All Of Me
Lois’ alarm had barely sounded when her hand flew over and tapped the snooze button. She swung her feet to the floor and switched the alarm off, then checked to make sure Lucy was still asleep. Sure enough, her sister hadn’t budged, nor had her breathing altered. Lois could make her calls in private.
She looked into the bathroom mirror and saw a stressed but surprisingly rested and alert woman staring back at her. As a working musician, she was used to late nights and late mornings, but today she was up and ready to go hours before she’d normally reluctantly arise.
A fragment of a partly remembered dream floated up to the surface. It was Charlie, looking deep into her eyes and saying, “I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll never let them hurt you.” She couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be protecting her from, but she remembered the feeling that he’d do what he’d promised. And she remembered that she’d felt safe within her dream world with dream-Charlie.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Adolescent fantasies about beautiful dark-haired boys with soulful chocolate eyes riding in on white chargers to save the day were Lucy’s province, not hers – at least, they had been Lucy’s when they’d been much younger and far more innocent. And she had more important things to do this morning than sit and dream about some guy, even if she’d obviously already been dreaming about him. Even if he had the most innocent, electric smile she’d ever seen on any guy.
She took a moment and remembered his eyes as she’d paused in the doorway to the conference room at the Metro Club. They’d bored down into her and left her shaken for a moment. He had been deep, he had been complex, he had been sensitive, he had –
He’d been scanning the room just as she had been.
The sudden realization wiped the soft smile from her face. Since his first day at the club, Charlie had seemed a little too good to be true. He was always on time – a rarity among either bartenders or sound techs – he always had a smile on his face, he was unfailingly nice to the customers and his coworkers alike, and he saw everything.
That was it. That was what had been bothering her about him.
Charlie saw everything. He was far too intelligent and attentive to be just a land-locked sailor, despite his stories to the contrary. His hands weren’t soft by any means, but neither were they the weather-roughened hands of a common sailor who’d spent months on a tramp steamer. And his open and trusting face didn’t belong on a freighter or in the Metro Club. He was always alert, always watching and listening. Charlie King wasn’t who he said he was.
In many ways, he was just like her. He was playing at being one thing while being another thing altogether. But what was the ‘thing’ he really was? Who was he really? Was he part of another gang? Was he a spy for the ‘Boss’ Lois had heard wisps of rumors about from her various sources over the past few months? Or was he from some law enforcement agency? Was she about to be swept up in a racketeering investigation of someone else’s doing?
She’d have to put those questions aside. There was this little matter of legal representation over Christie’s murder to deal with. She picked up the phone in the bathroom and dialed Connie Hunter’s number, hoping for a live person to talk to instead of an answering machine.
As she waited, the thought that maybe Charlie was involved in Christie’s death flitted through her mind. While it was possible, she didn’t think he was a murderer. He didn’t have the hard emotional shell she’d observed in every other sane killer she’d ever met. And he certainly didn’t act like he was the least bit crazy.
“Hunter and Winters legal firm. This is Connie Hunter speaking. May I help you?”
The response startled her for a moment. “What? Oh. Right, I called you. Sorry. Listen, my name is Lois Lane and I’m with a band called the Mountaintops and we’re playing an extended gig at the Metro Club here in Metropolis and the singer we were hired to play behind got herself murdered yesterday – no, wait, the day before yesterday, and the police want to talk to us about it and we need an honest lawyer and – “
“Wait a minute! Can you slow down a little, you know, take a breath or two?”
Lois grinned. “Sorry. Anyway, we need a lawyer. Are you available to help us?”
The woman on the other end of the call hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What made you decide to call this number?”
Lois weighed the risk of giving away another contact, then decided it was worth it. “Vicky Vale of Gotham City recommended you to me.”
“Oh? How’s Vicky doing these days? Still painting those still lifes?”
Lois frowned. “I don’t know anything about her being a painter. The last time I talked to her, she owned her own photography studio and was doing fairly well.”
A chuckle came over the line. “Please forgive me, Ms. Lane. That was a bit of a test to see if you really knew her. We crusaders for justice have to stick together, you know.”
Crusaders for justice? What was that supposed to mean? Had Vicky told this woman anything about her? Were they working together in some way? Did this lawyer know about Wanda Detroit? Was Vicky involved in something that might get Lois in trouble?
“Ms. Lane? Are you still there?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I’m sorry. I was just wondering why you needed to be sure that I actually knew Vicky.”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Attorney-client privilege and all. Now, can you tell me once again why you need an attorney?”
“Sure. What do you know about the murder of Christie Baldwin?”
“Just what little I’ve heard on the radio. The morning newspaper only had a brief article on her, no real information. Not that the police have released anything, either. Why do you ask?”
“Because Christie was the front singer at the Metro Club and our band was hired to back her up. She didn’t show up for work last night, and after the club closed a police inspector told us that she’d been murdered. He also told us that he wanted to talk to each of us about what we knew about Christie.”
“I see.” The line went silent, and Lois got the impression that the other woman was chewing on either her finger or the phone line in thought. “Ms. Lane, I personally don’t take criminal cases. My specialty is civil law and entertainment law. I represent a number of artists based in Metropolis. Doesn’t pay much, but it’s clean work.”
“I see. Do you know anyone who is a criminal lawyer?”
“Yes. My partner Angela Winters practices criminal law. If you like, I can arrange a meeting with her for, say, one o’clock this afternoon?”
“That’s fine unless we get arrested first. Can she help us then?”
“Unless the police have hard evidence linking one or more of you to the crime – say, how many people are in this band?”
“Since you do entertainment law, I’m a little hurt that you haven’t come to listen to us play.”
Connie laughed. “Sorry. The Metro Club isn’t one of my usual night spots.”
“Too bad, you’re missing a great show. There are five of us. Myself, my sister Lucy, Ramona Wilcox, who’s the band’s manager, Connie Vandross, and Shamika Jones. Just so you’ll know this, I didn’t do it, and I seriously doubt that any of the others did.”
“Let’s not get into that right now since I’m not going to be representing you in this matter. I’ll talk it over with Angela. If she can’t make it at one, what would be a good time for you ladies?”
“Today is Thursday, so just about any time this afternoon would work. We don’t play on Thursday nights and we don’t have a rehearsal today.”
“Very well. I’ll try to call you back in about two hours.”
Lois sighed. “That’s probably about how long it’s going to take me to talk the other girls in the band into this.”
*****
Clark heard Perry’s approach before the editor hove into view with his right index finger upraised and his scowl crowding the world’s record. “Kent!”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Do you know what happened last night?”
Clark lifted the sheets of paper in his left hand. “Do you mean the latest appearance of the Silent Vigilante – “ he lifted the pages in his right hand “ – or the murder of the singer at the Metro Club?”
Perry stopped in his tracks. Had the situation not been so serious, Clark might have laughed. Instead he handed both printouts to his boss. “Here’s the hard copy for each story. And the electronic copies of both stories are already in your e-mail inbox. I’m ready to meet with Linda on the latest developments in the undercover operation.”
Perry accepted both stacks of paper, then frowned. “Linda’s not here. I figured you two would be coming in together this morning.”
Clark’s eyebrows rose. “She’s not here? But she wasn’t at her apartment either. Maybe we just crossed paths along the way.”
“I hope so.” Perry glanced through the article on Christie’s murder, then turned and bellowed, “Olsen! Get some background info on the Metro Club for Kent here. This piece needs some punching up. And try to get more on – um – Leanne Petrosky. That was the victim’s real name. Check with Kent for the correct spelling. I want to run with the complete murder story in tomorrow morning’s edition.”
The young man broke into a trot as he called out, “On it, Chief!”
Without acknowledging Jimmy’s call, Perry turned and said, “Clark, you go back over this and double-check everything in it. And the same goes for anything you put in between now and the time we go to press with it. We’ve already reported the fact of the murder, but if we print a follow-up story with one word that can’t be proven true six ways from Tuesday, the gang’s lawyers will tie us up like the copyrights for some of Elvis’s biggest hits, at least the ones he wrote. You know, they never have resolved all those questions about who actually – “
Clark smiled wanly and patted Perry’s upper arms. “That’s fascinating, Chief, but I need to get to work. Oh, do you plan to run that Silent Vigilante story in the evening edition?”
Perry glanced at it. “Give me a quick overview.”
“Sure. A pair of crooks broke into an electronics store on Twelfth and Wilson last night and were carrying out televisions and DVD players still in the boxes. The Vigilante let the air out of their tires while they were inside the store and called the police. Both guys heard the sirens and tried to drive off until they realized their tires were flat. Then they tried to run, but the Vigilante wrapped them up with TV cable and left them tied to the streetlight they’d broken to hide their activities. They’re under arrest and the owner of the store got all his stuff back, minus a broken door.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you stumble onto this story?”
“I was walking home from the club when I heard the sirens, so I decided to check it out. I got there as the police were untying the crooks.”
“And why did the police arrest these guys?”
Clark unsuccessfully tried to hide his grin. “The Vigilante had left a note around their necks advising the police to check the security video tapes before letting the men go. They went in the store, turned on a TV and a VCR, and played the tape.”
Perry sighed. “That’s a nice story. Did you happen to get a look at the Vigilante?” Clark shook his head in the negative. “Any clear shots of him on the security tape?”
Clark shook his head again. “Nothing usable. He kept to the edges of the camera coverage and didn’t turn his face to any of them.”
“How about a description of him from the crooks?”
“They said he was probably Caucasian, a bit over six feet tall and wore black jeans, long-sleeved black shirt, black sneakers, and a black ski mask. And he was very strong and very quick and didn’t say a word.”
Perry threw his hands in the air. “Great! That’s just about what we already have! We can’t keep printing ‘we don’t know what he looks like’ every other day! And if he’s going to start tying up burglars with cutsie little signs like some wanna-be Spiderman, he might as well hire a press agent!”
Perry’s words struck a chord in Clark’s mind. Press agent – the notion of doing the Vigilante things more publicly appealed to him. As Perry continued to rant about not having any pictures of the mystery man, Clark realized that he didn’t want to leave Metropolis as he had so many other places around the world. Before, when people would begin talking about a man who could do things no other man could do, or about an angel or a “harbinger of the Force” (as he’d been called once in Asia) helping people and disappearing without saying anything, he’d make a discreet exit.
But not here. In Metropolis, he’d found a place where he could belong, a job where he could make a difference not just on the sly, but out in the open, as himself. Reporting for the Planet was a dream come true on several levels. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was far better than anything else he’d ever experienced.
Then he noticed one of the few imperfections in an open elevator. “Perry?”
“What is it, Kent?”
“I think Linda just came in.”
“Finally! You two are supposed to compare notes by nine-thirty every morning and she’s half an hour late! Well, get to work! This investigation won’t write itself up!”
“On it, Chief!” Clark turned and trotted across the newsroom to the elevator where Linda had just appeared. But something was wrong. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on him and her steps were unsure. He needed to find out what was going on, and the middle of the newsroom wasn’t the place to do that.
Clark grabbed her arm and tugged her down the ramp and towards the conference room. “Linda! Glad you’re here. What kind of background do you have on Christie Baldwin’s murder? Is anyone at the club really happy that she’s dead? Is anyone acting scared or like they have something to hide? What are they saying about her back in the locker room?”
He managed to talk over her obvious shock at his mention of the murdered woman and steered her past Perry quickly enough that he didn’t stop them. Clark shut the door to the conference room and pulled the blinds shut before he spoke.
He turned to her and lowered his voice. “All right, Linda, let’s have it. Where were you this morning? And don’t tell me you were at home. I went by your apartment to pick you up and you weren’t there.”
She refused to make eye contact. “I was out.”
“Out where?”
She shook her head and refused to answer. “Okay,” he said. “Why are you still wearing the clothes you wore to the club yesterday afternoon?”
She took a shuddering breath, but didn’t respond. “Linda?” He tapped her on the shoulder. “Come on, Linda, talk to me.”
He crossed his arms and waited for a few seconds, but she still didn’t say anything else. “Okay. You were out and couldn’t get home to change clothes. Fine.” He sat down at the table and gestured for her to follow suit. “What do you know about Christie Baldwin’s murder?”
“Nothing. I don’t know anything about it. I didn’t even know she was dead until you told me just now.”
He frowned. Something was wrong with Linda. She was definitely not her normal flirty self. In fact, she looked guilty about something.
“Linda? Look at me.” She stared at the table until he gently lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Linda? What’s the matter?”
She blinked and sniffed. “I – I think I’ve been really stupid, Clark.”
Keeping his voice low and gentle, he asked, “Can you tell me about it? Maybe it’s not as bad as you think it is.”
“No. It’s at least as bad as I think it is.”
“Okay. Then why don’t you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you.”
She pulled away and turned her head. In a low, stuttering voice, she said, “I – I went in early yesterday, right after we talked, just to look over the place. I didn’t expect anyone to be there, not anyone important, but – but Johnny Taylor was sitting in his office with the door open.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “He – he looked so sad. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him. He said, ‘Yeah. Come in here and sit with me for a minute.’ So I did.”
Linda stopped and wiped her nose with her hand. Clark pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She glanced at him and tried to grin, but couldn’t.
She blew her nose twice. “I listened while he griped about Christie, how she was out of control everywhere, how she wanted to leave him and start singing in other places, and how she expected him to help her get started. And he had this – this bottle with him. I don’t know what was in it, but it tasted so good when he offered it to me – and then he gave me some more and – and then he kissed me and I don’t remember much after that until – until Toni came in and found us – found us – “
She burst into tears and couldn’t finish. Clark put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her towards him and let her soak his shirt.
She cried and hiccupped and sobbed for several minutes while Clark thought furiously. If Johnny had drugged and seduced Linda, it might be a way to bring him to justice – except Johnny’s knowing Linda’s real identity might put her in danger. On the other hand, Linda’s actions, whether intentional or not, had compromised the investigation itself. If she were involved with one of the principals in the investigation, it could seriously damage the paper’s credibility and cast doubt on the validity of any evidence they could turn up.
He waited for Linda to calm down a bit, then asked, “Where were you last night?”
She sat up and tried to find a dry spot on Clark’s handkerchief, then said, “I went to – to a cheap motel downtown. I didn’t want Johnny to f–follow me home.”
He nodded. “Did he follow you?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.” She turned her tear-tracked face to him. “Clark, what have I done? I c-can’t be involved with a gangster like Johnny! I can’t go back to the club! What will Perry say? What am I going to do?”
He let out a long sigh. “If what you’ve told me is accurate – “
“Oh, it is, it is, I swear it! He drugged me somehow!”
“Okay. Then we need to tell Perry about this. He’ll have to make the decision on how to handle this.”
She turned away again and nodded. He stood and stepped towards the door, but Linda called to him. “Clark?”
She sounds so defeated, he thought. “Yes, Linda?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I – I know I’ve pretty much destroyed anything we might have had together. And I know it was my fault.”
Several thoughts flitted through his mind as she paused, thoughts about how self-deluded about him she still was, but he didn’t voice any of them.
“I know I’ve been a pest,” she continued. “And I know that – that you don’t look at me like a man looks at a woman. I mean, you’re always courteous, except when I’m putting a lot of pressure on you, and you’ve never – never told me to just g-go away and leave you alone even though I know you – you’ve thought it.” She looked up at him. “I guess – I just wanted to say – thank you for being my friend. And I hope that someday – we can be friends again.”
He took a deep breath. “I hope so too, Linda.”
*****
Perry knew Clark was at his door before the young man knocked. “What is it, Kent?”
“We – um – we have a situation here, Chief. We need your input on it.”
“What is it?”
Clark shook his head. “Not here, Perry, in the conference room.”
A dozen possibilities lunged through Perry’s mind, but he forced himself to remain calm and seemingly in control. “Okay, let’s go.”
Grim-faced, Clark led the way across the news floor. Perry reflected that the young man had grown in confidence and ability since he’d been with the Planet. It hadn’t been so many months ago that a meek and mild youth with a teenage idol haircut had appeared in his doorway carrying a profile of an old theater which had been scheduled for demolition. And within the theater story, Clark had embedded a heartfelt tribute to the unsung and mostly forgotten actors and directors and stage hands and ticket takers and technicians who had brought so many plays to life for so many people.
The story had induced Perry to take his wife to a local stage production, then to talk some shop with some of the cast members afterwards, then to go to a late night get-together at an all-night coffee shop, and finally to help reorganize the board of directors, of which he was now a member. Perry, to his great surprise, had loved it. And Alice had loved it, too. Their shared enthusiasm had helped draw them closer together.
Clark had the ability to entice people to do things they’d do on their own if they would only think about them. It was a rare quality in a journalist, and one that Perry didn’t believe Clark knew that he had. He wished the young man would be a bit more aggressive at times, and maybe the Metro Club investigation would generate some more aggressiveness in him, but Clark was a gem of a find. Perry knew he’d been lucky.
And pairing Clark with fellow newbie “Lucky” Linda King had been a very good move. Linda was excellent at ferreting out leads, but she didn’t always know what to do with them. Clark wasn’t the best at finding those leads – although he’d improved a lot in that area – but he was outstanding in developing them. Their combined talents produced usable stories on a regular basis, and lately the stories had been better. Some had even been banner-worthy, and he dared to believe that the Metro club investigation would produce the pair’s best written work to date. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good.
But as he closed the conference room door behind him, he realized that Linda hadn’t been lucky today. Something was seriously wrong.
Perry sat down in a chair across from Linda and folded his hands together. “Linda, Clark, can you tell me what’s going on here?”
Clark looked at Linda, who waved weakly at Clark and said, “You – you tell him.”
“Are you sure, Linda?”
She nodded and pushed a damp handkerchief against her nose and mouth.
Clark sighed. “Okay, here it is. Last night, Linda was – well, I guess the best way to say it is that she was drugged and seduced by Johnny Taylor.” He paused, looked at Perry, then continued. “I don’t think Linda had much choice in the matter, Chief. From what she’s said, she doesn’t remember much about what happened, except that she woke up in bed with Johnny.”
Perry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that true, Linda?”
She nodded without looking at him. “Yes.”
He sat back and shook his head. “Well.” He looked at the young woman silently weeping across the table. He looked at her partner, who sat close to her but who was offering no comfort at the moment. Perry wondered if Clark had any idea how to comfort a woman who’d been date-raped, which was pretty much what had apparently happened to Linda. He knew he didn’t.
Perry leaned forward again. “Linda, you do understand that I have to take you off this investigation effective immediately, don’t you?” She nodded. “And for your own sake, you have to call the police so you can report this.”
She looked directly at him for the first time. “Yes,” she said softly. “I know. I – I’ll cooperate fully. I’ll even file charges if that’s what you want me to do.”
Perry shook his head. “No, Linda. I’m not going to tell you what to do about anything legal you want to do. In fact, I have to tell you that because you suffered this trauma during an authorized investigation, the Planet is at least partly liable for what happened to you.”
She frowned. “What? No! It’s not the Planet’s fault! Or your fault! It was – “
He lifted his hands to stop her. “Wait a minute. You need to talk to an attorney before you go making any statements about whose fault it was. You can engage one on your own, you can talk to someone in our legal department, or I can recommend someone. It’s completely up to you.”
Linda frowned again, this time in thought. “Who do you recommend?”
“I’ll get the number from my Rolodex. Her name is Connie Hunter and I think she can help you.”
*****
Lois knocked on the door to her bandmates’ hotel room, knowing that they probably weren’t all awake yet. She had a little over two hours to get them on board with the meeting with the lawyer she’d found, and of the three of them only Ramona was anything close to a morning person.
She heard a thump from the other side of the door, then a single bloodshot eye peeked through the slit of the doorframe as it opened to the length of the burglar retainer. “Wha’yawant?” she muttered.
“Connie, it’s Lois.”
Connie blinked and tried to focus. “Who?”
Lois sighed. “Lois Lane, your world-class bass player and top challenger for the most beautiful woman in the band. Is Ramona up yet?”
The face slid away from the crack. “Mona!”
“What?”
“Loizeere.”
If not for the circumstances, it would have been funny. Connie’s inability to process mornings was legendary in the band, even predating the Lane sisters’ involvement. Ramona had, out of necessity, learned to comprehend Connie’s morning speech, so in a moment Ramona’s conscious face replaced Connie’s barely animate one.
The door closed for a moment, then opened wider than before. “Morning, Lois. Kinda early, isn’t it?”
“I got us a lawyer.”
Ramona frowned and rubbed her unbrushed hair. “I thought Toni was going to find one for us.”
“Uh-huh. Do you want an attorney who knows the Metro Club inside and out to represent us? And, most especially, one that the district attorney knows is mobbed up?”
“Huh.” Ramona frowned. “Hadn’t thought of that. Glad you did. What time do we meet and where is it?”
“One o’clock. I have the address. It’s close enough to walk if we want to.”
“I don’t want to. We can afford a cab. Say, is Lucy on board with this?”
“She’ll do what I want her to do. She might not like it, especially not at first, but she’ll play ball.” Lois waved her hand at the door. “What about the other two?”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “Who, Beauty and the Beast? They’ll see reason just like I did. None of us want to be held over in any town because of a trial. We don’t get paid for that and it’s lousy publicity.”
A low rumble emerged from beyond the door. “Who you callin’ a beast?”
Ramona turned her head and said, “Take it easy, Shamika. I was talking about Connie.”
Bedsprings protested as someone moved on a mattress and the growl came again. “Sure you was. You just treatin’ me like some po’ black trash, just like always.”
Ramona put on a bad Southern accent. “Oh, you pore li’l thang! You got yore pore little feelings hurt so bad! Just let little ol’ me fetch you a big ol’ hunk o’ raw meat for yo’ breakfast, won’cha?”
Shamika grunted, then growled, “Make it a big one this time. Last one was way too small.” She grunted again as she stood. “And quit stealin’ Connie’s material. She do that Mississippi accent way better.”
Lois and Ramona shared a quiet chuckle, then Lois said, “If you can get Connie moving and into the shower, we can all have breakfast together. I’ll go reserve a table in the cafeteria if you want me to.”
Ramona nodded. “That’s a good idea. Is Lucy up yet?”
“She will be by the time I get back to our room.”
Ramona frowned. “I hope your sister appreciates all the wonderful things you do for her.” Before Lois could respond, Ramona said, “See you at breakfast in half an hour,” and closed the door.
She hopes Lucy appreciates all I do? wondered Lois. What the heck was that supposed to mean?
