Clark scrolled through his computer notes, comparing them one more time with his notepad. It had been a productive hour. He had set up a lunch meeting with Daniel Scardino, made an appointment for the following day to speak with Lex Luthor, and organized his notes, transcribing them into his computer.
Satisfied, he stood and looked around hoping to see some hint about the location of the darkroom. As he did, he brushed his notepad off the desk. Bending over to retrieve it, he suddenly heard a long, low whistle followed by a slow sultry voice.
“Well, he-llo-o. Who’s the new tight end, Marty?”
He looked up to see an auburn-haired femme fatale talking with a man at a nearby desk. She slithered close to him, extended a limp hand, and said, “I’m Catherine Grant.
‘Cat!’ ” The expletive exploded with accented consonants. “I write Cat’s Corner. And you are?”
Clark wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the hand, so he shook it briefly as he replied, “Clark Kent. I’m new here at the Planet. I just started today.”
“Oooh, don’t I know that. You wouldn’t have escaped my notice longer.” Her heavily made-up eyes mapped him with the precision of a Lewis and Clark survey. “Mmmm, you are just what we’ve needed around here.” She batted her eyelashes and smiled in welcome. Then her smile faltered. “Wait a minute. Clark Kent? You’re the one they hired to write about Lois.”
“Yes,” said Clark. “I hope I can do justice to her life and death.”
“Poor, dear Lois. Such an unexpected death, and there’s so little to write about her life. She just didn’t have much of one outside of work.”
“You were close?”
“What can I say? You know, girls in the newsroom. I’d give her advice, but she didn’t seem to get it. With all the men available, she couldn’t catch on to how to take advantage of her assets. She just couldn’t find the right touch. Her eye make-up and lipstick never worked. Sometimes not enough, other times too dark, too red. . And the clothes she wore! So dowdy and tacky.”
Clark wondered if Cat really thought the strapless, sleeveless, backless bodice she was wearing ought to be standard uniform for a female reporter at the Daily Planet. He rather doubted that she would like all the competition.
“Uh, well, that seems like a shame. Is there anything you can tell me about her murder?”
“Not really, but if I think of anything I’ll get back to you. Come to think of it, I’ll get back to you anyway,” and blowing a kiss, she undulated away.
Clark shook his head in amused astonishment as he mimicked, “Cat!!” under his breath. The Daily Planet certainly had some different reporters on its staff. He wondered if Jimmy Olsen would prove as out of the ordinary, and once again looked around for the darkroom. As he walked toward a nearby desk to ask for directions, he passed the conference room where he had deposited the portrait an hour earlier and found himself looking through the glass partition at a figure that now appeared to be, not professional in the face of a storm, but dowdy and rumpled, eyes desperately searching. The enigmatic woman of his initial impression was becoming a riddle with a continually changing answer to the question, ‘Who was Lois Lane?’
Returning his attention to the desk, he introduced himself and asked the reporter if he had seen Olsen. The man pointed him toward the darkroom, and he wound his way past the coffee machine toward a corridor next to the fire stairs exit. He was about to turn into it when he was accosted by a small, weasel-faced man with thinning hair slicked back from his face. The face wore a toothsome grin.
“You must be the new guy, Kent, huh?” Without waiting for an answer he went on, a jerk of his thumb indicating himself, his self-congratulatory tone proclaiming his fondness for his own voice. “Ralph Potter, Investigative Reporter.”
Clark heard the capital letters clearly in Ralph’s intonation. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ralph still had importance to convey.
“So, you’re gonna cover Lane’s murder. Wow, what a shock that was. Don’t know why Perry thought he needed to hire someone. I’m available right now. But Lane was one of his pets. He doesn’t want any of us to write about her. Not that I couldn’t have let everyone in on the real lowdown.”
At last, Ralph paused to breathe, and Clark felt that, perhaps, it was his turn to speak. “Hi, Ralph, I’m Clark Kent. And yes, I’m on the story of Lois Lane’s murder. I take it you knew her well?”
“Are you kidding? Nobody knew her well, but I probably knew her better than anyone. Tough chick, but a looker, you know? Thought she was too good for the guys around here, but a real babe, if you get my drift.” His grin became a leer. “She was built like a-“
Clark interrupted him. “I was interested more in your impressions of her as a professional colleague.”
Ralph looked disappointed for a minute. “Oh, that.” He paused for a moment, then tossed off “Intense.” He paused again, apparently examining the word, before continuing. “Yeah, that’s what she was. Intense. I told her lighten up, let go, enjoy yourself, and spread it around a little. But would she? Nah, she just flaunted it every chance she got. A real tease.”
Clark sensed that Ralph had returned to his personal interests. He prodded. “When she was on a story, she was totally focused?”
“Focused? Yeah, I’ll say.” His grin was completely gone now. “She got hold of something, she didn’t let go. And competitive. She had to get there first, be first...with everything. She was ferocious. That’s why everybody called her Mad Dog Lane.”
Clark jotted on a pad. “Mad Dog Lane. Well that certainly gives me a picture of her. Did you ever work with her?”
“Her? Nobody worked with her. Nobody was good enough. Like I said. She was one of Perry’s pets.”
There was a yell across the newsroom. “Ralph! Call for you.”
“Gotta go, Kent.” The grin was back. “Probably one of my sources with a lead on a hot new story. Catch me later if there’s anything else you want to know . Like I said, I know the lowdown.” And with that, he bustled away cushioned in the force field of his self-importance.
Clark made a quick notation of the conversation on his pad, to be typed into his computer later, including his impression that whatever Ralph thought he knew about Lois Lane was almost certainly low down but not necessarily accurate.
Then turning, he walked down the adjacent hallway looking for the darkroom. Halfway down, on the left, he saw a glowing red bulb above the sill of a door marked, ‘Darkroom’. Assuming that the light meant no intruders, he knocked and called out, “Jimmy Olsen? It’s Clark Kent. I’d like to talk with you.”
A voice answered, “Five more minutes. I’ll meet you at your desk.”
Clark, picking up a cup of coffee on the way, wandered into the conference room to take another look at the portrait. For the first time he noticed the body underneath the coat. The pose caught by the artist was sinuous and alluring, full breasts thrust forward, hips cocked, and a long leg outlined by the trousers she wore. Looking up at the face, he saw heavy-lidded eyes framed by lashes black with mascara. Combined with a bright red mouth, they gave the woman an expression that was more taunting than belligerent. Alice-like, Clark thought, <Curiouser and curiouser.>The more the riddle’s answer changed, the more intrigued he became by the woman of the portrait.
“You Clark Kent?”
A young voice broke his reverie. Turning he saw a round faced youth with lanky brown hair and a pug nose. “Right. Jimmy Olsen?”
“That’s me. You weren’t at your desk so I took I chance when I saw somebody I didn’t know in here. You want to talk to me?” He advanced into the room.
“Yes. Why don’t we just sit here”? Clark motioned to a chair. Jimmy chose one that put his back to the portrait. They both sat down, and Clark began.
“You know who I am?”
“Sure. Everyone in the newsroom knows. You’re here to write about Lois’s mur....” He stopped, swallowed hard, and repeated, “You’re here to write about Lois.”
“Perry told me that you were close to her.”
“We were friends, if that’s what you mean. She was somebody special.”
“Special? In what way.”
“In the way she treated me. In the way she talked to me. In the way she acted around me. To everybody else around here, I’m just an errand boy. Invisible till they need something. She was never that way. She did more than talk to me. She listened. I’m working really hard to be a press photographer, and she helped me out, encouraged me. Sometimes she’d take me on assignments so I could get experience, and she’d give me advice. She showed me what made a good picture, and showed me how different angles and framing can tell different stories. She’d give me advice about my personal life too. Girls and stuff. She was...I can’t believe....” He stopped and looked down.
Clark realized that, for the first time, he was interviewing someone who thought of Lois Lane as more than a reporter. It was a new answer to the riddle, and he wanted to explore it.
“She was somebody you really liked, then?”
Jimmy looked up. “I loved her!” He blushed, and stammered. “I mean, you know...I really liked her. Not that she’d ever look at a guy like me seriously. I had dreams about her, but I’d never tell her about any of them. She wouldn’t want to hear it. I knew that, but she never made me feel like she couldn’t stand the thought, you know?”
“You didn’t think she led you on or flaunted her sexuality?”
Jimmy looked at him in astonishment. “Where would you get a crazy idea like that? Oh, I bet you’ve been talking to Ralph. Hey, listen, she wasn’t like that. Not that I didn’t appreciate all the things she had going for her. But she was warm and natural, and when we talked, I kinda forgot about the rest of it. At least, I tried to forget...most of the time. But she would never come on to me or anybody else around here. Especially that jerk, Ralph. She was a class act. I really miss seeing her every day.”
‘When was the last time you saw her?”
“The morning before she died. She’d just finished a big story and she said she was going to take some time off.”
“Did she say what she was planning to do?”
“No, and she didn’t look like somebody who was looking forward to a vacation. She was pretty preoccupied and didn’t want to talk.”
“So, she wasn’t nice to you?”
“Who said? She was a great reporter and sometimes she could be abrupt, but I knew that it was when she was trying to figure things out.
“I thought you said she’d just finished a story.”
“She had, but there was another one she’d been working on about a couple of deaths down in the Hobbs Bay reclamation project. I had some research on it for her and gave it to her before she left.”
“Jimmy!” A bellow came from the direction of Perry White’s office.
“Gotta go. My master calls. Maybe we can get together later. I really didn’t tell you much about her.”
“You told me a lot, Jimmy. You’ve made her seem more human. I’d like to talk with you some more.”
Jimmy had been trying to avoid looking at the portrait. Standing, he turned and gestured toward it. “You know, you can’t really tell what she was like from that. She wasn’t only professional or beautiful. She was caring and terrific, and her smile made you feel like the sun was shining just for you.”
“Not Mad Dog Lane, then?”
Jimmy laughed. “Sometimes that too. She could really get on your case when she was waiting for research.” He sobered. “But that’s not the way I’ll remember her. Lois was the best, and she expected the same from everybody else. She wanted me to do my job the way it ought to be done. She could be really demanding and tough, but she pushed me to be better than I thought I could be, and I was better because of her. She inspired me.”
“Jimme-e-e-e! Now!”
Jimmy grinned. “Fear can be inspiring too. See you, C.K.”
<‘C.K.’> Clark liked that. It made him feel as though he belonged. He watched Jimmy almost run in the direction of the roar. Apparently Top Dog Perry barked when he wanted something, and his staff jumped to respond. He wondered what the editor’s bite was like.
Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was noon. He had to meet Dan Scardino. As he turned to leave, his eyes fell once more on the portrait. Strange. The heavy make-up and the cold sexual allure were gone. Instead, he saw warm, natural sensuality. The face radiated a friendly glow, and the eyes shone with human interest. This newest answer to the riddle made him wish that he could have known her.
++++++++++
DEA Agent Daniel Scardino had suggested that he and Clark meet at Molinaro’s, an Italian delicatessen not far from the Daily Planet. It nestled on the ground floor of an office high-rise whose dwellers crowded its tables or stood in a long line at the take out counter. Clark, having walked there through the grey November chill, welcomed the warmth and bustle and breathed in the mouth-watering, garlicky smells.
He glanced around, looking for the dark suit of a government agent in the jumble of colors and patterns currently popular as casual office dress. There was no suit. He looked down at his watch. He was late by five minutes. His previous experience with federal enforcement officers made him wonder if his man had left already, refusing to wait, even a short time, for a reporter. A finger poked him in the chest.
“You Kent?”
The man standing before him needed a haircut and shave. He was wearing jeans, a faded, plaid flannel shirt, and scuffed leather boots. Not Clark’s idea of a drug enforcement agent.
“That’s right. You’re Agent Scardino?” He didn’t completely manage to suppress his surprise.
“Not what you were expecting? That’s the way I like to operate, catching people off guard by not living up to their expectations. Ever been here before?”
So far, Clark wasn’t particularly impressed with Daniel Scardino. “No, I’m new in town.”
“Best meatball sandwiches in Metropolis, and they make a veal and peppers that’ll knock your socks off.”
“ Sounds great. How did you know who I was? ”
Scardino stepped back and took in Clark’s attire top to bottom. “I figured you *would* live up to expectations. You’re the only suit in the room. Come on, I’ve got a place for us in the back. Nice tie.” He flipped up the bottom of Clark’s multi-colored neckpiece.
They wound their way through the crowd to a rear booth and sat across from each other, Scardino facing the occupied tables and front entrance of the restaurant. A dark pudgy waiter appeared to take their order. “Watcha want today, Daniel? The usual?”
“Yeah, Vito, with extra sauce and a side of macaroni salad.”
“Same for your friend?”
“I think I’ll try the veal and peppers,” said Clark.
“A man of taste,” said Vito to no one in particular. “Not like the bums you usually bring in here. Something to drink for you gentlemen?”
“Coffee, two creams, 4 sugars,” Clark replied.
“The usual and bring it now, not when you feel like it,” said Scardino.
“You insult me. It’s on the way,” retorted Vito and disappeared.
With an impish grin, Scardino said, “They love me here.”
“You come here a lot,” stated Clark.
“The Italian food makes me feel like I’m back in Mama Scardino’s kitchen.”
Vito re-appeared with Clark’s coffee and a crème soda for Scardino. “Please make note of my promptness in your tip,” he suggested and departed without further comment.
“What tip?” Scardino threw at the waiter’s back. Then, turning to Clark, his grin faded. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“Lois Lane. As I told you, I’ve been hired to write about her murder.”
Waggling his eyebrows at Clark, Scardino said, “Don’t they have obituary writers at the planet already?”
“Yes, they do,” Clark replied, shortly. “That’s not what they hired me for. What was your relationship with Lois Lane?” <Oh, smooth, Clark. You’re gonna get a lot out of this guy with that attitude. What’s the matter with you?>
“Maybe I don’t want to tell you. It could be classified.”
“Is it? Were you working on something with her?”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because she had another story in the works, and I can’t think of any other reason she’d associate with you. How did you meet, anyway?”
“Thanks, I like you too,” Scardino jabbed. I wouldn’t say we were exactly working together. I was sent here on a special assignment, and she just happened to be looking into the same thing. She has a way of pushing herself into something when she smells a story. We decided to share information.”
“About?”
“I told you, Kent, it’s classified.”
“Was it dangerous? Did you get her mixed up in something that could have gotten her killed?” Clark realized his voice was rising. What was he getting upset about?
“What are you, her keeper? She wouldn’t put up with that. You never met her did you?” Clark shook his head no. “Well, there’s something you should know about Lois. She had incredible eyes you could drown in, but she wasn’t just beautiful; she was a consummate professional. She went after a story without thinking about danger. I tried, but she refused my protection. I can hear her now. “Just what do the words, ‘I do not need you to protect me’ mean to you?” She was independent, bold, headstrong, and unpredictable.”
“So you didn’t get along?”
“What can I say? We were...close. It went beyond the work. She was feisty and liked spicy Thai food. A woman after my own heart which I tried to give to her, but she was only interested in the story...and being friends.”
“It was all strictly business, then?” Clark was astonished to find that he felt relieved. He didn’t like to think that this exciting woman <Exciting? Where had that come from?> that this woman was intimately involved with a jerk like Scardino. <Jerk?> Something he didn’t understand was happening to his professional objectivity.
“It wasn’t my call, but being friends is better than nothing.” He smirked. “Who knows what that can eventually lead to?”
Their food came, and Clark saw that Scardino’s ‘usual’ was a meatball grinder. They were silent for a few minutes while they took the edge off their hunger. Then after swallowing a mouthful of roasted peppers, Clark continued. “I learned at the Planet that Lois was taking some time off. Do you know why? What she was planning to do?”
“I don’t know anything about it. I told the police that.”
Clark leaned forward and asked forcefully, “Did you tell the police that you think she might have been killed because of the story she was working on? Did you give them any names?”
“Watch out, Kent. You’ll drag your tie through the marinara sauce.” The joke held a metaphoric warning.
“So you’re not going to tell me anything to help me find out who did this?” The reasons Clark didn’t like him were not completely clear, but Daniel Scardino’s annoying personality was high on the list. “You claim to care for her, but you won’t help find her killers. What kind of guy are you, Agent Scardino?”
“I helped the police. They’ll find her killer. And maybe I’ll do some investigating on my own. If we get to be friends, I’ll share, and you can call me ‘Daniel’...if we get to be friends.”
“Where were you the night she was killed?
Scardino stood and downed the last of his crème soda. “Thanks for lunch, Kent. Gotta go. See you around.” He left the booth and walked out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
<Well, that went well,> thought Clark. <He didn’t seem to like me anymore than I liked him. And what’s the reason for that?> Looking at his watch he saw that it was almost two o’clock. He needed to get back to the Planet to write up this interview before Lucy Lane arrived.
++++++++++
TO BE CONTINUED
