authours notes: i've decided to split the story into two parts, so this first part will be 13 seperate chapters, and the next installment will be around the same length.
thanx as always to readers and feedback givers, and good news for me; my beta's back!!!
enjoy!
”Clark? Clark?—Clark?!”
“Oww…I mean—what do you want Lois?” Clark grimaced, his ears ringing like the bells of Notre Dame, in response to Lois’s none to subtle attempt to gain his attention.
“You zoned out on me for a second there. I thought you’d been hypnotized by the glitter of cubic zirconium, and the stench of formaldehyde that tends to permeate around the rich and oblivious.”
“I was trying to…figure out what that couple over there was talking about.”
Lois chortled, mockingly “How? I don’t even think Superman could hear over this mass of frigid socialites.”
“Well it just so happens Ms. Lane, that your rookie partner is quite the accomplished lip reader.” Clark countered a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and marvel over the mystery that is Clark Kent, I think we’d better get in there and snag a table. Personally I don’t relish the idea of spending the evening seated next to some boorish, socially-challenged, prude.”
“Well I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t come with Lex then.” Clark mumbled.
“What was that--greenhorn?” Lois asked her tone one of warning.
“Nothing…shall we?” Clark extended his arm to Lois. Giving Clark on last contemplative stare, Lois took his offered limb, and proceeded into the ballroom.
“So…what exactly did, Clark Kent accomplished lip-reader, glean from my two traveling companions?”
“Not much, accept the woman’s name isn’t really Myrtle Groggins—it’s Laura Holt”
“Laura Holt? Laura Holt? Now why does that name sound so familiar?” Lois wondered aloud.
“I don’t know, but aside from an identity crisis, I don’t really see them as being newsworthy…”
“Clark! Don’t look now, but that’s Cretini by the velvet ropes.” Quickly Clark turned, and looked toward the doors.
“I don’t see anyone” he said, lowering his glasses for a better look. Annoyed, Lois thumped his suit clad arm with her purse.
“I said don’t look. What if he sees us? What if he IDs me from earlier this week?”
“You mean when we broke into his office last week, and you told me ‘Don’t worry Clark I was a fly on the wall’”. For this his arm received another thump; Clark had no doubt that if he’d been human his poor arm would most likely be bruised.
“Keep your voice down” Lois said in a mock whisper “and I was a fly on the wall—he just might have possibly seen us fleeing the scene.
“He might have possibly seen us? Lois the man has recognized ties to organized crime; not to mention he’s most likely behind the brutal slaying of aging jeweler, and now your not sure if he saw us or not?”
“Look Clark! I was in the heat of battle. I might have overlooked one or two things. That’s not what matters—what matters is we got out of there alive, and in one piece” at this Clark rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. That impulsive pig-headed woman, he thought. God I love her.
“Well, I’ll be sure to have Perry carve that on our headstones when they fish us out of Hobbs Bay.”
“Don’t be so dramatic—I’m ninety five percent sure he didn’t see us…maybe eighty-five.”
“Hey buddy! Are you and your little chickadee gonna just stand there and gossip all night, or are you gonna give the man your invitation.” Instantly Lois and Clark turned around, and were met with thirty pairs of disapproving eyes.
Clark chuckled nervously, and gave the crowd an apologetic smile. “Sorry folks” he said sheepishly, as he handed one of the many grayish butler like servants his and Lois’s envelope.
“Thank you *sir*” the butler croaked, raising a clearly disapproving eyebrow. “Your assigned table is number forty-seven. If you have trouble locating it…” he trailed off, motioning toward a younger man with reddish brown hair, and emerald green eyes, “Lars has been specifically trained to help *people* such as yourselves, who might feel a bit awkward in a more refined class of individuals.” He eyed Lois and Clark, with as much warmth, as one would regard pocket lint. “I have a sixth sense for these things; I can tell instantly when someone is—out of their place.”
Lois looked ready to commit murder.
“That won’t be necessary” Clark interjected, “I’m sure we’ll manage to find it.” Quickly, he hustled Lois inside.
“What’d you do that for Kent I was gonna tear that guy a new one. How dare he speak to us like that! He’s the butler for crying out loud, he’s supposed to make us feel welcome.” Lois snapped.
“Well I for one don’t want to spend the rest of tonight locked behind bars.” Clark replied “been there done that…” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing, come on lets get seated.”
Despite, the doubts of their cold door greeter, Lois and Clark managed to locate their table with surprising ease—it was only two feet from the kitchen door. Not only did they get their heads bumped every twenty seconds by some passing server, but the noise of the kitchen pretty much kept their speaking volume at yell.
“We’ll probably starve before we get any service back here.” Lois griped, her evening having gone from bad to worse.
“Now who’s being dramatic?” Clark said with a wry grin.
“Save it Kent. If I didn’t know Lex better I’d say he orchestrated this whole scenario when I refused his offer to be my escort.”
“Now there’s a thought” Clark said dryly, but he backed down when he was at the receiving end of the infamous “Lois Lane Don’t Go There” look.
“Well look on the bright side” Clark said “at least you’ll get to spend some virtually uninterrupted time with your favorite partner and I…Ruggles?”
“What?!” Lois queried, giving Clark the same speculative eyebrow he’d gifted her with moments before.
“Ruggles, and Holt—or Groggins whichever, they’re headed this way.”
“You don’t think—that they’re out table partners?”
“Well why not, you said they were insurance salesmen—woman—people right?”
“Yeah and…?”
“Well, our doorman Mr. Roboto might have decided since they were working class, and we were working class…” Clark trailed off, allowing Lois to connect the dots—which of course she did.
“You’re saying that snooty, overpaid door greeter, is segregating us by class. Well I guess it’s fitting that he sat us by the kitchen; I suppose if they come up short handed then we’ll be expected to throw on aprons, and help out.” Lois stood, as their dinner companions arrived at the table. Clark quickly followed suit.
“Ahh! Ms. Lane what a pleasant surprise. I was just telling Ms. Groggins here how absolutely wonderful it was that we would be spending our evening in your company. Isn’t that right Ms. Groggins?”
Remington and Laura arrived at the table looking right at home amongst the elegant surroundings. Lois deduced that they probably attended this sort of function on a regular basis. In the brightly lit ballroom Lois, as opposed to a dimly lit cab, Lois could see that they were older then she’d originally thought. Late thirties possibly, but they were still remarkably attractive.
“Where are my manners?” Remington said, catching site of Clark “I’m Anthony Ruggles, and this is my most able bodied associate Myrtle Groggins.”
“I’m Clark Kent,” he said warmly extending his hand for the two detectives to shake. “I’m Lois’s partner at The Daily Planet.”
“So you’re a reporter as well.” Laura stated taking her seat.
“Yeah, that’s us Lane and Kent the hottest news team in town” Clark said, his face beaming.
“Tell me something Mr. Ruggles” Lois said “What exactly is your connection to LexCorp?”
“Lois” Clark said, with a laugh “this isn’t an interview. Why don’t we just have a good time and…?” Clark trailed off as his super hearing picked up the sounds of an armed robbery in progress.
“And what Clark?” Lois said, recognizing that far away look he was now sporting.
“And I have to go…and…put money in the meter…I’ll be right back.” Abruptly Clark stood from the table.
“And what am I supposed to do if the waiter comes and you’re not here?” Lois asked, well aware that they had taken a cab to the convention center.
“Just…order for me…anything, I gotta go” he said accidentally bumping a man on his way to the door.
“Does he do that often?” Steele asked, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.
“You don’t know the half of it” Lois replied, snapping her menu open Yup this was going to be a loooong night.
******
Jason watched the scene unfold before him with barely disguised humor. ‘A pack of fools the lot of ya’ he thought in disgust.
In his left pocket the beeper Nigel had given him was chirping incessantly. How he hated technology. If he had his way computers, cell phones, fax machines, beepers, and the like would all be dumped into a bottomless somewhere; too bad he wasn’t in charge of things, if he was Steele would be dead, and he’d be having a go at the buggers wife—or maybe that Lois Lane woman.
Pulling the offensive gadget from his pants pocket, he dropped it into one of the many champagne glasses on a passing waiter’s platter, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Bringing it to his lips, Jason toasted his success. Everything was going exactly as he had planned it. His earlier contact with Steele had gone smoothly; the sucker was so caught up in saving face in front of wifey that he didn’t even notice his wallet was gone.
And that Kent feller was so busy running off to, wherever he was running off to, that he didn’t notice Steele’s wallet was now in his jacket. Of course Jason had added a few things to its contents, for Lane and Kent’s reading pleasure.
Chuckling at how easy his plan was moving along, he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his lighter—it was gone!
Manically he began searching all of his pockets he screamed internally. Sweat began beading upon his brow; where had he put it? Whenever he went anywhere he always brought along his smokes, and his lighter. He’d made double—no triple sure that it was in his pocket when he left the hotel that evening. There was no way that it could’ve…Steele! When he’d bumped into Steele earlier it must have fallen, for he was sure Steele hadn’t lifted him.
Scrambling he pushed past several people, and made his way out into the street. He’d get down on his hands and knees in the filth of the gutters if he had to, but that lighter would be found.
****
