Earth
Autumn was on the wane as November swept across the city of Metropolis, and autumn was on the wane. The icy tendrils of winter had begun teasing the city’s inhabitants with progressively chillier mornings. The trees in Centennial Park – across the color spectrum from Black Oak to Silver Maple to White Ash – had shed their lush garment of leaves in a colorful shower of auburn, scarlet and gold. Gracefully, like tiny ballerinas, the leaves flittered softly to the ground, adding to the verdant carpet that was gradually losing the brilliant emerald hue that dominated the landscape during spring and summer. Once there, errant wind gusts would occasionally blow them around, pirouetting to a delicate rustling tune only they could hear.
Throughout the city and its outlying suburbs, excited young children lugging full backpacks and carrying lunchboxes crammed with tartly sweet Granny Smith apples and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches rushed to catch yellow and black buses that returned them to classrooms, teachers, and homework.
Life was advancing onward as it always does, and with that movement there were, so many stories both large and small just begging to be written:
Last month, Roy (the Shuttle) Burns, with his fantastic pitching helped the Metros to finally win the World Series! Jubilant fans, both young and old rejoiced throughout New Troy.
LexSolar’s plans to construct the first power plant run on harmonic crystals to provide power for the lower quadrant of the state had finally come to fruition. Ground was broken on a section of Hobbs River that was previously a well-known hideout for derelicts and thieves.
The Superman Foundation was growing in strength and influence. They were developing partnerships with many corporations to improve the environment, advance medical research and build better schools.
Suicide Slum, the worst section of Metropolis was experiencing a neighborhood revitalization.
Meanwhile, the residents of a small farm in Kansas spent every night before going to bed gazing upward into the starlight of the Sargasso Sea and wondering if they would ever see their beloved son again.
The people of Earth in general, and Metropolis in particular were moving forward and Clark Kent was absent, missing it all.
***
Two months had passed since Simcoe had been released on bail. In that time Javier, Ryan, and other members of the MPD had kept a careful eye on the former RoxxTen representative. With Talmadge’s assistance, they were even able to obtain a court order to tap his phone and survey his incoming mail.
Unfortunately, none of these tactics had borne any fruit. Simcoe was solitary in his habits and followed the rules of a person awaiting trial; he did not approach Dr. Siebert’s office, nor did he have any contact with employees of his former company. Most important of all, there was zero contact with any known associates of Intergang. The only thing he did which could even be construed as out-of-line; was to visit Capparelli’s Pool Hall once a week. Located on the edge of what used to be Suicide Slum, those who frequented the place were known for occasionally stepping into the ‘shadier side’ of the law.
Not Simcoe. On different days each week, carrying a black genuine leather hard pool stick case, he sauntered in, played two rounds of pool, always with a different person, drank nothing stronger than a Dr. Pepper soda and departed. He never caused a problem with other players and, basically, behaved like a good little boy.
Sometimes on-duty police officers from various precincts would visit the place and play a round. These types usually did so as a way of intimidating some of the more cowardly members of Metropolis underworld, as a reminder to stay on the straight and narrow.
Ryan stated in his report, “With the exception of watching Simcoe play like a master with his custom-designed black and gold cue stick, it was one of the most tedious undercover assignments I had ever participated in.”
His partner, Javier went one better. He told Detective Reed; “Simcoe’s life is so boring, watching fat brown water bugs climb a dirty wall in the slum was more exciting.”
Captain Montgomery was getting tired of having two of his most valuable undercover detectives’ time being wasted on shadowing someone who was leading them nowhere fast. In a terse phone conversation, he informed Henderson and Reed that he intended to remove them from the case at the end of the following week if nothing happened before then.
Henderson had drily informed Lois of Montgomery’s decision on Wednesday, to her absolute dismay. She knew there was something very wrong about Simcoe visiting the pool hall and she intended to prove it, with or without help from Detective Reed and her buddies.
On a chilly Friday afternoon, the bullpen was in full swing: Diane was working on a story covering the transportation authority’s plans to open a new train station in the heart of downtown Metropolis. Elsie was working on a final rewrite so she could go on vacation in the Catskills. Jimmy had departed only minutes earlier to take photos of the International Car Show, some of the hottest designs in the world were on display. Since there were no ‘big’ stories for the young photojournalist to cover, he did not want to miss it.
Lois was grateful he was getting more independent assignments, but really missed having him along while tackling stories. What if they caught Simcoe doing something he shouldn't? Taking a picture and giving it to Henderson as proof was more Jimmy’s line than her own.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Eduardo walked down the ramp, as quickly as possible, turned on his computer, and bellowed for Stacy.
Lois’ head went up like a shot and she asked, “What’s all the noise about Eduardo? Stacy is pulling files for Jorgensen.”
“You ain’t gonna believe this, but the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York was robbed of Botticelli’s early sketches of his Birth of Venus. The Italian consulate's cultural attaché is in an uproar! He is sending in detectives and international legal experts. I heard several executives from the Bristol Insurance Company are having multiple heart attacks.”
“Another high stakes art heist?” Cat said as she came up to his desk. “The Met’s yearly Gala takes place next week. It will probably be affected! Time to make a few phone calls.” She turned and ran back to her desk.
“Yeah, somebody really has a taste for the awfully expensive stuff. Where’s my rolodex? I need to contact my sources…” Eduardo mumbled as he dug into a desk drawer.
Before Lois could reply, Perry shouted from his office. “Lane! Talmadge! Henderson just called – get down to Capparelli’s Pool Hall on Sutton and Fifth. Simcoe was seen going in there late this afternoon and nobody’s seen him leave. Maybe he tried to skip town or is waiting for a contact there. This might just be the break you two are looking for! Hop on it like Elvis doing his first demo!”
“Right, Chief.” Paul said obediently, as he stood to get into his tan trench coat.
“Hey what about Ryan and his partner, Javier?” Lois asked in exasperation. She wanted to go on the stakeout, but it was Friday, the fifteenth of the month and she needed to get to Clark’s apartment to intercept the courier from New Krypton.
“Can’t. Henderson says Detective Ryan’s wife, Jenny, has gone into labor a week early. You wouldn’t want him to miss the birth of his first child would you?” Perry said.
Lois sighed, “No, of course not. What about Javier? I thought these particular cops worked undercover. Since when do they get time off?”
Perry ambled over to stand between the two reporters as the activity of the bullpen swirled around them. He said casually, “Well now, Lois, even Elvis had to take a break between recording sessions and concert gigs. Those two have been watching him like hawks since we – or rather – you asked them to be put on this assignment. The poor guy deserves a night off to be with his family just like his co-worker. So, since you and Talmadge have been itching to go undercover, now’s your chance. But please, leave Wanda Detroit where she belongs … on your hard drive!”
“Spoilsport.” Lois mumbled as she walked up the ramp, mere steps behind Talmadge.
“I heard that!” he shouted after her.
When they reached the elevator, she gave Paul’s coat a once-over and said, “Lose the Elliot Ness trench. Where we’re going, if anyone sees you in that, they’ll run in the opposite direction! Tell me you have a heavy jacket. Tonight’s temperatures are going to be dropping into the low thirties.”
“Okay, Lois – you’re the expert when it comes to what to wear in certain neighborhoods in Metropolis.” Paul said blandly, as they stepped into the elevator.
“You used to live here too!” she answered.
He shook his head and studied the elevator’s buttons and said wearily, “Not for a long time, Lois, not for a long time.”
She decided it was best not to reply to that particular comment.
***
Two hours later, Lois and Talmadge sat huddled in an old green Fiat sedan that had seen better centuries. They were looking across the street at a seedy down-at-the-heels pool parlor. The old building’s mortar was cracked, its red brick façade pitted from neglect and scarred with numerous layers of multi-colored graffiti. Capparelli’s was once a favorite gathering place for the working men in the Italian community back in the early days of the twentieth century. Many a Saturday evening, families had come to watch and participate in friendly competitions between local pool players. But all of that changed when Prohibition came into existence in 1920. So many people were affected by the Fourteenth Amendment, there was even a popular song called, Every Day Will Be Sunday When the Town Goes Dry.
What was once a favorite community gathering place underwent an ominous change during the Roaring Twenties. New owners, men of dubious reputation, purchased the pool hall and had a hidden bar in a back room handsomely outfitted for special patrons who enjoyed taking a drink and didn’t want to be concerned with police interference.
It was rumored that Pino ‘Pretty Boy’ Dragonetti had made his most infamous bootleg deal in the back room. He and a rival gang boss, Silent Sam Guzman, decided to divide Metropolis in half, creating territories to distribute their liquor to underworld businesses– including Caparelli’s. The story went that after making the agreement, Pino and his ‘girl of the moment’ celebrated with French champagne served in an ice-filled silver bucket and drunk in delicate crystal flutes with caviar on the side. The other ‘guests’, Silent Sam Guzman, and his boys, guzzled the latest batch of bathtub gin from stout ceramic coffee mugs while wolfing down sandwiches of grilled hot sausages and peppers on loaves of crusty, Italian bread.
Two months later, Sam Guzman and his cronies disappeared. His lieutenant, Tubby Burke, blew town with a bag of cash, never to be seen or heard of again and Pino Dragonetti became the undisputed crime boss of Metropolis. He would hold that position for five years until he was gunned down only a block away from the pool hall.
Capparelli’s colorful and deadly history was now the stuff of city legend, and, with its gangster proprietor and bootleg customers long dead, the building had fallen on hard times because of it. Perhaps for sentimental reasons no matter how many times the pool hall had changed owners, the name of the place had never been altered.
Lois had wanted to go inside, but then saw one of her sources, a streetwalker named Lola Tapp enter the building. Lola was usually a good font of information, but not the brightest bulb in the box. She was bound to greet Lois by name with a loud hello, thus ruining their undercover plans. So they remained in the car, watching for any sign of Simcoe. Talmadge gestured to the heavy black leather jacket she wore, a gift from her mother Ellen. “That’s a pricey jacket Lois. If we had gone inside, someone would have noticed … and taken it.”
“No, more like Lola would have asked for it to keep quiet about what we were doing here.” Lois growled. Changing the subject, she looked around at the small Fiat they were sitting in and said, “Please, tell me this is not your car. Fiat stopped importing in either 1983 or 1984, they lost a ton of cash trying to sell this vehicle in America,” Lois said with a sigh. Pity, when I was a kid, they saved money on gas and looked fun to drive.”
A rare half-smile tugged at Talmadge’s lips. “No. It belongs to the department. We use cars like this during surveillance operations in neighborhoods of a ‘questionable’ nature. Speaking of neighborhoods, there’s a pizza parlor down the street. Care for a slice?”
The thought of food, especially hot pizza made her nod enthusiastically, “Yeah. Ah, better order extra cheese and pepperoni.”
Talmadge pulled out his cellphone, called the local pizza parlor and the voice on the other end said the pie would be ready in fifteen minutes.
“Oh, yes, now we were talking about the bureau. Remember I asked how a journalist becomes an agent for the FBI? We have been working together for a couple of months now. I’d like to think we have a better relationship these days. Off the record, what’s the story, Talmadge?”
With a careless shrug he said, “My talent for languages, knowledge of international finance and your ex-fiancé, Lex Luthor.”
She felt a pinch of incredulity. The last thing they needed to discuss was that man. Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she said, “Luthor? Yeah, that’s ancient history. He’s in prison now and that’s where he’ll stay. What does he have to do with you and the Central Intelligence Bureau?”
Luthor was a loaded subject. Nonetheless, Lois was a professional. She asked the question. He would answer. “Everything. Around three years ago, the bureau was trying to get him for a number of rather unpleasant white-collar crimes. I happened to know a few people who …knew a few people.”
She sighed and said, “You do love to talk in circles. Clark and I worked on investigating several of Lex Luthor criminal business activities. He had a series of shell companies. They were money laundering the proceeds from the various underworld activities he controlled. According to the computer records from LexCorp, we were able to …” Lois chose her words carefully, “unearth, the money was sent to off-shore accounts, probably for his personal use.”
Talmadge nodded, sat in deep thought for a few minutes and then said, “I am not going to insult you by asking that what I say next be kept in confidence. We are both investigative reporters and know how important it is to be silent. But only a few persons were aware Luthor used those funds to finance attempted takeovers of important European corporations. Varben Pharmaceuticals in England and Zeiss in Switzerland were among his targets.”
Shocked by this latest revelation of Lex’s insatiable greed, she said, “What? That’s impossible! No one mentioned anything like that in the financial circles I’m close to.”
“Lois, the ‘financial circles’ you run with are a little foggy about underworld finances in Metropolis, New Troy – forget about Europe.”
Lois, dismayed by his offhand comment, launched into full-scale babble mode, something she had not done since Clark’s departure. “Foggy? My sources are well respected in all financial circles! Many of them were responsible for putting Luthor and a bunch of his associates in jail. Considering how much power and influence he wielded within the criminal underworld, the very fact that they gave us that material could have put their lives in danger! As you said earlier, it has been a long time since you lived here.”
After she stopped speaking, there was a tension in the ancient Fiat that had been absent five minutes before. Talmadge sat quietly, mentally trembling. Previously, he would have answered such a statement rashly, without thought of the consequences. Yet over the past few weeks, he and Lois had established a working relationship, a fragile one, but an alliance, nonetheless. It was one of the reasons he kept his words few and far between, content to simply observe and let her take the lead. How else could he stay close enough to this fierce, beautiful woman to do the assignment his superiors sent him to do, as well as regain her trust? The last thing he wanted was to damage that trust by saying something negative about her associates.
Even if it might be true.
He took a short breath, as if to remove the adverse atmosphere surrounding them and spoke slowly. “Okay. That was a bad call on my part. I don’t know who your contacts are. Still, let me say this – many of your sources live in shiny, protective worlds of crystal – worlds that if jostled by a man like Lex Luthor, shatter and leave jagged pieces of useless shards ... and lives.
“Those neat, buttoned up financial advisors reluctantly talk to reporters like you and me over gourmet lunches, in their offices and athletic clubs. Fortunately for them, they are outsiders to the upper echelon of black market financiers. If they are involved with such people, it’s unlikely they would admit it, much less provide the sort of information you and Kent were given – which were crumbs, the barest scraps of information required to point you in the right direction. The real meat, when it is given, comes from those who have nothing to lose from deathbed confessions.
“Journalism shield laws were designed to protect reporters and their sources. Folks who operate in that arena are very much aware there is always the possibility of finding a judge willing to push those laws. Trust me when I say, these are not the kind of people to be listed prominently in a rolodex for someone like Ralph to get his hands on.”
Lois, shocked by what she was hearing, bit back her tongue and listened silently as Talmadge continued.
He shrugged. “Why a journalist? The FBI wanted someone like me, who is capable of straddling both worlds. I speak several languages. I lived for a time in Switzerland and possess numerous contacts in Zurich, Antwerp, and London. They needed me to go to the Congo and Europe to dig out the real dirt on Luthor and other businessmen willing to go along with his schemes. I unofficially left the Chronicle and ‘went on foreign assignment’ for nearly a year. Tangling with the scum of the earth, especially when they wear Armani, was grueling, messy, and dangerous, but in the end, we had all the additional information necessary to help put Lex Luthor away forever. So, I am not Clark Kent, but I was chosen to do a job and that job has taught more hard lessons in life than are fair to learn.”
“You aren’t that clear-thinking young journalism student anymore.” his companion said sympathetically.
He answered with a succinct, “No.”
“If that foreign assignment was so disgusting, why stay?”
“Not bragging here, but a lot of good was accomplished. Innocent managers and others who worked for companies run by real monsters were freed and can now lead normal lives. That kind of stuff was never mentioned in the papers. We wanted to protect those folks and their families. That was all done while working to gather evidence against Luthor and to simultaneously create articles for the Chronicle’s international financial section. I had the perfect cover story and could go into places most reporters -- even you -- cannot.”
That statement startled Lois. “What! Are you kidding me? I can go anywhere!”
“Really? In the past four years because of your association with the Man of Steel, Lois Lane doesn’t report the story, she is the story. The locals see you and they wonder when the guy in blue spandex will show up to save your life. Of course, now with him off fighting a civil war on some planet and your fiancé being held hostage to make him behave, the smart money among those people I was talking about is that he stays gone.”
Lois did not have an answer for that. It was true. She and Clark were known all over the world as Superman’s close friends. It was always a problem, but until now she didn’t realize just how much that ‘friendship’ had hurt her effectiveness as a reporter.
She exhaled slowly, and said, “There … there may be a little truth there. After all, Perry did tell me to put Wanda Detroit in mothballs. Even dressed like a street person, Lola would have known who I was and probably would have ratted me out.”
“Good. So, when I tell … or rather ask you to trust my abilities as a journalist – and my sources – it comes from experience. I may not be a household name in Metropolis …”
She held up her hand and said firmly, “Message received Talmadge.”
He glanced at his watch. Realizing ten minutes had passed, he got out the car, looked back at her and said. “Going to grab the pizza. Cream soda, right?”
Looking up at him in surprise, she asked, “After all this time, you still remember?”
“How could I forget? You were the only one on the college paper who drank soda rather than beer at the end-of-month parties!” With that, he closed the door and walked up the block.
When he returned, they ate their food in silence. Neither felt any reason to speak and, it was quiet in the car. The tension had subsided, but the occupants were again dealing with an uneasy truce.
To avoid looking at each other, they both kept their eyes trained on the pool hall. It was filled with the usual denizens. Despite the feeble yellow light cast from the old-fashioned streetlights, it was easy to see men and women stroll in and out. Sadly, some who had enjoyed a little too much alcohol staggered, but none matched Simcoe’s description. Lois fervently wished Clark were here. With a quick glance of his x-ray vision, he would have been able to tell if the man was hanging around inside or not.
Talmadge spoke, interrupting her thoughts. “Lois, I didn’t mean to come off sounding as if I know more than you. We have a tainted history that unfortunately overshadows everything I do and say, especially when it comes to our work. Please, accept my apology for what I did all those years ago. Linda had no right to steal your story and I was a fool for printing it.
She cocked an eyebrow and looked at him. “An apology, eight years later? Better late than never. By the way, where is your red-haired playmate? I thought you two still worked together at the Chronicle?”
Paul seemed to shrink within himself as if trying to deflect a blow and then he answered somewhat gruffly, “After graduation we moved to D.C., and began working at the Chronicle. As you can imagine, Professor. Hennessey didn’t give us glowing recommendations. No matter how quietly it was kept, word gets around. Plagiarism is an act of fraud. We had to work twice as hard as any new reporter because of what we had done to you. Max Kelbourne, the managing editor back then always gave us the worst possible assignments. He wanted to know if we had what it took to overcome our past … indiscretions.”
Lois spoke softly, the tone of her voice, thoughtful. “Kelbourne had a reputation for demanding the best from his people, which is why the Chronicle is always one of our greatest competitors. Despite everything, you two learned a good deal from him I’ll bet.”
“Yeah. After two years in the trenches, he handed us a couple of really plum assignments. Which is the reason why Linda worked for the Metropolis Star for that brief time. She was actually undercover for the Chronicle, trying to get dirt on Preston Carpenter. You know the rest.”
Lois shook her head in amazement, “Leave something like that to Kelbourne. Perry had Clark do the same thing! Preston really didn’t have a chance!”
“Did you ever read any of Linda’s articles when she worked for the Star?”
Lois felt her back stiffen. “Let me be honest. Anything written by Linda is either ignored or thrown in the garbage by me. But the little article you wrote a few years back on Florida teen-agers selling organic juices to tourists to raise money to save the manatees was actually touching … not that I go in for that sort of thing.”
The expression on his face changed from somber to genuinely surprised and a touch of bitterness. “You read it?”
She nodded in acknowledgment, and said, “It was a well-written piece. The straightforward, competent style reminded me of a talented young journalist I once knew in college.” She shrugged her left shoulder and continued, “Manatees are the gentlest of creatures. Someone had to write an eye-catching article about them and the efforts those youngsters were doing to try to save them.”
Talmadge rubbed his chin and said, “Yeah. On the strength of that and a few other articles, Max felt confident enough to let me write more. Eventually, he moved me away from puff pieces to stories on local finance, which led to a story on some Wall Street gunslingers stealing pensions from senior citizens. Because they were international high-flyers, our London office picked up on a story or two. After that, I was getting a bigger salary and had purchased a two bedroom condo. The whole time we were in DC, Linda and I had been dating. I thought we were ready to take the next step, but when I decided to work for the bureau, as well as the Chronicle … she left me."
Lois surprised herself by reaching out to give a consoling pat on the shoulder, hesitated and withdrew her hand. She mumbled flatly. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know. Where did she end up?”
“Howard Publications on the west coast offered her a position. She’s been working closely with Peggy Maxwell-Sample, the executive editor. The position as Associate Editor of Focus Magazine is a good fit … I’m happy for her, professionally speaking.”
Studying Paul’s quiet eyes, etched with the pain of rejection, Lois wanted to say a few words of consolation, but decided against it. Linda had cast him aside just as she had disregarded their own friendship. Talmadge had been Linda's victim, just as Lois had been his. He painfully learned that the one doing the hurting can also be injured.
Having an important story stolen from her by Paul and Linda had been painful enough. Discovering they were also lovers was probably the greater blow. The cost to her self-esteem had been tremendously high, and though it had taken years, she had moved beyond the betrayal.
Both Paul and Linda had paid for their crime by the loss of reputation even before their respective careers had begun. It seemed that, by leaving Talmadge and moving to California, Linda was also trying to put that past behind her.
Despite Talmadge’s hard-won reputation and expertise as a financial journalist, his disloyalty from their college days still gnawed at him. He was determined to fulfill his assignment to protect Lois and to fully regain the respect and trust she once had in him. It was a tall order, but so far, he was on the right track.
She was about to tell him as much when he said sharply, “Look! There’s Simcoe! and he’s not alone. Isn’t that Bill Church, Jr.?”
Fishing out her Zeiss binoculars from the bottom of the camel briefcase, she held them in front of her eyes and saw the stylishly dressed son of the Cost-Mart owner talking to Simcoe, who was taller than Church. He seemed to bend down like a crane listening attentively to what the other man said. The ebony leather cue stick case slung over Simcoe’s back seemed to move back and forth between his shoulder blades as he talked. Two other men were there as well. One, a stocky fellow with brown hair, wore a battered Metros baseball cap which covered part of his face. The other was a beanpole of a man who listened carefully to every word spoken. Lois whispered, “Gotcha!”
“No. We need more than seeing him talking with associates,” Paul said calmly.
“Yeah, like what? One of those associates is a known crime boss. Talk about bad associations!” she asked while diving once again into the briefcase, muttering something about hoping there were still a few shots left.
“We need irrefutable proof that connects them to RoxxTen’s corruption. Maybe if we had a picture of them talking, it might be the thin edge of the wedge to get Simcoe to turn on them. Somehow, despite his steely exterior, I don’t see him as the type to go to prison for anyone, if he has a way to get around it.” Talmadge said, never once taking his eyes from their target.
“One step at a time! I’m workin’ on it!” With those words, she pulled out a camera, adjusted the telephoto lenses and began taking pictures.
Talmadge looked over at her, a surprised expression plastered over his face. “Where did that camera come from?”
“My briefcase. All part of the tools of the trade.” She was able to get off a couple of shots before a large gray van pulled up and blocked their view.
“Rats! Where did that van come from?” Lois groaned.
When the van pulled away, only Simcoe could be seen walking down the street. His long legs ate up the distance to the street corner, as he ignored the denizens of the neighborhood. If Lois didn’t know better, it looked like the former customer service representative for RoxxTen was afraid of something.
“We have to get this film developed and sent over to Henderson to give him just cause to have a couple of uniforms bring him in! Ha! Detective Montgomery is going to be so furious that his guys didn’t catch this little meeting take place!”
“Excellent,” Talmadge said slowly. “This was a good night’s work. Partner.”
Lois turned and looked at Talmadge, yet he kept staring out the window watching as their quarry moved down the street. Simcoe was still moving a little quickly. Detective Reed would soon pick him up for associating with a known felon, especially one who was a person of interest in the RoxxTen case.
“Thanks … Paul,” Lois replied in kind. It was very productive.”
His expression was still set, but there was a softening when he answered. “Yeah. It was.” With those words, he started the engine and drove uptown, towards the Daily Planet so Lois could pick up her Jeep and then on to Police Headquarters.
“Wait a second,” Lois said, as they passed Simcoe. “The fancy cue stick case of Simcoe’s is gone!”
