory, long repressed, came back. It wasn’t long after he found out the big secret when he decided to summon his dad from the skies. Having Superman as a father was still kind of a novelty at the time, and CJ recalled that his reasoning for crying rutabaga was pretty lame – to rat on his brother or something along those lines. He had thought that he’d never live it down, but after awhile he had shoved the incident into a dark corner of his mind and forgotten about it, at least until a moment ago.
“Ah, memories,” Clark continued with a chuckle, drawing an embarrassed look from CJ.
At that moment, Jon appeared next to them, his hands filled with bags of food. “You told Jenny the super secret password,” he said with amusement as he looked at CJ. “I had just landed here in Gotham to grab dinner for the three of us when I heard the desperate cry of ‘rutabaga’ echo across the city. Once I recognized the voice, I thought about going down to the local market and finding one to give her, but I figured that she had suffered enough.”
“There are worse words to yell,” Clark said. “I toyed with having the code word be ‘wolf,’ but I’m not THAT mean.”
Jon placed the bags on the table, and immediately reached in and started pulling out containers. The red printing stated that the food came from Ralph’s Pagoda, causing CJ’s eyebrows to rise. He knew that was the place to go in Metropolis when you had problems and wanted to take them out on your stomach, but he had no idea that there was a Ralph’s Pagoda in Gotham City. Clark saw the name on the containers and cringed, holding up his hands as one was offered to him.
“No thanks. I’m not into self-torture,” Clark said, causing an appreciative duck of the head from Jon. “Although, I suppose it’s better than rutabaga.”
“Okay, enough of the rutabaga,” CJ said, grabbing for a container and a set of chopsticks. “I have a break in my case.”
“Really?” Jon and Clark said in unison. CJ looked away from his meal and toward them, noting for the umpteenth time how strangely alike they were. Aside from their looks and the fact that both wore a large stylized S on his chest, there were certain mannerisms and habits that the two possessed. CJ had no doubts that he also shared certain personality traits with his family members, but he couldn’t recall ever speaking in unison with any of them. Of course, he had to admit that there were times when he and Jon would come to similar far-out conclusions about things such as the airplane disaster, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? CJ shook his head to push the thoughts away, then continued.
“Yeah. I ran into someone at today’s ARB meeting who’s connected to a baggage handler at Metropolis International Airport who loaded my flight.” CJ watched as Jon and Clark’s brows furrowed.
“So we were onto something, then?” Jon asked, surprised. If CJ took the time to think about it, he was sure that he’d be surprised that a wild theory based on hunches had played out, too. But he would wait until they were closer to a solid conclusion before he let the improbability of the situation sink in.
CJ made a face. “I don’t know for sure yet, but I definitely want to find out. Dad, where is the NTSB at in their investigation? Do they have a cause of the crash yet or an explanation for the large hole in the side?”
Clark shrugged “Last I heard, they were floating the idea of explosive depressurization. They still are looking at it as an accident, as far as I know.”
“That’s a problem,” CJ said. “We need to get them looking more closely at that hole; we need to find some proof that the crash wasn’t an accident,” CJ said, drawing nods from Jon and Clark. “There’s enough doubt out there for me to believe that it wasn’t, but until we can get everyone else to see that, then we don’t have a case.”
“Your best bet would probably be to locate the trigger mechanism,” Clark said. “Every bomb has to have one.”
CJ took a bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re right, but that might be easier said than done. Stuff was being sucked out the side of the plane well before it hit the water, and a trigger or any other part of a bomb could be miles away from the crash site.”
“Needle in a haystack,” Jon mumbled, a faraway look in his eyes.
“But we know the flight path,” CJ countered, pointing his chopsticks in the direction of his brother. “And we know from flight recorder data where the plane was when the explosion happened.”
“Or we will if we probe the NTSB a little,” Clark said. “Then all that needs to be done is some hovering and x-raying.”
“And I’d say it’s worth a little bit of tedious searching, especially with the potential payoff,” CJ said. His voice took on a hard edge and his focus shifted into the distance. “Justice for whoever did this would be a very welcome thing,” he continued. “Not just for me and my petty inconvenience, but for everyone who really did die on that plane. It shouldn’t be in vain.”
CJ smiled lightly as he turned his attention back toward his companions and the worried stares that greeted him. “But there’s more to the story,” he said. “This guy that I met today, the friend of the baggage handler, didn’t start his career as hate-filled probable domestic terrorist in Metropolis. According to the chapter leader, he’s made his way around to several large cities. I think he mentioned Chicago and Houston….”
“Begging the question, what bad things have happened to the foes of ARB in those cities,” Jon said, causing CJ to nod vehemently.
“He had to start somewhere, but something tells me he had to work his way up to dropping a plane out of the sky,” CJ said. “Maybe he set some fires, maybe he just vandalized or stole from the businesses he hated. I’d put good money on the fact that it won’t take a whole lot of digging to find something in his past. Just take a look at who the ARB has targeted and which of those companies have had accidents occur, and voila...”
“Instant story,” Clark said, completing the sentence with an appreciative grin. “Even without naming names. If the ARB’s enemies have been falling victim to strange accidents, that’s definitely newsworthy. And it shouldn’t compromise your investigation.”
“If anything it would help me out,” CJ said. “Once I start tightening the noose on this guy, the more things I can pin on him, the better.”
“He’s also obviously not alone, though,” Jon countered. “I don’t know if I believe that the whole ARB is in on everything that’s going on….”
CJ shook his head. “No, I think they’re just a sounding board.”
“But the fact that he was the friend of a guy in contact with the plane meant that the other guy was also in on it. Who knows, there might be more people out there with their fingers in this, too.”
Clark whistled and shook his head. “It’s scary to think about, assuming it’s true,” he said. “I never would’ve thought that anyone would be capable of such a thing, let alone a whole group of people….”
“Nobody would’ve,” Jon said.
Clark looked at him incredulously. “YOU did.” He looked at CJ, his expression morphing into one that was almost proud. “Both of you. You took something that seemed very far-fetched and had the tenacity to pursue it and to goad others into pursuing it until a solid link was found. I admit, I didn’t think you’d get anything out of this investigation, but here we are, planning strategy and trying to nail down the evidence.”
“We still don’t have anything yet, just a connection,” CJ said, although he couldn’t stop a smile from plastering itself onto his face. “Let’s not jump the gun. But thanks, Dad.”
“Well, the snowball is starting to roll downhill, and I’ve been in enough of these investigations to know the real thing when I see it. Now, if you don’t mind, I probably need to get going.”
Jon waggled a carton of food in front of him. “Sure you can’t stay for a bite? I know it’s bad in a guilty kind of way but, really, is it worse than Mom’s cooking?”
Clark gave a cautious laugh. “Uh, no comment.”
“Think casserole surprise,” CJ said, smiling as Clark’s eyes widened and his expression froze.
“I would really prefer not to. No, I have a dinner date, thank you very much. I’m meeting your sister at this nice diner halfway between Metropolis and Gotham City. I’m going to be late if I don’t hustle, so….”
CJ nodded and gestured toward the cave entrance. “By all means. Thanks for coming.”
Clark stood and looked at CJ a few moments, then smiled gently. “I’ll tell your mom that you miss her home cooking,” he said with a wink, and then he was gone.
“Now you’re in for it,” Jon said with a chuckle, dipping his chopsticks into his carton. “She’ll start mailing you boxes of burnt cookies….”
“I could use some new coasters,” CJ said, raising an eyebrow and smirking. The banter continued unabated, with Jon steering the conversation back toward the rutabaga incident and CJ trying valiantly not to let his previous embarrassment surface. As the cartons emptied and the food was finished, the case against the ARB was mentioned, and suddenly Jon became curious about CJ’s undercover work.
“So, how did you end up making the connection?” Jon asked.
CJ rose from the table and walked over to his corner of the cave, gesturing for Jon to follow him. He heard Jon groan slightly as he caught sight of the framed pictures on the desk, and had to smile. Diane didn’t take part in the photo shoot, a fact that had caused a certain amount of speculation at the time, but it hadn’t surprised any of the family members. She took her name to heart; Shadow Woman really did tend to keep to the shadows, shying away from publicity and the press. She saw her place not as an icon or a role model, but as someone who did her duty to the city without fanfare. It made for a rather distant relationship with the public, but distance could have its advantages. When the magazine cover came out, the inevitable gossip and whispering started. It was almost scandalous to see Superman in a passionate embrace, even if it was with his wife. The photographs made Crimson Superman appear to be a kid of some kind. Jon found that his alter ego was often treated not as an adult but as a teenager, and he grew to hate it. Diane had given him a big I-told-you-so about the whole situation, and he had officially stopped doing publicity photos after that.
CJ looked over his shoulder and grinned at Jon. “I know you don’t like them, but now I get to see you guys every day.”
“Yeah, great,” Jon said, diverting his eyes from the pictures. “So what did you want to show me?”
CJ held up a finger, then snatched up the relevant stack of papers, thumbing through it until he found the sketch. As he showed the picture to Jon, he watched as his brother’s face went perceptibly pale. “I know that guy,” Jon rasped, reaching for the paper.
“He calls himself Brad Ross,” CJ said. “Talks big about fate being on the side of Americans for Responsible Business, blah blah blah.”
“Yeah, he mentioned fate when I spoke with him in Metropolis,” Jon said softly. “He’s the guy I interviewed in front of the Metro Air office.”
CJ’s eyebrows rose. “The one that gave you a funny feeling?”
“That’s him,” Jon said, handing the picture back to CJ. “I bet he was the one that gave Dad the creeps, too.”
“Little wonder,” CJ said, placing the paper back in the stack and returning it to the table. “If he’s willing to kill for a cause….”
“Let’s get him,” Jon said, his voice hard, eliciting a grim nod from CJ. “Close the chapter on this guy before he gets anyone else.”
CJ gave a crooked smile. “You read my mind. It’s scary when you do that.”
Jon looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “Dad did mention something about telepathic ability being in the gene pool….”
“Well, then I’ll be getting some fashionable foil hats.”
They chatted for a couple more minutes, then Jon collected on CJ’s promise to pay for dinner, and returned to Metropolis. CJ found himself alone again, although he certainly didn’t mind. The night was just getting started, and he had a belly full of barely edible food and was looking to take out the impending discomfort on the local criminal population. Bad guys, this was a bad night to be out on the streets.
