Hopefully, I'm not losing too many readers with the long periods between postings. Thank you to those of you who are still commenting - your comments have been more helpful than you might think.
From part 24:
She didn’t need to listen in to every word Superman exchanged with the emergency personnel, the flight crew, and the mechanics. Clark was an excellent reporter, and as Superman, he had a great opportunity to ask all kinds of questions. She had no doubt he was getting lots of good information.
So she could turn her attention to other areas. See what she could see, and hear what she could hear. Maybe she’d see or hear something interesting.---
The Girl Next Door, part 25:
Like those two guys over there – standing in the open door of the hangar across the… what? Runway? Parking lot? If that was what you called the place where they parked airplanes. Anyway, were the two men in question simply taking a break? Looks could be deceiving. She tuned in.
“…But they acted all weird when I ordered a cheeseburger and asked ‘em to hold the cheese.”
“Isn’t that just a hamburger?”
“No. They’re different.”
Okay. ...Nothing there.
She looked back at the rescued plane. Superman was still talking with the maintenance guys.
She scanned the nearest buildings. There was the tower. Probably routine, but you never knew. She listened in.
<<…Metropolis approach, American three-five-six.>>
That sounded like a radio transmission. The voice was tinny and she could hear a faint feedback echo.
“American three-five-six, turn twenty degrees right, maintain altitude.”
That must be the guy in the tower. She scanned through the tower’s walls. *One* of the two guys in the tower, then. He sat at a… not a desk, more like a… command center. Yes, that was it. With headphones on, and lots of computer screens and stuff to keep track of.
<<Twenty degrees right, maintain altitude, American three-five-six.>>
So the radio voice was probably the pilot or copilot of a plane.
“Delta two-seven-seven-three, cleared for takeoff. Contact Departure on frequency…
That was the other guy, sitting at his own command center thingie.
Well, it all *sounded* routine. It probably was.
She looked over the terminal itself. There were massive numbers of people standing and sitting and walking – and running – around, and shops and restaurants that looked as busy as those at a shopping mall. There was no way, even with her exceptional hearing and almost equally excellent multi-tasking abilities – really, it must be another super power - that she could hope to follow all the conversations. And there wasn’t anyone overtly suspicious-looking – or acting – that would allow her to single out a particular conversation to listen to.
Come to think of it, it sure would make their lives – hers and Clark’s – easier if all the criminals looked – and dressed - like the bad guys on Saturday morning cartoons…
The gates were smaller versions of the main terminal areas – people standing and talking, walking around, or sitting in the rows of chairs in the waiting areas. There were a few people sitting cross-legged on the floor in several of the waiting areas, open laptops in their laps, power cables snaking to a central access point set into the floor. At one busy gate, there was a man stretched out on his back, legs crossed at the ankle and head pillowed on his duffle bag, apparently sleeping. Hopefully, he had either an alarm clock of some kind or a traveling companion who would wake him when his flight was called.
Interesting. There was a Metropolis Coffee Company shop situated near each group of gates, as well as several more at the intersections of hallways – airports called hallways concourses, according to the signs – throughout the terminal. That was a lot of Metropolis Coffee Company shops. She counted seven along just one concourse, including the ones at the ends of the two branches, each with its group of five gates.
So apparently, even if you had to hurry to your gate, you could grab a Metropolis Coffee to enjoy until your flight was actually called. And if you’d sworn off the stuff, by the time you passed the fifth shop, you were ready to give in to temptation when you got to your gate and saw shop number six. Fiendishly clever of the Metropolis Coffee people.
She scanned over the crowds slowly, not expecting to see anything unusual, but -
There! Near the windows at the edge of that seating area, farthest from the gate whose waiting area it was. What were those two guys doing? As she watched, one surreptitiously handed the other something… She zeroed in on it. Yes, folded bills. More than one. The outer one was a one-hundred-dollar bill. What were they doing? What sort of shady deal were they making?
She concentrated, listening, trying to separate their voices from the multitude around them.
“…Can’t take all that, Brad.”
“Yes, you can, man. Spend it on the wife and kids. Seriously, you guys have been great. This trip was just what I needed.”
“But…”
“Come on, Danny, let me do this. She’s my only sister, and I don’t see you guys that often. She won’t take money from me. So you take it, and spend it on her, okay?”
“Well…”
Okay. Looks could be deceiving.
She continued scanning over the crowd. Nothing stood out. There were just too many people and too many conversations going on. Maybe Clark was better at this sort of thing than she was.
Speaking of Clark… She checked on the plane and the small group of men standing near it.
Apparently, the discussion was over. She watched and listened as Superman lifted the plane effortlessly, politely asking the astonished mechanics where they would like him to put the aircraft so that they could begin to work on it. She smiled as he turned and moved toward the hangar one of the men indicated, flying just high enough to keep the airplane off the ground. He set it down carefully in the middle of the building’s vast floor, and waited politely for the men, crammed en masse into one of the small utility vehicles, to arrive. She watched as he shook each of their hands, gravely accepting their thanks, before he suddenly disappeared, leaving them gaping at the empty sky.
She’d been focusing more on the mechanics and the other airport personnel, listening to their comments, and hadn’t seen him move. Now, where had he –
She yelped as he said from behind her, “Lois…”
“Cl- Superman! Don’t do that!” She thumped his shoulder. “…If I wasn’t invulnerable, you’d have given me a heart attack!” She smacked him again as he began to laugh.
“Okay, okay,” he said placatingly, raising his hands in surrender. “I give.” He was still laughing, but she wasn’t really upset with him. Actually, she was impressed that he’d managed to sneak up on her without her hearing him. Of course, she’d been concentrating pretty hard on the conversations at the hangar…
He had folded his arms across his chest in his classic Superman pose. “So…” He raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “What happened to the we-shouldn’t-get-too-many-Superman-stories philosophy, Ms. Lane?” he asked with a grin.
“Clark, you know how hard it is for me to pass up something like this, don’t you?” she began.
“Wait – how did you get out here so fast, Lois?” he asked, dropping the stern pose. Grabbing her upper arms, he asked delightedly, “Did you fly? In the daylight?”
And as she nodded, a big grin on her face, he exclaimed enthusiastically, “That’s great! Isn’t it neat? It’s so different than flying at night, isn’t it? Did you like it?”
“Yeah, I did,” she said happily. “But…” she sobered. “Clark, how on earth did you keep everything straight? If someone was in trouble, before –“ She indicated the suit. “Before Superman. How did you keep from being seen? How did you choose where to land so no one saw you…? Especially if there wasn’t much time? For that matter,” she continued, warming to her subject, “How did you help people in the daytime? There’s no way you could keep from being seen…”
He sobered, too. “I told you I moved around a lot, Lois.” He was gently brushing his thumbs over her upper arms, and she wondered if he was even aware he was still holding her. “I helped as much as I could without being seen, trying to limit my rescues to nighttime. But it was always so hard to ignore cries for help in the daytime. More often than not, I’d end up helping, and eventually, I wouldn’t be able to move fast enough or hide behind something, and I’d be spotted. When that happened, I had to move on.”
He paused. “But then… I moved to Metropolis and met you, Lois. And I knew I didn’t want to move again. I’ll be eternally grateful to you for giving me the idea for Superman; it gave me the first real chance to stay in one place – with you – without worrying about having to move on.”
“Oh, Clark.” She slipped her arms around him in a hug, leaning into him and hanging on tight.
After a moment, she let him go and stepped back, grinning up at him. “So… Superman. Want to tell me your thoughts on this rescue? What went wrong?”
He crossed his arms again, one eyebrow up. “I know you were listening in, Ms. Lane, so I know you heard everything I heard. Didn’t you?”
She laughed. “Yeah. Mostly, anyway. I also listened in to some other areas while you were finishing up with the crew and the maintenance guys.” Glancing down at the airplane in the open hangar, the men already setting up equipment around it, she continued seriously, “Really, though, Clark. What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, Lois.” He frowned thoughtfully down at the activity. “The pilot has been flying that particular make of aircraft for a long time, and has years and years of experience. He told me he’s an ex-Navy pilot and has flown in all kinds of weather. He insisted that it wasn’t turbulence or any external force, and he said that it wasn’t a normal systems failure. He said that there’s always a backup system – multiple backup systems - but that those failed, too. All of them. And that, apparently, is extremely rare. He hinted that it might be… manufactured.”
“You mean some sort of sabotage?” she asked, reporter’s senses tingling.
“Yeah.” He nodded down at the mechanics, who were setting up scaffolds and positioning several large carts full of equipment, preparatory to working on the plane. “A couple of those guys have worked on these types of planes for years, and one of ‘em is also a pilot – recreational and sport, but still a pilot. He’s ex-Navy, too. And he, too, suggested that it’s somewhat suspicious. The other two mechanics agreed. They’re going to go over that plane *very* thoroughly.”
“But why? Why would someone sabotage a small commuter plane?” She tapped each item off on her fingers as she worked her way through the possibilities. “Not a terrorist act. Too small a target. Nobody claiming responsibility. Suicide? No, too many things could go wrong. Revenge? Some kind of scam? Insurance money? Like that horrible guy who put his mom on board that plane a few years ago and planted a bomb in her luggage, right after buying life insurance on her?” She had been pacing in the small, flat area of the hangar roof where they were standing; she turned abruptly to Clark. “We need to see the passenger list, Clark! Need to see who’s on it, and figure out if anyone profits from the death of someone on board that plane! Come on! We can get Jimmy on it right away –“
He was looking slightly mind-boggled.
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Are these guys – the mechanics – seriously looking for sabotage?”
When he nodded, she continued, “Okay. Good. So Superman… Or no, wait - a couple of investigative reporters he knows well enough to know they’ll do a good job on this – can check back in with the mechanics in a few days or so, right? We can say Superman sent us. And we can find out if they’ve found anything…”
“Yeah... And actually, that *would* be a good way to introduce ourselves,” he said. “Keeps Superman from looking too…”
“Reporter-ish?” she asked with a grin.
He laughed. “Well, I meant it keeps him from appearing too closely associated with us. But yeah, I guess we don’t really want Superman to be asking the kind of questions we, as reporters, would ask as part of an investigation, either.”
“Good point. Okay, we’ll come back here as us in a few days and see what they’ve discovered.” She looked down at the mechanics and the plane once more, and then turned back to Clark. “So c’mon, then, Clark. Let’s go back to the Planet. We’ve got some work to do.” She turned, looked up at the sky, and then hesitated.
“What?’ he asked.
“Well, I can move as fast as you… But… Well, the chances of my being seen are greater here, aren’t they? There are probably more than just a couple of planes up there that we need to avoid. And… they can see us on radar, can’t they? If there’s two specks… Well, won’t they wonder?”
“Well, we could go up close together – you know, arm in arm or something. We might look like a couple of birds.” He smiled and winked rather exaggeratedly at her. “Or I can carry you…” When she laughed, he extended one arm around her shoulders, drawing her gently closer. “What do you think, Ms. Lane? Can I offer you a lift back to the Daily Planet building?”
She was laughing as he gathered her into his arms and headed for the clouds.
-----
By late afternoon, she was sitting at her desk, waiting for Clark, while most of their coworkers were packing up and getting ready to go home.
Clark had had to go out twice more, first for a car accident and then for a mugging. The latter was a particularly bold and brazen attack, in full daylight, in a normally safe part of town. Superman had stopped the mugger very quickly, but just as he had apprehended the man, he’d heard frantic and panicked shouts of “Help, Superman!” The initial shouts had been joined by screams and shouts of alarm from a sudden surge of voices, possibly from onlookers to whatever was happening.
Superman had had no time to transport the mugger to police headquarters, nor had he felt he could wait for them to arrive at the scene of the crime. After the briefest of pauses, he had therefore secured the mugger to a lamppost with the pole of a No Parking sign, bending it neatly around the man like a big bread tie, and had headed as fast as he could toward the increasingly terrified yells.
He had managed to get to the scene of a freak accident on the other side of the city, arriving literally in the very nick of time to save two extremely shaken window washers from crashing to the pavement.
The two men had been washing windows on the fifty-fourth floor of the Baxter Building when one of the cables supporting the platform had broken with no warning. They had slid helplessly down the skewed platform, grabbing futilely at the edges, at the rope railing, at anything in an effort to stop their fall. Their safety lines, instead of being fastened to the same mooring at the top of the building as the window-washing platform, had been fastened, inexplicably, around the cable that had broken, and trailed uselessly below them along with the broken cable.
The only thing that had saved them was the tangle of buckets and cleaners and equipment, each attached to the platform by its own cable, that had been caught in the rope railing at the dangling end of the platform. Holding on desperately to this temporary and precarious perch, the two men had begun yelling desperately for Superman.
He’d arrived on the scene barely minutes after they began calling for help, but in that time, the remaining cable, stressed to breaking by the uneven weight of the platform swinging wildly, had snapped. Superman had caught the platform, with the terrified window washers still tangled in the ropes and equipment at one end, at about the tenth floor. A few seconds later and he’d have been unable to save them from crashing to the ground, and certain death.
LNN had been on the scene, by sheer coincidence. The entire incident had taken no longer than fifteen or twenty minutes from start to finish, but LNN had had a traffic helicopter in the area for the start of the downtown evening rush hour report. The cameraman, panning across the buildings prior to focusing on the traffic below, had paused on the window washers just before the cable broke.
So LNN’s evening viewers, countless numbers of people all over the world, had watched in horror as the two men had fallen toward their certain deaths. And the countless numbers of viewers, joined hurriedly by still more viewers summoned to TV monitors by the shouts of their friends or families or coworkers, had seen the flash of red and blue as Superman had swept down almost too fast to see, catching the platform from below at almost the last possible moment and bringing it carefully and safely down to street level.
It had been incredibly dramatic and impressive. News reporters from all over the city had converged on the spot, vying to interview the rescued window washers, the police, first-hand witnesses, or – the ultimate prize – the superhero himself. All three of the Daily Planet City Desk reporters had been there, too, Perry having dispatched them to the scene the moment LNN had broken into their normal rush hour coverage with the unfolding drama.
Lois had initially been as riveted by the news reports as everyone else in the newsroom. However, she’d progressed rapidly to having to practically sit on her hands to keep from leaping up and charging out to the scene of the rescue.
But by the time that LNN showed the police arriving and holding back the excited crowd, and Superman, standing beside the police chief, had given a brief and somewhat formal interview to several reporters, she’d gotten past the driving urge to *be* there and had started paying closer attention to Superman. Not to his words, but to a very subtle, underlying… *something*.
It was so subtle that she might be imagining it. It was most certainly undetectable to anyone else, regardless of whether they were watching the whole thing on LNN, as she was, or standing at the actual scene.
But while this somewhat remote and formal man was Superman, he was also Clark, her partner, her friend, and now so much more. And there was… something there.
Lois had never been very good at patience. Or rather, while she was actually very good at waiting when she needed to, she’d never embraced patience as a virtue, as a friend. She’d always regarded it with about the same level of pleasure as she would welcome… Oh, someone like Ralph as a partner. Without any enthusiasm whatsoever. Something to be borne but not liked.
Come to think of it, having Ralph as a partner wasn’t a good comparison, after all, because she’d not only never like it, she’d also never, ever bear it. Ever.
But anyway, once again, here she was, waiting. This time, she was waiting for Clark. With such a thin grip on her patience that she was just about ready to make up an excuse and get out there and look for him. Because something was up. Every instinct she had was screaming that at her, and she had to find out what that something was. *Had* to.
And she couldn’t – well, she shouldn’t - pounce on Clark the minute he returned -
And here he was now. She heard his familiar heartbeat a few minutes before he came through the stairway door and headed down the ramp toward her.
She searched his features. He looked much the same as always, and as she caught his eye, he flashed his warm and wonderful smile at her. She was so worried for him that she had no trouble staying in her chair this time, although her hand had tightened reflexively on the armrest for a moment, just in case she began to float.
“Hi, Clark,” she said softly when he was close enough. “Everything okay?”
Was it just her, or did his smile seem a bit forced?
“Yeah…” He sat down across from her. “Busy afternoon, though.”
People were still packing up and leaving the Planet for the day, so there was the occasional staff member passing by her desk - or Clark’s - on his or her way out. Mindful that someone might overhear them, she asked him, “You were near the Baxter Building around the time of that accident, weren’t you?” <Clark?>
As he looked at her, startled, she added, “Didn’t Maury say he’d meet you at that little place near there? You must have seen all the activity on your way back, right?” They didn’t know anyone named Maury, but nobody else would know that. <Clark?>
He wasn’t picking up her thoughts. Rats. She’d have to approach this from a different angle, then.
“Oh. Yeah… I didn’t get to talk to anyone, though…” He frowned, still obviously confused as to where she might be taking this, but unable to ask her directly since they weren’t alone. “I saw Jenner and whats-his-name, Peters, from the City Desk, so I imagine Edmunds was there somewhere, too…?”
“Yeah, Perry sent them out as soon as LNN broke into their evening rush hour coverage. But you saw what happened?”
“Just the end of it,” he said, somewhat shortly.
Good, he was achieving the right tone of voice without prompting. She wanted it to look to anyone passing within range of them as if she was grilling him because she’d missed it herself. If people thought she was just being her usual can’t-leave-it-alone Mad Dog Lane…
“So…?” she prompted.
“So… What? Lois…”
Really, it would be so much easier if they could speak to each other mentally… telepathically? …all the time – it would be awfully handy right now, for instance - instead of just when they were happy or laughing. For one thing, she could explain where she was going with this. She didn’t want to truly upset him, she just wanted it to look like she was sour-grapes quizzing him because she’d missed out on the action.
The newsroom was finally emptying; another half hour or so and they’d be alone, and she could speak to Clark freely. In the meantime, though… She might as well finish laying the groundwork…
“So, did you see anything interesting? What do you think happened?”
“The cable broke.” He sent her a sort of what-are-you-doing kind of look.
She smiled gently at him and leaned back in her chair. “So… should we consider investigating it, Clark? Do you think there’s a story there? Negligence? Was it an accident? Poor maintenance? And what if it wasn’t? An accident, I mean?”
Clark’s confusion cleared, and he grinned, shaking his head wryly. She felt the slightest whisper of a thought; she couldn’t quite pick it up. It was just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue. <Clark?> Maybe if she -
“Oh, Lois, you and your conspiracy theories…” Cat commented as she swept by them, heading for the ramp.
And the wisp of thought, the feeling of… Clark, was gone.
“Hey, don’t knock ‘em entirely – a lot of times they work out for her,” Jimmy rejoined, appearing from the direction of the research room and dumping an armload of papers on the corner of Lois’s desk.
Cat laughed, giving them a half wave over her shoulder. “Whatever. I’ve got more interesting things to do tonight than talk news. See you later!”
As she continued up the ramp, Jimmy said, “Hey, guys - here’s the passenger list for that commuter plane Superman saved, and some basic information on each person. There’s a couple of executives, some sales people… It’s all here – company names, job titles, and all that. I can get you more in-depth information on specific people if you want – just let me know…” He glanced at the clock and added somewhat anxiously, “…But for right now, unless there’s anything else, I’m gonna head out, okay?”
“Got a date, Jimmy?” one of the newest sportswriters, a recent graduate, asked as he passed them on his way to the ramp.
“No… Well, not yet, but… Hey, Adam, wait up!” Jimmy abandoned Lois and Clark and loped up the ramp after the young man. “You said you were gonna talk to your sister…”
Lois chuckled, watching as Jimmy ducked into the elevator just before the doors closed. Turning back to Clark, she saw him watching her with a smile.
“You aren’t just frustrated because you missed out on a Superman rescue, are you,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
There were a couple of staff members left in the room, hunched over their desks, finishing up whatever they’d been working on. Neither of them sat near Lois and Clark, however.
She looked at him soberly. “I’m sorry, Clark. I needed to establish some sort of basis, however pointless it might look to anyone else, for investigating this accident. Because there *was* something, wasn’t there, Clark? At that rescue? Something about it bothered you.”
“Don’t apologize, Lois. I didn’t understand where you were going with this right away, but I should have known you weren’t just hoping for a story.” He hesitated. “Did you… you know…” He tapped his temple very briefly with one index finger. “…Get that from…?”
“No. At least, I didn’t… hear, or… feel? …anything specific. It was more just a… sort of feeling as you spoke. Were you trying to send me something?” She still spoke in an undertone. He could hear her even if she whispered, anyway, and they might as well play it safe. There was no one close enough to overhear them at the moment, but still…
He shook his head. “No. Although I *was* thinking about you, because I wanted to tell you about it as soon as possible…”
“What happened?” She paused. “Was I right? Was it *not* an accident?”
He sighed. “The cables. They were partially cut.”
She leaned forward. “Both of them?”
“Yes. An ambulance and several police cars arrived just after I caught the platform, so by the time I had it and the men safely on the ground, the paramedics were ready to take over. You know – untangling both men from the equipment ropes that helped save their lives, then checking them over for injuries…” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, then sighed again and continued.
“In the confusion, I looked at those cables… I was wondering if there might have been… I don’t know, faults, worn places… that stressed the cables to breaking. It wasn’t a particularly windy day, but up at that level, the platform would sway, which might cause an already overstressed cable to break…”
“And?”
“I looked at the cable ends closely, with – you know…“ He touched one temple of his glasses as he spoke. “The cables are like wire rope – they’re made of multiple smaller strands. I looked at the ends still attached to the platform, but I also went up and looked at the ends still hanging from the support. Both support cables had been cut into. Just a few strands were cut on each one, but that was enough to weaken the cables to the point that they’d break under even normal stress.”
The platform would have been suspended from the roof. She wasn’t quite sure how that worked… But there might be points where the cable rubbed against the building, like at the roof’s edge. “There’s no chance it was due to natural causes of some sort, like friction, or…?”
He shook his head. “No. The cuts were too clean. It wouldn’t be noticeable to the naked eye, maybe, but with…” He adjusted his glasses slightly again.
“What about the police? Was Bill Henderson there?”
“Yes. I talked to him privately, before the police allowed the media to speak to either of us. He asked me not to retrieve the cables still attached to the building; he wants forensics to look at the mooring and the area around it first.”
“But he’s not publicly acknowledging any sort of suspicions at the moment?”
“No. He told the media that an inspection was routine because of how easily this accident could have resulted in death. He mentioned injury to innocent bystanders as well as to the window washers.”
She sat back and looked at him. “Well. Looks like we have a couple of things to investigate, huh?” She hesitated. “Clark, do you think… is there any way, or any reason, that they’re related?”
“Who are related?” he asked, frowning.
“Not who. What. The airplane and this accident,” she clarified.
“No.” He paused, thinking about it. “Well, how could they be? It’s kind of a stretch, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe we ought to consider it.”
“Lois…” He grinned at her. “C’mon. An airplane - a small commuter flight filled with businessmen, one of whom might have been targeted - and a couple of maintenance men? I guess we could consider some sort of company sabotage, if it turned out that the maintenance guys and someone on that plane work for the same company… But I think the fact that both accidents look like sabotage is just a weird coincidence.”
“Still…” she mused.
He shook his head at her and said with a small laugh, “I know that look, Lois. We can look for a connection, but I just don’t think we’ll find anything.”
She sighed. “Probably not. But I just don’t like coincidences.”
“And yet, in a city this size… Well, we see this sort of stuff in the national news all time. Metropolis has its share of… acts intended to harm. There’s a lot of bad people in the world, who do bad things for their own reasons.” He sighed. “Who knows? We’ll look, Lois. Your instincts are second to none. And who knows what we’ll find? Maybe they *are* related.”
She grinned at him. “I like a partner who sees it my way.”
He laughed. “Glad to oblige,” he teased. “Now… are you ready to go?”
“Yes. It’s been a pretty busy day, huh? For…” She glanced around; the two other staffers were still hunched over their desks, earphones on, working steadily and oblivious to her and Clark. The need for caution was so second nature, however, that she lowered her voice. “…You know…” She made a small waving motion with her hand to indicate flying. “Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”
He rose and came around to her desk, offering her a hand as she began to stand up. “Yeah. We might have to think of a way for the police to contact…” He grinned and made the same flying motion.
“Or I suppose you could just keep relying on calls for help,” she said. “Seems to work for you.”
“True.” He laughed, tucking her hand into his arm. “Anyway, enough about the guy in the cape. C’mon… How about some pizza and a video?” He leaned over and whispered, “I’ll buy. I know this great place in Seattle…”
She bumped him with her hip. “Sounds good. Now all we have to decide is, your place, or mine?”
“Don’t forget about the video,” he reminded her. “We still have to decide about that, too…” <Are we flying, or driving?>
<I’d rather fly, but I drove in this morning.> “Ah, yes… now, what sounds good tonight? A musical? A romantic comedy? An action flick? Or how about…”
Still discussing the merits of various movies, they headed for the elevators.
-----
To be continued
Author's note: As I said at the end of part 24, the inside of the Metropolis International Airport terminal is based on my recent experience at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport.
And yes, we must have passed
at least seven or eight Starbucks by the time we'd walked from our arrival gate to the connecting flight's gate. I passed by the first six or seven Starbucks. But there was a Starbucks
conveniently (or is that diabolically?
) located right there at our gate. So I caved and bought a coffee.
Oh- and we flew from Denver, CO, to Indianapolis, IN, the week before the liquids scare... so I walked onto our connecting flight with a Starbucks coffee in one hand, my laptop slung over my shoulder, and a small duffle in the other hand. <sigh> ...The good old days.
