Hi,
For those of you who are still waiting for the continuation of this story, I am pleased to tell you that it is now finished.
I will post two parts today and the two closing parts tomorrow.
If anyone would like a refresher for this story
Lois and Clark Fanfic Message Boards, My Wife The Boss - Part 28 I do hope you enjoy the rest of the story.
Yours Jenni
Previously on Lois and Clark ...
“Sounds like a plan.” She started walking toward her office, but paused half way. “Oh, and if you need a hand, you know where to find me ... and remember,” she said, holding out her hands, typing on a virtual keyboard, “Jim taught me how to hack too.”
Clark rose quickly. “Actually, Lois, there's something you can do for me. Do you still have that friend over at City Hall?”
“Amy Collins?”
“She still works in records ... right?” When Lois nodded, Clark continued. “Can you see if she can find a marriage certificate for Timmons? According to what I can find, this guy has been in and out of jobs all of his life ... mostly out, except for a period around 2006 when he went to work for Lemco. He managed to stay with them for almost three years, until they got rid of him, as well.”
“Any idea why?”
“Not yet, though I plan on finding out ... but I thought maybe he had a steadying influence for a while.”
“Like a good wife?” Lois' cocked her head sassily. “It's amazing what the right woman can do for a man, or I should say partner, since we have no idea what this guy's sexual preferences are, but I suppose that raises the question of what happened to drive him off the rails again. Leave it with me. Your good woman,” she said, gesturing quotes in the air around those words, “won't let you down.” Then, with a flick of her hair, she turned and headed for her office.
For some seconds, Clark watched as his wife disappeared inside, a dreamy, yet very satisfied expression on his face. Some time in his life he had to have done something really good, to deserve to find such a wonderful wife ... twice!
*****
Part 29 ...
The morning had moved on considerably when Clark finally concluded a very interesting phone conversation with Mr Wilson, the retired principal of Vicky's school. The elderly gentleman had moved to stay with his son and daughter-in-law in Wells, Maine, but was perfectly happy to talk about his years at the private school in Metropolis.
Clark was about to tell Lois what he'd discovered about Miss Bowen-Timmons' long reign as head of the school board and her nephew's very unhappy childhood, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Zymak and Peterson.
He halted in his tracks, his eyebrows arching. “This is a surprise. I didn't expect a visit from both of you.”
Peterson gave a lopsided grin. “Actually, I came to offer you an apology for earlier. I'm sorry I was so skeptical.”
Clark shrugged but kept silent; there was no denying that the detective's attitude had stung a bit.
Taking hold of the privacy partition around Clark's desk for encouragement, Jed continued. “I took your advice and spoke to Miss Bowen-Timmons and her aide, even showed the old lady your sketch. Without prompting, she recognized the guy. She admits she hasn't seen Thomas in over twenty years, but she thinks he looks exactly like his 'no-good' father.” The detective ran his fingers along the glass. “She wasn't surprised that her nephew might be the bomber either; said the way he used to look at her sent shivers up and down her spine ... and he was just a kid back then.”
“From what I just found out, Aunt Ina wasn't totally without blame either.” Clark gestured toward the editor's office. “I was on my way to talk to Lois ... why don't you join me and we can compare notes.”
“Sure,” Officer Zymak spoke up with a huge grin. “I get to meet my hero at last!”
Seconds later, Clark was knocking on Lois' door, but without waiting for an answer he stood aside to let the two cops pass by him into the room.
Lois looked up from her desk. “Hey, a delegation. Come on in,” she said, standing, glancing between her husband and the two members of Metropolis' finest. “Does this mean there's been a break through in the case?”
Clark ignored the question in favor of the introduction. “Lois, I'd like you to meet Officer Zymak. Tracey, this is Lois Lane.” He watched the two women shake hands, before adding with a smile. “Tracey is a fan, Lois.”
“I definitely am,” Tracey admitted unashamedly. “You almost made me give up my goal of becoming a cop ... but I guess family ties won out.”
“There's a lot to be said for following in your father's footsteps,” Lois replied with a short smile directed at Clark as she returned to her chair. “Please, sit down. I take it this isn't a social visit?”
As Tracey and Jed sat side by side on the couch, they exchanged uneasy glances.
“You talked to the cafe owner, Tracey?” Clark asked, sitting on the edge of his wife's desk. “From the looks on your faces, I'm assuming the news isn't good.”
“The owner's a guy called Kinski, and he wasn't too eager to talk, but I managed to persuade him.” Again, Tracey grinned. “He hasn't seen Timmons since last week, maybe before, and he sure is mad. When Timmons left, the night's earnings went with him. Kinski went around to confront his ex-employee, but it seems our suspect left his digs too, and Kinski hasn't been able to find out where he's gone. I followed up on the address. Even asked some of the neighbors, but no one has seen Timmons.” The young policewoman fell silent for a few seconds, before delivering her final clue. “Oh, and Kinski also mentioned that Timmons had stolen an old hot-dog stand from his back room.”
"The concession stand that exploded at Metro General,” Lois declared, pointing a finger directly at Peterson. “Clark was right! Peterson, surely your bosses have to concede that he's the main suspect now.”
Jed swallowed. “I've passed on the information, and I've strongly advised that they put out an APB on Timmons immediately.” The detective turned to Clark. “The Chief of Police isn't going to be making any public apologies ... not yet anyway, but he did finally admit that Tanner might have been only an accomplice. We have no idea where the suspect might have gone, so any information you might have uncovered would be appreciated ...”
“Only if The Daily Planet gets the exclusive on the story,” Clark stated firmly, as Lois looked on with admiration.
Jed shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I can't speak for my bosses, but I'll do all that I can to keep you in the loop.”
There was a second or two of silence as Clark weighed up the offer; he trusted Peterson, but did the sergeant have sufficient clout to keep his word? Finally he gave a tiny nod of his head. “I suppose I can live with that.” He turned to his wife for confirmation. “Lois?”
The Daily Planet's Editor-in-Chief leveled a piercing glance at the sergeant. “I think Peterson knows the score. The Planet reporters have cooperated with the police over the years to the benefit of everyone involved ... mostly the public. I doubt even his bosses will want to change the status quo.”
A self-conscious grin turned up the corner of Jed's mouth. “I think you totally understand my superiors, Mrs Kent.”
“Good. I'm glad we know where we stand,” Clark stated, locking his hands together and resting them on his thighs. “I can certainly give you a motive for Timmon's bombing the school. His Aunt Ina was head of the board, so naturally she sent her ward there, but he hated it ... and he hated his aunt. I've just spoken with one of his teachers and was told that Thomas had a miserable childhood. His mother died when he was around five and left him in the care of her sister. Mr. Wilson remembers Ina Bowen-Timmons as a strict, narrow-minded spinster who cared for nothing but her standing in the community, and he felt sorry for Thomas living in that mausoleum alone with the woman, at least, at first ... but he also said there was something very strange about the boy ... something not quite right.”
“In what way not right?” Lois asked thoughtfully, lifting her pen from the desk and sliding it through her fingers. She was trying to picture the Thomas from the sketch as a child, and not quite managing.
Clark glanced around at his audience, shrugging slightly. “Mr. Wilson was quick to remind me that nothing was ever proved, but there were a few allegations, over the years, that Thomas was a thief. Some of the other kids accused him of stealing their property, but when it was brought to the Aunt's attention, she hushed things up, saying she would deal with it. Since Thomas was often bullied by the other boys, no one could be sure that he hadn't been set up, so no further action was taken, yet Mr. Wilson never really trusted Thomas.”
Peterson nodded in agreement. “Apart from mentioning the stealing, that pretty much confirms what Miss Bowen-Timmons said.”
“And Harold Andrews,” Clark added, noticing Lois checking her watch; his wife had an important appointment to keep.
“Of Speedy Deliveries? He knew Timmons?” Jed inquired, looking impressed.
“Yes. Timmons worked for Andrews back in the early nineties for a few weeks. He fired him for late time keeping and sloppy workmanship. He told me Timmons was furious and threatened all kinds of revenge.”
“It's kinda strange he waited twenty years to get back at Andrews. All this is circumstantial, isn't it?” Tracey finally gained the courage to speak up.
“Yes, to both these questions, Trace.” Peterson leaned back on the sofa, studying the ceiling. “So far, we've only got vague motives for three of the bombings, but if forensics can prove the residue on the detonator was definitely chocolate ..." His gaze returned to the other people in the room. "We know Timmons sent the candies, so that ties him to this particular bomb.”
“It was a hot-dog stand that blew up in front of Metropolis General Hospital,” Clark reminded Peterson. "Timmons had access to Kinski's stand."
“But no motive for that bombing,” Jed stated flatly, though he appeared more disappointed than doubting.
“I think I can help there.” Lois dropped the information into the room, placing her elbows on her desk and waiting as everyone turned in her direction. “I've been making a call of my own. Clark asked me to check if there was a marriage license in Timmons' name. There was. In 2006 he got married to a woman called Mary Kane ... but there was also a death certificate for Mary. She died in Metro General in January 2010, the cause of death was ovarian cancer.”
Tracey frowned and glanced around the room. “Lots of people die of cancer, and their relatives usually don't blame the doctors or the hospital.”
“Not in most cases,” Clark conceded, “but we've established that Timmons could be unstable. I think I'll check with the hospital to find out the circumstances of her death.”
“Good idea, Clark. If you need backup, ask Jim to help you when he gets back in.” Reluctantly, Lois rose from behind her desk and walked over to her clothes-rack to pick up her coat. “I'm sorry I can't be anymore help, but I'm due on Stern's Network talk show this afternoon, and they like the guests to be there by lunchtime to go through the outline of the show ... then there's makeup. It's not something I'd choose to do, however the Sterns do pay my salary.”
Clark helped his wife into her coat. “Come on, Lois, the topics on today's show are pretty close to your heart. You'll be great! No one knows better than you how to balance a successful career with motherhood, and online newspapers versus the printed copy is your favorite debate!”
“True, but I'm not comfortable being on TV.” Lois glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who winked back.
"I'll be very comfortable watching you,” Clark said.
She turned around and stuck her finger in his chest. “You are going to be far too busy to watch TV, though there is Tivo ...” Lois looked keenly at the two cops. “Is that all for now, or do you have more to discuss with Clark?”
Jed stood and gestured Tracey to follow him. “Not really. We'll be pursuing our own investigations, and trying to apprehend Timmons for questioning, at least. Clark, I'll keep you informed, but can you do me a favor and print that sketch of yours. We have a better chance of catching this guy with the public's help.”
Clark's hand rested on Lois' back as the group left her office. “We've missed the morning edition, but it could still make the afternoon's online update. What do you say, Lois?”
“I agree. I'm all for helping the MPD,” Lois said, grinning at her husband. “I'll leave it up to you. Bye for now, honey, and good luck with the rest of your investigation.” Blowing him a kiss, but promising him more with her eyes, she left him by his desk and headed for the elevators. “Come on, Peterson, I'll walk you out. Tracey, it was nice to meet you.”
“Good luck with the show, Lois,” Clark called, sitting down and pulling his keyboard closer; he didn't have much time to load up Timmon's picture.
“Thanks, I'll need it!” Lois wasn't sure why, but she felt apprehensive about the show. Maybe she just wasn't comfortable with TV as a medium ... not since the fiasco with Luthor all those years ago.
*****
Thomas Timmons was a thief. He'd picked up the habit very early in life. When he'd lived with Aunt Ina it had been a survival skill; the miserly old spinster had never given him the things he wanted voluntarily. Besides, it had given him pleasure and a sense of satisfaction to take some of Ina's treasured possessions away from her ... especially when he'd destroyed them.
At school, he'd gotten the same thrill when he'd stolen from the boys who'd bullied him. He'd never been a match for them physically, so he'd learned how to be sly. Of course, in the beginning, he hadn't been a very good thief, and Ina had punished him for his crimes, but that had never put him off. Instead he'd simply perfected his craft over the years. Not that he'd ever been brave enough to break into people's houses or businesses, but he'd become very adept at slight of hand.
While he'd been with Mary, he'd gone straight. He'd found himself a job, and for a time life had been good, but when she'd gotten sick, he'd lost his job for taking too much time off. The company was down-sizing, and they'd jumped on his poor attendance record to let him go. Lemco was on his revenge list, too, but he'd always allowed Mary's pin to guide him, apart from in the case of Aunt Ina. Since he only had enough explosives left for one bomb, he had agreed with Mary's final choice. What better way to bow out than in the eye of the media?
After Lemco had dumped him, he'd reverted to picking pockets. He'd always been careful, and only taken people's cash, dumping the plastic, because it was too easy to trace. Getting arrested and sent to prison was never an option. Who would have looked after Mary?
Besides, even if Mary would have understood and forgiven him, he couldn't risk the thought that he might have slipped a little in her estimation.
Presently, he was about to employ his pick-pocketing skills again.
Thomas stood in line at Stern's Global Network building, studying the people around him. If he'd had a choice, he would have preferred to target The Daily Planet and certain reporters, but he knew, from past experience, how tight the Planet's security system was, and how, eventually, he'd been barred from its doors. They'd threatened him with an injunction if he came anywhere near the place again.
His mind drifted back to the time when Mary was still alive ... alive, dying of cancer. It shouldn't have been a terminal disease, but for people who couldn't afford to pay for the expensive treatments and medication, there was no choice, and Thomas' health care had disappeared along with his job.
In his desperation to help Mary, he'd written to Aunt Ina, but she hadn't replied ... not to any of his letters. So, despite the promises he'd made never to go back to that house, he'd worked up the courage to visit her, but he'd turned up at the gates of the old mansion only to discover it was now a nursing home called Hyperion Vistas.
The old girl must have lost her mind ... or she'd be spitting nails, turning her beloved home over to outsiders. Mind you, Aunt Ina never missed out on a chance to make money. If she still lived there, she would be getting the best of care, she'd make sure of that, while earning a buck or two.
There was only one way to find out, and Thomas steeled himself to walk through those gates, but as he made his way up the drive, he felt sick. Dread coiled in his stomach, turning his blood to water.
He forced himself onward, but as he neared the grim doorway of the prison of his youth, he found it more difficult to breathe. Pictures flashed into his mind; of being locked in that tiny closet, of going to bed in the dark, hungry and cold ... of being forced to read aloud passages from the bible that promised hellfire for those who sinned. According to Aunt Ina, he'd sinned a lot. Didn't she realize she had driven him to it? She was to blame.
It was her fault that he hadn't been able to enter Hyperion Vistas that day, why an invisible noose seemed to strangle him and his palms felt like they were sweating blood. As he stood looking up at the hateful facade, a full-scale panic attack had struck him, and he'd turned tail and fled.
Why should he put himself through such an ordeal? If Ina had been going to help him pay for Mary's treatment, she'd have answered his letters.
No, he would have to find another way ... and he would. He had to.
He'd picked up a copy of The Daily Planet, Mary's favorite newspaper, and gone home to his wife. She had been very weak, but always insisted on getting up to lie on the couch. He'd moved the furniture so she could see out the window, and she'd spend her days watching the world pass by and reading the exploits of Lane and Kent from her newspaper.
How she'd praised them, always talking about how they uncovered crimes and fraud ... putting crooks in prison, even one or two murderers. Yet the stories that had most attracted Mary's attention were the human interest ones. She'd admired Lane for her fearless determination to unearth the truth, but she'd loved Kent's more compassionate approach.
A real team she'd said they were ... just like he and Mary.
It wasn't a secret, either, that Lane and Kent were friends of Superman. Even if they couldn't get Mary satisfaction from the health system or the big insurance companies, maybe they could approach the Superman Foundation on her behalf. He should write an email to them right away. Mary would be over the moon!
On his way home from Hyperion Vistas, he'd formulated his plan ... but one which was destined to fail before he'd written the first letter.
Both Kent and Superman had gone and got themselves killed in North Korea!
They'd let him down. Of course, some people would argue that you couldn't blame either of them for that. They hadn't asked to be killed ... but why had they gone off to help foreigners half a world away when the people of their own city needed them?
When he and Mary had needed them! Didn't they know that charity begins at home?
Despite Kent's and Superman's disappearance, he'd gone ahead and written his letters to Lois Lane -- over and over again. When she deigned not to reply, he'd gone to visit her at The Planet's offices, only to be told that Ms Lane had taken compassionate leave. He guessed he could understand that, after all, he was losing his wife too ... but Mary was still alive then. There was still a chance that she could be saved, and surely Lois Lane would want to help. More than most, she'd know what it was like to lose a loved one.
After his useless visit to The Planet, he'd called to ask for Lane's home address or telephone number, but was told it was against company policy to give out such details about their employees. The snippy young female who'd answered his call suggested he talk to another member of the reporting team if he had information for a story, but he'd insisted on talking to the best ... and that meant Lois Lane.
Besides, he'd been picketing The Planet building, and he knew she came to work now and then. Like every other institution he'd had any contact with, they were just trying to give him the brush off. He had no intention of letting them!
But he'd never been able to get near Lane ... except for that one time.
It was the last time he'd picketed The Planet with his placard demanding the public's help in saving Mary. He'd arrived early in the morning, hoping to catch the staff going into work, and his patience had been rewarded when a yellow cab drew up, depositing Lois Lane with another male reporter.
He'd stepped forward immediately, but just as quickly, Lane's escort had moved in front of him, pushing him backwards. Calling out to Lane, he'd requested some of her time, feeling sure that once she understood what he was trying to do, she'd agree to his request. Yet before he had a chance to state his case, a number of security men appeared and hurried her inside, obeying the orders of an older man, who he'd learned was the editor of the newspaper.
As the doors closed behind Lane, the guards turned on him, led by Editor White. In no uncertain terms he was told to stop harassing one of The Planet's staff, and more importantly, one who was actually on leave on compassionate grounds.
He'd tried desperately to fight his case, shouting out his reason for being there, waving his poster energetically in the editor's lined face, but that had only served to antagonize the guards, and more particularly, the reporter who'd arrived with Lane.
Thomas had been pushed back by the younger man who'd lowered his voice and told him in a grim tone, reminiscent of Superman, that Ms Lane was a dear friend of his who had just lost her husband and her friend ... a friend who the whole world was mourning, and that, at present, he took stalking Ms Lane very personally and would report Thomas' harassment to the police.
Perry White had come up behind his reporter and warned Thomas, if in a less menacing, but perhaps more compelling, way that The Planet's lawyers would be taking an injunction out against him if he showed his face anywhere near Lois Lane in the near future.
At first, Thomas was inclined to defy the threats, but after a short consideration, he'd chosen to retire to review the situation. In one way, he would welcome the publicity for his campaign, yet on the other hand, could he afford to have the police look into his current movements?
Without the money to pay for the little luxuries, which he felt Mary was entitled to in what might be her final months, he had taken to polishing up his skills as a thief, doing some shop-lifting in small stores with little surveillance, and picking the pockets of people who weren't too careful with their possessions. From the stores, he only took the little things which he thought Mary would like ... a bar of chocolate, a magazine, or a book she might like to read. He'd been more careful when he thieved wallets, using gloves, taking only cash and discarding the rest, and he'd never stolen from anywhere close to his home area.
Most of his petty criminal activity was not a high priority for the MPD. As long as he didn't get caught in the act, and he wasn't brought to the attention of the police, he'd considered himself safe.
Even Mary had never suspected the little gifts he'd brought her were stolen goods; he'd told her he'd gotten a part time job distributing advertising leaflets and that the bank had extended his overdraft. Neither of these facts were true. He'd hated lying to his wife, yet she deserved some comfort and she'd very soon grown too sick to question his lies.
The reason he'd never pursued Lane after that day had been fear of discovery, but, also it had been Mary's decline that had kept him by her bedside ... and then it had been too late. Mary had left him.
He remembered feeling angry that she hadn't held on longer until he had found a way to save her, that she'd left him alone to face the world again. But very quickly his anger had turned against the crass commercialism of a society that let people die through lack of funds to support their treatment. Other countries had National Health Systems, why not the, supposedly, most civilized country in the world?
When Mary died, the bottom had dropped out of his world, both emotionally and physically. The bank had soon foreclosed on his mortgage, repossessing his house. They had probably been waiting for Mary to die, not wanting the adverse publicity of throwing a dying woman out of her home.
He'd been left with nothing, and his futile anger had turned into depression. Within a matter of months, he'd become one of the homeless he despised. Without his reason for living, he'd started drinking and sleeping on the streets ... but after a year or two of licking his wounds he'd come to see that Mary would be disappointed in his descent into uselessness.
He'd pulled himself together for her sake, but his anger had never dissipated. Instead it had rushed back from the recesses of his memories ... from the time before he met Mary, burning and festering, replacing her as the driving force of his life.
For so long, he'd dreamed up plans to get back at those who'd let his wife down ... who'd insulted and belittled him through out his life, making him feel he was a failure, a waste of time and space.
He'd even gone as far as putting himself in a position to carry out those plans. He'd pretended to find religion, contacting the Salvation Army, who'd been so pleased to rescue another lost soul that they'd never questioned his identity or commitment, but had given him a change of clothing and found him a job as a cleaner in a gentlemen's public washroom. Pretending to be grateful, he'd stuck at the disgusting work for almost a year, until he had enough money to find a place to stay and a job of his own.
Even then, though he'd begun to research and solidify his ideas of revenge, he'd never really believed he would have the resolution to carry them through. But when he'd heard on the news that Clark Kent had returned from the dead, all his hostile, envious thoughts coalesced in a toxic rage. The man who could have helped Thomas save Mary was still alive and reunited with his family.
Something snapped inside his brain. No longer would he accept his torment in silence. He would take his revenge against all those who had bullied and disparaged him, and when he'd finally satisfied his craving and avenged Mary, he would go to join her.
Lane was now about to die for turning her back on Thomas, and Clark Kent, who had cheated death, would learn the torment of losing the wife he loved.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his 'mark' leave the line of people and cross the road towards a little cafe. Immediately, Thomas focused his attention, asking the person next to him, with whom he'd struck up a casual conversation for just this purpose, to hold his place.
The game was on!
*****
Lois' foot tapped in time with the ringing of her cell phone.
"Come on, Clark, pick up," she said tersely, beneath her breath as she watched the suave gentleman bearing down on her like a battleship, an almost salacious grin on his face.
There was a click, then a very welcome voice spoke up. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."
My hero, Lois couldn't help smiling, he always showed up just in the nick of time.
"Hi, honey, it's me," she said, shrugging and pointing to her phone, as she turned her back pointedly on her hopeful suitor. "Thank goodness you answered, and how is the investigation going?"
"Slowly, but I'm getting there. I did some more research into Mary Timmon's death and discovered that her husband, Thomas, was not impressed with the care she received and made his feelings known aggressively. In fact, he was almost barred from the hospital. The person I spoke with thinks the only reason he kept quiet was that he wanted to be with his wife. After his wife died, he complained very loudly to anyone who would listen, threatened to sue, but the hospital staff had done everything they could for the poor woman, under the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" Lois asked, still glancing now and then over her shoulder at the guy who was hovering, ready to pounce whenever Lois cut the call.
"That they didn't have insurance, or the money to pay for the drugs which might have saved her ... and that is definitely a big might. The consensus is that Mary's illness was too far advanced by the time she showed up for treatment. Her cancer was terminal and there wasn't anything the doctors could do."
"I take it Timmons didn't accept that verdict."
"It never got to trial. Seemingly, Timmons couldn't get a lawyer to take the case."
"I'm suprised he hasn't blown up any lawyers' offices." Lois gave that idea a moment's consideration before adding with a mischievous grin. "I might not mind that so much, as long as no one died."
"We don't know what his plans are, which is precisely the reason why we have to catch him before he manages to strike again. Peterson is putting the sketch out on the wire and checking Timmon's known haunts. There aren't many and are all from a few years ago, but hopefully the police will get lucky."
"Did you get the sketch out on our online edition?"
"Yes, honey. Someone has got to spot this guy soon." There was a small pause, after which Clark asked. "How are you doing?"
Lois shrugged again. "I've been better. There was a very long lunch in the hospitality suite. The food was decent but I have better things to do with my time than socialize with the other panelists. We're supposed to be debating current issues, why do we need to be buddies?"
"Oh, oh. Who were you sitting beside?" Clark asked, making Lois smile at his insight.
"Brad Nixon." Lois was silent for a second or two. "You remember him, Clark. He's my counterpart at the NY Herald; the first newspaper to go over to full online reporting."
"That explains why you didn't enjoy lunch."
"Clark, I'm not against progress, but as long as I'm in charge of The Planet, I intend to fight to keep the printed version of the paper."
"You're preaching to the converted, Lois. I can't see myself reading the sports pages over breakfast on a computer, or a ... a blackberry." Clark's chuckle came over the line. "I'm pretty sure the kids would tell me these things are so yesterday!"
"Are we dinosaurs, Clark, to want to hang onto real newspapers? I mean, not everyone has joined the digital age," Lois said with some nostalgia. "I agree the internet has its place, but I don't believe it should intrude on every aspect of peoples' lives."
"I'm with you. There are countries in the world where computers are still considered a luxury."
"And that's not the only thing I dislike about Brad Nixon." Lois lowered her voice, as Nixon was creeping closer to her position by working the room. "I'll admit he knows how to dress to advantage, and that tan of his is probably natural. I mean, it's not like he has to stay in cold, wet Metropolis during the winter. You can edit an online paper from anywhere in the world."
"Some people might think that was an advantage ..."
"Hhmm! That man wouldn't recognize one of his reporters if he bumped into him in the street. Not unless the reporter was female, curvy and had a pulse, then he'd make a point of getting to know the woman well ... probably too well."
"Lois, would you like me to come over there to put him in his place?" Clark asked, obviously beginning to remember more about Nixon's habits.
Lois laughed. "I'm tempted to say yes, just to see the look on his face, but you have more important things to do than protect my honor, and, believe me, I'm perfectly capable of putting Nixon in his place."
This time it was Clark who laughed. "I don't doubt you. I'm almost feeling sorry for Brad Nixon already."
"Mrs. Lane-Kent!"
The call came from behind Lois, and she glanced around to see a young woman standing in the doorway.
"We're ready for you now in Makeup. If you'd come this way," the assistant said in a friendly manner.
Lois waved in acknowledgment, before turning back to her cellphone for a moment. "Clark, I'm needed in Makeup, thank goodness. I can get out of wasting more of my time in fending off Nixon's inane flattery."
"Great! Give it your best shot, honey, and you'll knock them out."
"Thanks, Clark. Same to you with the investigations. Call me if anything breaks! Love ya!"
"Love you too. Bye, Lois."
After Clark's goodbye, Lois snapped her phone shut and made her way to the door, skirting around Nixon and his little group of followers. Whatever did they see in the guy? He might be fairly attractive for his age, though his hair wasn't as thick as Clark's, but his attitude to women was purely Neanderthal!
Lois just wanted to get the show over and return to her normal work. She sensed the Timmons' story was about to break and wanted, as always, to be where the action was.
*****
tbc ...
