Isn’t It Romantic?
Lois had watched Charlie exit the mysterious white van and skitter along the street. She didn’t know why he’d been inside a dry cleaner’s van, but at the moment it didn’t matter. She needed to learn more about him.
She’d almost lost him on Parker Avenue, but she’d guessed that he wasn’t heading for his hotel or the club and had picked him up again two blocks later. Her long red wig and large round dark glasses, along with her reversible windbreaker, had helped her to change her appearance sufficiently to allow her to follow him all the way to his destination.
She wondered if Charlie had run track in college. For sure, it was a while since she’d played tennis competitively, and she had a hard time keeping up with him without letting him know she was following him despite the regular workouts she and the other Mountaintops participated in. If he’d done a better job looking behind him he might have spotted her, but she didn’t think he had.
He’d nearly gotten away from her, and she was a bit winded. She gladly sat down at the coffee shop across from the Daily Planet with a double latte and waited for a few minutes, then slipped into the restroom and became herself again. The wig was stuffed into her purse, her large dark glasses were exchanged for small wraparound ones, her shoes were swapped from light-colored flats to dark sneakers, and her dark blue windbreaker was turned inside out into a pale yellow one. She even replaced the burgundy outside pocket flap of her handbag with a dark green one held on by Velcro. No one who knew her only casually would pick up the change.
The half-dozen customers who entered and exited covered her change of appearance. She took a different seat by the window with a mocha almond coffee and a cruller to watch the entrance to the newspaper building. She knew Perry White by reputation, and she guessed that Charlie – or whoever he really was – had been working undercover at the club for the paper. Maybe he was supposed to find Wanda Detroit, maybe he was on some other story, but Lois didn’t need his interference. If he made one wrong move, it could get them both killed. Maybe she could warn him off without messing up his job too badly. It was worth a try. Maybe if she just let him know that she’d realized that he wasn’t who he claimed to be, his boss would call off whatever undercover job he was on.
While she waited, she mulled over Lucy’s revelations about her visit to see Christie. After the initial shock had worn off, Lois admitted to herself that Christie could have picked few musicians who would have been more of a boost to her act than Lucy. And Lois believed Lucy’s claim that Christie had been alive and upright after Lucy rejected the offer to leave the Mountaintops. Of course, the police had to hear about it too, and Lucy was scheduled to appear in that detective’s office – Harriman? no, Henderson – at ten the next morning.
And both Lucy and her attorney, Angela Winters, had been adamant that Lois not accompany them. Lois didn’t like it, but she admitted that Angela was right, that Lucy had to see this through on her own. Her own appointment with the police was set for eleven-fifteen the next day. Smart or not, she planned not to bring a lawyer with her. She didn’t need anyone looking over her shoulder.
Which reminded her of Ramona’s comment that she hoped Lucy appreciated all that Lois did for her. Lois hoped that it was enough and not too much, that she hadn’t smothered Lucy by shielding her from as much of life’s jagged edges as she could. Of course, their father’s death, their mother’s alcoholism, their mob-connected stepfather, and their subsequent strained relationship with Mom and Randy had already cut Lucy deeply. Lois could only try to hold the edges of the wounds together and hope that Lucy would heal on her own. She couldn’t protect her sister forever, and she probably shouldn’t try. Even if she did know better than Lucy in most things.
She was so deep in her thoughts that she almost missed Charlie coming out of the building across the street. She forced herself to exit the coffee shop slowly and quietly, then guessed that since he was headed in the general direction of the Metro club this time, he would end up in his hotel room. She didn’t want to spook him, especially since she now looked more like her normal self.
Her sense of direction and tracking skills in any city qualified her as an urban Calamity Jane. She picked him up not far from the Apollo hotel and watched him disappear into the front door. She slipped into an empty alley and pulled the wig out of her bag again, then settled it in place as best she could and once again reversed her windbreaker.
The fifty-something desk clerk perked up when he saw her and gave her a lascivious smile. “Something I can do for you, Toots?”
She pulled her thin sunglasses down far enough to look him in the eye. “Yeah. Tell me about the guy who just walked in here.”
The older man’s face fell and he stood away from the desk. “What guy?”
Her shades went back up over her eyes. “Don’t be like that, honey. The tall young guy with dark hair and glasses and really big shoulders. What room is he in?”
“You – know that guy?”
She grinned sideways. “Yeah. He’s my – my cousin. I wanna surprise him.”
“Cousin, huh?” The clerk nodded wearily. “Room three-nineteen. Stairs are over there.”
She favored him with a grin. “Thanks, honey. Oh, you know, he likes to use all kinds of names to keep the paparazzi away. I’m sure you recognized him. What name is he using here?”
His knowing eyes shifted and Lois knew he’d pegged her as just another prostitute, which was how she wanted him to remember her. “King. Charlie King.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Thanks, honey.”
“No problem, Toots,” he replied dryly.
The stairs were wobbly and worn, and Lois felt bare wood under her sneakers more than once. Two people peeked out at her when she reached the third floor, but no one challenged her or called out a greeting.
She knocked sharply on the door to Charlie’s room. “Just a minute,” he called. No sounds were audible through the cheap door, not even the TV, so she guessed he’d either been reading or writing.
He yanked the door open and said, “It’s about time you got – whoa, Miss, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone – else?”
She pushed past him. “I am someone else.”
He stood beside the door with his mouth open. “Shut the door, Charlie. We’re gonna have a party.”
He looked closer at her, then shook his head. “Lois? What are you doing here? And why are you dressed for Halloween?”
She pulled off her shades. “Oh, maybe it’s because I’m trying to hide who I really am.”
Her eyes pinned his for a long moment, then he pushed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. “I don’t know how you found me, but it’s obvious we have a lot to talk about.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’d say so.”
He stopped in front of her, then continued past her. “You want something to drink?”
“How about a vodka martini, shaken but not stirred? The ideal drink for a man who’s not who he claims to be.”
He peeked around the corner of the tiny kitchen. “My, what sharp teeth you have, Little Red Riding Hood.”
“That’s not the right quote.”
“What can I say? I was fairy-tale-deprived as a kid.”
The red wig found itself back in her bag, along with her thin shades. “So what’s your real name and what do you really do?”
He came back with two glasses of something clear and fizzy. “My name is Michael Corleone and I’m a highly successful Mafia hit man. You’re just lucky I’m on sabbatical.”
“And you get your assignments from the news desk of the Daily Planet?”
He stopped in his tracks and observed her closely for a few seconds. “You have been a busy little beaver, haven’t you?”
She reached out and took one of the glasses. “You need to check for tails more often if you’re going to work undercover.”
He gave her a medium-wattage smile. “I bow to your superior wisdom on the subject.” He sat down in the chair furthest from the door and gestured for her to join him in the other chair. “I suppose you want to know about the real me.”
She perched on the arm of the rickety chair and sipped her drink. “As real as it gets. Say, what’s in this drink? And don’t sing ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’ because it isn’t.”
He laughed. “It’s just 7-Up with ice. No alcohol.”
“Good.” She took a bigger sip. “And now we’re at the end of ‘What’s My Line?’ where the contestants reveal their true names and occupations.”
He nodded. “My name is Clark Kent. I’m an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet. My main assignment is to get the goods on the Metro Gang, and my secondary assignment is to locate Wanda Detroit and offer to bring her to safety.”
He was looking for Wanda? That could mean any number of things, good or bad. “Any particular reason you’re looking for this dame who’s named after a car town?”
“My boss thinks she’s in serious trouble. The Metro Gang is trying very hard to find her. And we doubt they plan to give her a citizenship award.”
She forced a chuckle. “Probably not, knowing them.”
She looked around the room but never let Charlie – no, his name was Clark – get out of her peripheral vision. She was about to make a cutting comment on his taste in decorating when he tilted his head and softly said, “You’re Wanda, aren’t you?”
His soft brown eyes locked with hers and she found herself unable to do anything except admit the truth. “Yes. I’m Wanda Detroit.” She forced herself to break eye contact, and for lack of anything better she took a drink. “What tipped you off? I mean, that was a pretty big leap to connect me with Wanda. What did I do?”
He grinned. “When I mentioned Wanda, your body language shifted ever so slightly, like you were getting ready to jump up and run. Your pupils contracted but your voice was as casual as if you were asking about the weather forecast. Oh, and both your heart rate and blood pressure went up.”
She frowned. “How could you tell about my blood pressure and heart rate?”
“Your face paled just a little bit and the vein in your neck started jumping faster. The only explanation was that either you knew who Wanda was or that you were her.”
She shook the ice in her glass. “That’s an impressive piece of deduction.”
He nodded and took a sip of his ginger ale. “Thank you. Just to put your mind at ease, it’s not something anyone would notice unless he or she were trained to look for stuff like that. I seriously doubt you’d ever give yourself away to the bad guys.”
“Thanks. I feel a little better now.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Now that we each know who the other really is, what should we do about it?”
She slid down into the chair and leaned back. “I’m not sure. I won’t tell anyone about you being an undercover reporter. That could get you killed. But what will you do about me? Are you going to tell your boss – your newspaper boss, that is – who I am?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you want me to. Whatever your reasons are for doing what you’re doing, I’m confident that you believe they’re good ones. And as long as you want to be Wanda, I don’t think I’m the one to put a stop to it.” He smiled a high-wattage smile. “Of course, when you do decide to go public, I’d love to be the one with the exclusive.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I’ll mention a young and brave investigative reporter helping me out in my next piece. Anonymously, of course. That kind of angle always boosts sales.”
He smiled wider. “Listen, as long as you’re here, would you like to pool our information and see if we can irritate the Metros a little more?”
Lois leaned forward in the chair. “Now you’re talking my language, Clark. I’d love to take Johnny Taylor down.”
“Good.” He reached around and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil, then smiled when he saw similar implements in Lois’ hands. “Great minds think alike, don’t they?”
“I always carry the tools of my trade with me. If I’m not fighting crime, I’m working on lyrics or arrangements for the band. I’m Lois Lane, musician. Wanda Detroit is what I do, not who I am.”
He tilted his head in thought, then smiled. “I like that. It’s really good. I’m going to remember it for the article when I ‘out’ you.”
This time she laughed aloud. “Okay, Kent, let’s pool our knowledge. I’ve been there longer than you have and I have more notes, but I’m sure you’ve picked up bits and pieces that I don’t have. Where do you want to start?”
He frowned. “I think there’s something going on between Lex Luthor and Toni Taylor, and I don’t mean romantically. I think he’s involved with some other gang. Or maybe he has his own gang. The guy is just too slippery for my taste.”
Lois pushed her jaw back into place. “Lex Luthor is a gangster? Are you sure?”
“No, but from what little I do know I don’t trust him. He’s as crooked as a pretzel somewhere down the line. I just have to find out where.”
“Did you know he’s the guy the band is supposed to meet with about financing our new record deal?”
Clark’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t. Did you know that he and his bodyguard carry pistols with extra ammunition and that there are assault rifles in his limo?”
“Assault rifles? Are you sure?” Clark nodded. Lois sat back and blew out a long breath. “Wow. We just can’t catch a break.”
“I take it that you’re not going to do business with him?”
“Not my call. It’s up to the whole band. But maybe I can limit his involvement in the long term.”
“That would probably be a good idea. His long-term survival prospects aren’t all that promising.” Clark scribbled on his pad and looked up at her again. “What do you know about Christie Baldwin’s murder?”
“I know I didn’t do it.” Clark rolled his eyes and she added, “And I’m certain that none of the Mountaintops are involved. Beyond that, I don’t have a clue.”
“Then let me put your mind at ease. The best candidate at the moment is Johnny Taylor himself. He was photographed by Federal agents at her apartment building that night at about time the she was killed. And he was photographed again coming back to the club later that night – or, morning, actually, a little after two-thirty. And Toni was recorded talking to some people in Miami who were upset about Johnny missing the call.”
“That’s very interesting. Do the police – “
He suddenly straightened. “Wait! Do you know a woman named Cordelia MacDougal in Miami?”
“Why?”
He jumped to his feet. “You have to warn her that there’s a contract out on her. That conversation the Feds recorded was partly about hiring someone to kill her.”
Lois’ face fell and she spat out a quick curse. “I already told her the Metros were going to try to have her taken care of, but I thought she had more time. I’ll get in touch with her as soon as I can and tell her to hurry up.”
Clark shook his head. “I think the Miami police department will take care of that. My boss has the transcript, and he’s already contacted a reliable detective on the force here. Besides, your article last spring about corruption in both the Dade County and Miami city police departments really shook things up down there.”
She chewed a fingernail for a moment. “I sure hope so. Cordelia’s one of the good gals and I’d hate to see her get hurt. But I’m still going to call her again.”
“If you’ve already warned her, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Let’s go on to something else.”
She took a deep breath. “First let me tell you that I think Wanda is going to disappear for a while. Some of the bad guys are starting to get wise to my contacts. Cordelia is just one of them, but she’s the third one this year who’s had to run and hide to stay safe. And I know they’re getting close to my Gotham City contact, too.”
Clark frowned. “There was a guy from Gotham City in the club a couple of nights ago to see Johnny about something. His name is Matches Malone, and I got the impression that he’s a messenger for someone higher up. Know anything about him?”
“No, but I’ll let my Gotham contact know about him. Maybe there’s some info floating around over there we can use.”
Clark was silent for a long time before Lois asked, “Is there something wrong?”
He sighed deeply. “Yeah. My partner in the investigation seems to have gone off the rails. She’s flying to Miami for Johnny.”
“Sorry to hear that. Who’s your partner?”
“She’s one of the new waitresses. Her name is Linda – Linda Wanamaker.”
Lois’ eyebrows rose. “Really? The blond who wet her pants a few days ago when Johnny shot up the wall in the conference room? His new girlfriend Linda King? That flirty little twit?”
“Yeah, she’s – wait, you know her real last name! How’d you figure that one out?”
“I knew her in college. I deliberately didn’t maintain contact with her.”
Clark’s face settled into a neutral mask. “I guess you won’t be joining her fan club any time soon.”
She ignored his feeble joke. “Clark, that girl is a loose cannon! She’s dangerous! I went to college with her and she almost destroyed the student newspaper with her affair with the editor. She stole some other reporter’s story and claimed it as her own. And she changed schools after she was accused of stealing money from the cafeteria while she was supposed to be doing a story on – oh, what was it? I forget now, but Linda is definitely not who Wanda Detroit would choose as a contact.” She sighed. “I’m just glad she doesn’t seem to remember me.”
He shook his head. “Well, I have to admit that I’m not too surprised. She’s made a habit of cutting corners ever since I met her, although this is the first time she’s done something like this. At least, as far as I know.”
“That’s why I’m so worried about my secret getting out. I’m starting to run into people from my past who know that I’m more than just a musician. If Linda were to recognize me, there’s no telling what she might tell Johnny.”
“I doubt she’d turn you over to him.”
“She wouldn’t have to. All she’d have to say is ‘Hey, Johnny, I remember the bass player in the band from college several years ago and she’s kind of a stickler for right and wrong.’ Johnny Taylor would have me whacked so fast it would make your head spin.”
Clark opened his mouth but no sound came out. “You know I’m right,” Lois insisted.
He shrugged. “I can’t tell you that you’re wrong. Why don’t we focus on what we know instead of on what might happen?”
She nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll give you a copy of my notes on the meeting the gang management had a few days ago.” She snickered. “They’re not doing so well at the moment.”
“And that’s partly your doing?”
“I’d like to think so.” She inclined her head towards him. “You go next.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Actually, I’d like to ask you a personal question.”
“Okay,” she replied. “But I reserve the right to decline to answer.”
“Fair enough.” He moved forward in the chair and looked directly into her eyes. “This is a dangerous and difficult thing you’re doing, even though it’s certainly worthwhile. But it can’t be easy. Why are you doing what you’re doing? Why are you being Wanda Detroit, trying to take down the mob?”
She gasped. That was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. She opened her mouth to tell him that it was none of his business, that it wasn’t anything he needed to know.
Instead the truth came out.
“My father was a doctor. He was working for a company doing research on enhanced prostheses – computer-controlled lifelike artificial arms, hands, legs, feet, that kind of thing. One day my mom got a visit from the state police and a company official. They said my dad had been in an accident in his lab, that one of his experimental machines had fallen on him and killed him. I didn’t believe it, so I did some poking around on my own, and I found a reporter who agreed with me. She told me that she thought the company was a mob front, that my dad had died because he didn’t want to go along with what the mob wanted to do with his work, that she was going to write a story that would blow the lid off, and that I needed to act like I believed everything they said until her story went to print.
“The police found her body four days later in the trunk of her car. Her hands had been wrapped up with duct tape and she’d been shot in the head more than once. All her notes were missing.”
She stopped and dashed unexpected dampness from her eyes. A soft tissue materialized in her hand and she smiled her thanks to Clark before continuing.
“Of course, there was no story. The company gave us a huge insurance settlement, my mom got involved with Randy Beauchamp and his mob connections and married him and finally crawled into a bottle to escape the disaster her life has become. Randy wanted both Lucy and me to get business degrees and work with him, but that wasn’t going to happen in a million years. So we took up music.
“At first it was mainly to assert our independence, to thumb our noses at him, but it got to be way more than that in a hurry. I know I’m good, but Lucy is close to being a genius. She can play just about any style on guitar or keyboards or drums. I think I’m a better singer and arranger than she is, but not by much. We both want the Mountaintops to succeed.”
She stopped to take a drink. “But you wanted to know about Wanda, didn’t you?” Clark nodded but didn’t speak. “I invented her because I saw how pervasive the mobs are. If nobody bought illegal drugs, they wouldn’t sell them – which is how they justify it to themselves – but if they weren’t out there trying to get everybody’s money for those drugs, shoving them in people’s faces and daring them to try it just once, there would be a lot less crime, fewer broken lives, and a lot less pain in the world. And fewer kids would have to finish growing up without a father.” She looked away. “Lucy deserved better.”
Her head snapped around again as she felt Clark’s hand on hers. “You deserved better, too,” he whispered.
She looked into his eyes again and licked her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”
“And now Wanda Detroit is out to hurt the mobsters like you were hurt?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. No one had ever put it to her that way, but it rang true. A large part of her reason for inventing Wanda had been to make amends for Lucy’s pain, but suddenly she realized that Wanda was trying to make up for Lois’ pain also.
It suddenly struck her that there was a fine line between retaliation and retribution, and she was afraid that she’d crossed over it so many times that she’d wiped it out.
She lurched to her feet. “I – it’s getting late. I have to be going.”
Her progress towards the front door was halted by his gentle touch on her shoulder. “Lois, wait. Please.”
She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. “What do you want?”
His hand slipped away and she was surprised to feel a chill where the warmth of his hand had been. “I’d like your permission to tell my boss that I think I’ve found Wanda Detroit, but that I’m not ready to say so for certain, and that I don’t know if she’s ready to go public. And I’d like to tell him what you’ve told me about the club and its operations.”
She nodded sharply. “Go ahead with all that, fine with me. Anything else?”
His voice betrayed his mild amusement. “You might want to put your hooker disguise back on so the desk clerk doesn’t start thinking too hard.”
After a moment she grinned. “Good idea. We wouldn’t want him to hurt himself.” She tossed him a quick smile. “See you tomorrow at rehearsal. Two o’clock sharp.”
“I thought Malcolm was going to be back tomorrow. I know he’s out of the hospital.”
“He is, but the band took a vote at breakfast this morning and we all decided we want you mixing for us. You’ve got great ears.”
He laughed as she slipped her wig on again. “What’s so funny, Clark? Does this wig make me look fat or something?”
He laughed again. “No, not at all. I do think you look better without it – a lot better, in fact, and I don’t think anything you wore could make you look bad. But I was laughing because no one has ever complimented me by telling me that I have good ears.”
Lois’ mouth widened of its own accord. “Well, don’t get a big head about it, okay?”
As she descended the stairs, still wearing her smile, she thought about all the other parts of him which she considered ‘great.’ And she didn’t see the desk clerk as he followed her out with hungry eyes, nor did she hear his mumbled comment to himself about how easy it was to please some women.
She should have been thinking about rehearsal or Wanda business or making sure she got in touch with Cordelia, but all she could focus on was the fact that he’d said she was beautiful.
Well, not really, but surely that was what he meant!
