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All the Daytime And the Nighttime
By Artemis (jumpstick@earthlink.net)

The familiar characters and settings in this story are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros., December Third Productions,Deborah Joy LeVine and Thania St. John. No infringement on their copyright is intended.

This is my original version of a story in the Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman universe. All right, a universe parallel to LnC. The time frame is 10 years after the LnC series, 2003. There is no twittering here, but there are cell phones and laptops instead of pagers and phone booths. And H.G. Wells and Tempus are not involved.

Chapter 1.

Clark Kent was really excited. Really, really excited, but he was trying to remain cool, calm and collected in this undercover assignment, his first. Finally he was out of the laboratory and in the field. No more microscopes, slides, dead bodies, tomography, blood analysis, bullet penetration dynamics or tons of paperwork. Although paperwork was a misnomer, since everything was digital these days.

The Metro Club’s newest bartender carefully rearranged the bar glasses to his preference all while keeping an ear out. Johnny Taylor was rumored to be the leader of the local crime gang at the Riverfront, but Clark couldn’t help thinking his sister Toni had the real smarts in the family.

“Charlie.”

Deep in thought, Clark kept working at the bar.

The voice came louder. “Charlie!”

Oops. Clark looked up, abashed. His ear was fine, it was his mind that was behind. “Yes, Ms. Taylor?”

“Did Frank give you a full briefing about the special drinks for our regulars before he left? We have a very particular clientele here.”

Clark picked up the leather bound bar book and waved it. “All right here.”

Toni slid a piece of paper across the bar top toward him. “Just don’t take too long looking things up tonight. I need you to sign this nondisclosure agreement. Like I said, we have particular – and prominent customers.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Taylor.” Clark really looked at her as he reached for the paper and produced a pen from his vest. She was a very nice looking blond with a good figure and an attractive face. On reflex he smiled one of his megawatt smiles. “That is a very nice dress, Ms. Taylor.” Clark pulled the paper toward him, scanned it briefly and scratched “Charles King” on the signature line. When he looked up, he caught Toni looking him over.

“Call me Toni,” she smiled back at him and took the signed paper with her left hand, which had beautifully manicured long red nails and a notable absence of a ring on her fourth finger. She turned and walked back toward the office.

Clark watched her leave. Was that an extra wiggle in her hips?

Clark was getting into the rhythm of the bar work and interacting with the waitresses as the afternoon progressed. The interior of the upscale club was dim, with work lights on the stage where rehearsals of a sketch about farm life, if the bale of hay was the clue, were underway. Die hard bar aficionados were whiling away the afternoon at the bar stools and tables in the darkest part of the room. But when Clark took off his glasses and looked through the walls of the club, he could see the shadows lengthening as the day passed into night.

As night approached, the Metro Club took on a different aspect with more subtle lighting, real tablecloths on the tables and the departure of the afternoon bar patrons. As instructed, Clark brought out the evening drink menus. He opened one and goggled at the prices. ‘Wow, I hope the entertainment is worth this,’ he mused.

A spangled curtain was now drawn across the stage and background music played softly. Well-dressed patrons in evening garb started filtering in and bar business picked up. In Frank’s absence, Charlie/Clark was the sole bartender. But with his speed and eidetic memory of the regular patrons’ usual drinks from Frank’s book, he had no trouble keeping up. He also had the advantage of hearing the patrons call for “the usual” after being addressed by name by the Matre d’. He now had a list of the early regular patrons, which would be helpful in his report if the suspicions of criminal activities here were proven true.

*+*+*+*+*+*+

Inspector William Henderson walked into the situation room at Metropolis Police Headquarters where Sergeant Gomez was watching the feed from the hidden cameras at the Metro Club.

“Anything happening yet?”

“Not much,” replied Gomez, swiveling his chair around to look at the Inspector. “How did Kent get such high angles with the cameras? I’ve never seen a view like that. And what’s the story on him anyway? Why isn’t one of our guys undercover?”

Henderson shrugged, deciding to answer the last question first. He looked Gomez sternly in the eye and said, “We wanted outside help in case one of us was involved. This whole op is limited to very few people, if you remember your briefing.”

“Oh right,” replied the subdued Sergeant.

“As to the rest, he is who Washington sent. Turns out he was a lab rat in FBI forensics and decided to go for a field rating. Scuttlebutt has it he aced the training at Qantico. Supposedly the guy is indefatigable.”

“Well, if we get the goods on who we want, he may need to be indestructible too,” Gomez muttered.

Henderson nodded solemnly in agreement and resumed watching the feed. Man, that Kent was fast at the bar!

*+*+*+*+*+*+

Johnny Taylor was seated prominently at the host table by the office door. His sister Toni was circulating around, talking to the guests. At her signal, the four piece band behind the curtain struck up the strains of “How ‘ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm” and the curtain opened on the bale of hay. Three girls dressed in short shorts and plaid shirts tied under their breasts and three dressed in barnyard animal costumes, danced out from the wings. For some reason Clark noticed the perky yellow chicken.

They sang while dancing:
Well, Carnegie Hall it wasn’t, Clark mused. Suddenly the doors blasted open and four men burst through the door, all dressed in aluminum suits and toting the long flame guns of the Toasters. The apparent leader called out “Johnny, you’re a dead guy” and aimed for him. Johnny quickly dove under the table, hiding.

The farm girls and barnyard animals scattered, screeching. Smoke started to fill the room from the burning stage and curtain. The chicken was right in the path formerly occupied by Johnny. Clark was desperate. He couldn’t let someone get flamed to death, no matter the cost to him.

Clark quickly lowered his glasses and shot out the camera directly opposite him with his laser vision, then he supersped to the chicken and placed his back between her and the flame. He grabbed her and jumped the tables and went out the door to deposit her unceremoniously on the sidewalk. As Clark started to loosen his grip, he strangely felt like he didn’t want to let her go. What was that? He had never felt anything like that before.

Nevertheless, he immediately rushed back in as everyone, including the Toasters, was hastily exiting the building from all doors. Toni and Johnny were the last to leave.

Clark took a deep breath and blew out all the fires, still carefully out of the field of view of the remaining cameras.

*+*+*+*+*+

“Oh, my God!” Henderson exclaimed. “Call the fire department, Gomez and get some units down there!” Henderson noted that one camera had gone out with the heat of the Toasters flames igniting the stage. Suddenly the air cleared and the fire was out.

“What just happened?” Henderson asked Gomez after he had completed the call for help. He could clearly see the word “Toasters” burned into the back of the stage. “Well,” he said ruefully, “I guess we know who did it. Those guys are not only a pain in the Riverfront area, they are messing up a very important sting operation!”

*+*+*+*+

The chicken walked into the bar with her head under her arm. Clark felt a light touch on his shoulder and a soft voice asking, “Are you all right?” He turned to look at a pretty brunette with warm brown eyes filled with concern. He was momentarily stunned. She was gorgeous, even in a suit of scorched yellow feathers.

“Well, I’m in better shape than my clothes,” he said, trying to turn and look at his back.

The chicken gave out a choked sound, cleared her voice and said, “You really don’t have much on your back left. But you seem to be undamaged.” She cleared her throat again.

“Too much smoke in here. You’d better go back outside. I don’t think there will be any more shows tonight.”

“Only if you will come with me.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the front door.

Clark felt a sappy grin he could not help forming on his face as he followed the chicken out the front door.

*+*+*+*+*+

“Oh, my God, no!” Henderson exclaimed as he saw Lois in scorched yellow chicken feathers lead Clark out the front door on the camera from across the street. “Lois Lane. Dressed as a chicken! Why is she there? No, I know. She’s got a lead and we’re dead meat,” Henderson moaned to himself.

“Well, she is a good looking chick.” Gomez said, trying to control his laughter.

*+*+*+*+*+

Fire trucks were racing up the front door, sirens blaring. Clark was pulled off to a side where there was a modicum of quiet. The chicken put the head down on the pavement and started brushing the smoke and dirt off Clark’s vest and shirt. “Are you all right?”

Clark stared into her eyes and swallowed hard. For some reason he was tongue tied.
“Yes, I’m just fine, Miss…?”

“Call me… Lola.

*+*+*+*+*+

It was clear that Johnny and Toni had some connections. The Metro Club was cleaned, repainted and ready for business by the dinner hour the next day. Clark felt a sense of déjà vu as he was once again positioned behind the bar, ready for the evening to begin.

He had also had to find a moment to replace the camera he had zapped the night before.

The early regulars came in, exclaiming their distress and surprise to Toni as she greeted them, assuring one and all that the Metro Club was up and fully functioning as usual.

The farm skit was evidently scrapped, perhaps for want of costumes. The hay bale was definitely gone. Instead a small band of drums, keyboard and horn were playing jazz background music.

Several hours in, Clark noticed a commotion at the door podium. The Matre d’ Maurice jumped forward excitedly and exclaimed. “Mr. Luthor. It’s a pleasure to see you as always. Your usual table?”

Clark’s back was turned getting a fresh bottle. He turned slowly around to view the legendary Lex Luthor up close and personal. He noted the table Maurice was escorting Lex to with much bowing and scraping. Syble, the waitress, zoomed over to take his order. Clark’s heart rate increased. His target was here. Showing no outward excitement, Clark reached for the 100 year old single malt scotch in a special section of the bar. It was Lex’s “usual”.

The arrival of Lex Luthor was evidently some sort of signal. Immediately Toni arrived at his table to sit with him. Clark caught her look at him and quickly began making a Long Island Iced Tea. Syble arrived just as he finished to carry both drinks to Luthor’s table. Toni noticed and smiled at him.

A plate of appetizers appeared from the kitchen as the drinks arrived. Still working alone at the bar, Clark kept an eye on Luthor as he busily mixed drinks. Toni made a subtle gesture at the band and they finished the current number with a flourish and the new velvet curtains closed. Clark focused his hearing on that table, trying to filter out the noise of the other patrons. He heard Toni say to Luthor, “I think you will like this next act, Lex. It’s very much your style.”

A loud drum roll came from behind the curtain and Clark winced. His hearing had been turned up too high.

As the curtain opened, the offstage announcer exclaimed, “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, straight from Gotham City…Miss Lola Dane!”

Revealed as the curtain parted was a stately brunette with long hair in a form fitting blue gown standing behind a single microphone. The band began the introduction and she sang in a sultry voice:
The singer turned and gestured toward the table with Toni and Luthor and continued.
Clark stood with a glass in hand, frozen, mesmerized.
Clark came out of his daze and noticed Luthor seemed equally transfixed. Toni had a small smile on her face. His brain catching up to his reaction, he realized the singer was the chicken from yesterday. Lola, a name he could never forget.
Lola ended with blowing a kiss at Lex Luthor. Luthor responded with and enthusiastic cry of “Brava.” Toni smiled wider and applauded too. Clark broke the glass he was holding into small shards.


Artemis