Some time later, he roused when he heard a key in the lock, and the door open. In the dim light of the single lamp, a disembodied face, familiar and lovely, floated toward him. It was the woman of the portrait, wearing the same trench coat and slacks, stepping from the painting to join him.
“Lois?” he murmured.
“Clark, I’m here. Just as you wished.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“How could I be dead? You’ve been looking for me; I had to come to you.”
“You’re really here? You know me?”
“Of course. I’ve been waiting for you all my life.” She leaned over and kissed him softly.
Gently touching her face, he gathered her to him so that they could kiss again. She was warm and pliant in his arms, and her kiss, sweet and loving. When they finally broke apart, he said, “I love you, Lois. I want us to be together always.”
“I want that, too, Clark.” She kissed him, longingly. “But we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Please, let’s make the most of tonight,” and she kissed him again, her sweetness sparking into passion. How could he resist? But he would not make love to her on this loveseat.
Breathing kisses on her mouth, her throat her neck, he lifted her and floated them into the bedroom.
“Clark? What...how...?”
“Shhhh. No questions. I’ll explain later. Just be with me now.” He laid her gently on the bed. Somehow, their clothes were on the floor, and he was kissing her everywhere. He paused to look at her. She was glorious, as he had known she would be.
He sought her again and again, and each time she received his overtures eagerly. For him, the night was paradise, a portent of their future together. As they fell, jumbled together, into an exhausted sleep, he whispered, “I will love you, always.”
++++++++++
The first thing he noticed when he woke was how uncomfortable the bed felt. He shifted to find a softer spot and reached for Lois. She wasn’t there. Extending his arm, he swept the mattress searching for her. His elbow bumped into something unyielding. Definitely not Lois. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was lying, fully clothed, on the abominable settee. How did he get back here? Where was Lois? He called out her name. There was no answer. What was going on? He hurried to the bedroom. Everything was as he had found it the night before. The bed had not been slept in; there were no signs of passion in the night. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He felt scruffy. He needed a shower, and his underclothes needed a Laundromat.
He returned reluctantly to the living room, forcing himself to face what he was unwilling to acknowledge. It had been a dream. She was not alive. His incredible night of nights had been a fantasy. He looked at the portrait; her eyes mocked him. (“Did you really think I was that easy?” she jeered. “Did you really think I was alive? What kind of sick person makes love to a dead woman?”)
He couldn’t stay here. He gathered the folders and rushed to the door. He would go back to the Apollo hotel, shower, put on fresh clothing, and return to the Daily Planet where he could put everything into perspective. He would concentrate on his investigation of the crime and forget Lois Lane lying beside him doing things that he could never, ever experience with her.
++++++++++
When he reached the Daily Planet, he went directly to Perry’s office and laid the folders on his desk. “I’m sure she was on to something, sir, but I don’t have enough to figure out what. I’ll have to follow up her leads.”
“Good mornin’ to you too, Clark. You look like you had a rough night. You want to be careful about too much carousing when you’re not used to it.”
Clark flushed. “Sorry, sir. Good morning. I wasn’t carousing, Mr. White, just lost trying to figure out Ms. Lane’s files. I can’t seem to get on her wave length as far as her investigation goes.”
“Lois didn’t like to write down things that other eyes could borrow. She got burned once by a reporter she shared ideas with, and she vowed to never let it happen again. ‘Course it never occurred to her that she might not be around to use her own files.”
“Right, sir.”
“Look, Clark, It’s great, you wanting to show me respect and all, but everyone around here calls me ‘Chief’ or ‘Perry’, all right?”
“Yes sir, I mean, Chief. Thank you. I appreciate being included with everyone else.”
“Now that we’ve got that straight, what do you think about showing these files to Henderson?”
“I think we should give him copies of what’s in them. It will show him that I can be trusted, and who knows, maybe he can see something that I can’t.
“Good idea. What do you have planned for today?”
“This morning, I have an interview with Lex Luthor in his penthouse at the Lexor Hotel, and I’m going to track down Dan Scardino again to get his take on what’s in Lois’s files.”
“Sounds good. You can drop the file copies by for Henderson on your way,” and he turned his attention to the ubiquitous copy waiting to be blue-penciled.
++++++++++
Inspector Henderson was interrogating a robbery suspect when Clark arrived at the 27th precinct, so Clark left a manila envelope containing the copies of Lois’s material and an explanatory note with the desk sergeant. Then he left to go to the Lexor Hotel.
Clark had printed a biography of Lex Luthor from the Daily Planet archives, and he read it as his cab alternately waited and moved through the usual Metropolis traffic jam.
By the time he arrived at the Lexor, Clark knew that Luthor was the third richest man in the world and was moving up on number two. He owned a lot of Metropolis real estate on which he had constructed state-of-the-art buildings of great size and which commanded expensive rents. He controlled corporations of various sizes in various areas of commerce and was a generous benefactor to charities and the arts through his Luthor Foundation. He was the most sought-after bachelor among the Metropolis socially elite, and his name was mentioned frequently in Cat Grant’s column as squiring this or that prominent woman to the opera or ballet or even sporting events at LexMet Square Garden.
Clark noticed that he liked to stamp his name on whatever he owned or controlled. The list was so long Clark could only remember a few: the Lexor Hotel, Luthor Foundation, LexMet Square Garden, Lexco Construction, Lexlab Scientific Research, Luthor Energy Exchange, LexMed HealthCenter, Luthor Organ Donor Index, Luthor Startrip Enterprises. There seemed to be no end to Lex Luthor’s interests or his ability to make money. A Metropolis Midas, he touched and turned a profit.
There was a lot in the bio about what Luthor was currently involved with, but very little about his past. What there was sounded like sausage from a PR factory: poor family, orphaned by an unsolved arson fire, sold newspapers, self-educated, began by using leverage to buy and sell anything and everything, made some lucky investments and he was on his way with his first million.
Clark was dubious. He wanted to see the man for himself.
Arriving at the Lexor, he gave his name at the desk and was shown to a chair to wait. A short time later, a tall, distinguished older man approached him. His erect bearing hinted at a lifetime of military service somewhere. When the man spoke, his very precise and elegant English accent identified the somewhere.
“You are Mr. Kent? Allow me to introduce myself. Nigel St. John, Lex Luthor’s executive assistant. If you would follow me, please.”
Skirting the main elevator bays, Nigel St. John led Clark around a corner to a separate elevator operated with a card key.
“After you, Mr. Kent,” said St. John, gesturing with his arm.
Clark went ahead, Nigel St. John followed, and again using a card key, closed the door and sent the elevator skyward.
++++++++++
St. John led Clark into an opulent study that had a wall of floor to ceiling books - some leather bound, many others with ancient bindings that Clark guessed to be first editions. Another wall held a display of four French Impressionist paintings, originals by Cézanne, Van Gogh, Monet, and Vlaminck.
A third wall showcased a collection of weapons - guns, swords, knives - ready for lethal use. Underneath the weapons was a paneled credenza, similar to the trophy case in Lois’s apartment but without the upper shelving. On the flat plane of the top lay an antique crossbow, cocked and ready to fire.
An oversized desk, which sat in front of a large glass sliding door, was free of any appurtenance except for a mahogany box inlaid with ivory, a cigar lighter, and an ashtray centered in a row along the room-side edge. On the other side of the desk, beyond the glass was an expansive terrace with a panoramic view of Metropolis.
Standing in front of the desk, dominating a room that was impossible to dominate, was a sharp-faced man with curly dark hair. He wore a suit whose fabric and impeccable tailoring said ‘money’, as did everything about him from head to toe.
Nigel St. John spoke softly. “Mr. Luthor, may I present Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. Mr. Kent, this is...Lex Luthor.”
Clark felt as though he had stepped into some stage setting for a play in which he was to act a part he did not yet comprehend. He half expected trumpets to blare as Chorus Nigel introduced Rex Lex. It was an elaborate production designed to impress anyone who entered there. But Clark Kent was not ‘anyone’.
The man before him, exhibiting his charm,, smiled and gestured effusively with a hand holding a cigar. “ Mr. Kent. Welcome!” His voice was sharp, crisp, and slightly nasal. A voice accustomed to being heard and heeded. It was the voice of a man who would, of necessity, stamp his brand on everything he owned. It was the voice of power. Clark didn’t like him already.
“Mr. Luthor, thank you for agreeing to see me. I believe you know why I’m here.”
“Yes, Mr. Kent. Perry White persuaded me that I should hire someone like you to write ‘finish’ to the career of Lois Lane. May I offer you a cigar?” He opened the wood and ivory box and proffered it to Clark.
“Uh, No thank you.”
“No? You’re sure? These are the finest in the world. My own personal blend and roll.”
Clark shifted his shoulders in annoyance at the subtle assertion of control. “I’m sure I would enjoy one immensely, if I smoked, but right now I’d like to ask you about Lois Lane.”
Accepting a temporary standoff, Luther returned the box to the desk and responded, “What can I tell you about her?”
“Did you have a relationship with her other than that of employer-employee?”
“Come, come, Mr. Kent. Let’s not play games. You must have learned that Lois and I were seeing each other, that we were close. It was a dreadful blow when she was killed.”
He snapped out the words emotionlessly.
“You say you were close to her. How close?”
“It was no secret that I had asked her to marry me. I very much wanted to make her my wife, for her to become Lois Luthor. Mrs. Lex. Luthor.”
Stamp. Stamp.
Clark could imagine Lois Lane’s reaction to that scenario.
“And her answer was...?”
“She wanted some time to think about it. She promised to give me her answer when she returned from a long weekend upstate.”
“So she was planning to go away. Do you know where?”
“No,” Luthor barked. She wouldn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want anyone to know where she was.” Her refusal had not pleased him.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Saturday afternoon. She had just kicked me in the jaw.”
Clark suppressed a smile. Now that sounded like Lois. He pressed forward. “Why?”
“It was a little Tae Kwan Do practice. She liked the challenge of working out with a master. I became distracted by...” he paused. He ran his tongue around the edges of his mouth, his eyes glittering lecherously for a moment. Then he went on, “it doesn’t matter what. She took advantage of it. She was amazing; unlike any other woman I’ve ever met. She never missed a chance to move in for the kill, yet when she was sad, she cried. Just two of the many reasons I wanted to marry her. With guidance, she would have become the perfect mate for me. I will be hard pressed to replace her.”
Clark felt his dislike growing. It wasn’t enough for Luthor to brand Lois with his name. He planned complete control over her life, re-forming her to an image of his warped fantasy. Stamp.
“When did you expect to see her again?”
“She told me that she would probably return late tonight and that she would see me some time tomorrow.”
“So she was supposed to get back in town tonight and give you her answer on Wednesday? And you were satisfied with that?” Clark thought that if he were waiting to find out if Lois Lane would marry him, he’d be on her doorstep when she arrived.
“Yes, I was certain that her answer would be ‘yes’. I can be very understanding, Mr. Kent, when it means getting what I want.”
“You were that sure of her?”
“Of course. What reason could she have for saying no?”
Clark had no answer for that rhetorical question, but he would bet Lois’s Rolodex that there was a reason and that Lois had gone away to decide what to do about it.
“Do you know anyone who would want to kill her?”
“Certainly not. I presume it had something to do with a story she was pursuing.”
“Do you have any idea what that story was?”
Again came the short, “No! But she was fearless about poking her nose into places where she shouldn’t, sometimes stupidly so. I tried to caution her about it, but she wouldn’t listen. Such a needless waste.”
Clark had reached the end of his tolerance for the ego that was Lex Luthor. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Luthor. I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll be on my way. If I find out anything pertaining to you, would it be all right if I get in touch with you again?”
“Certainly, Mr. Kent. Just contact my secretary for an appointment. I’ll be pleased to help in any way I can. After all, Lois was my special lady.”
Clark departed as quickly as he could, Nigel again accompanying him to the lobby of the hotel. There, he telephoned Dan Scardino’s office and was told that the DEA agent was having lunch at Molinaro’s. Clark grabbed a taxi and set off across town.
When St. John, returned to the penthouse suite, Lex was staring pensively through the glass at the city of Metropolis spread out before him.
“He’s gone, sir.”
“Would that were true, Nigel. Would that were true.” Lex turned back into the room. “No, I think Mr. Kent could become a thorn in my side, a very painful nuisance.”
“How so, sir?”
“You heard his questions. He was neither impressed nor intimidated by our little theatrical. I may have made a mistake in allowing Perry to hire him. He’s intelligent, he’s curious and he’s unafraid. Not a welcome combination if he should happen to turn his curiosity on our enterprises. We must keep an eye on Clark Kent, Nigel.”
“Do I need to bring in one of our Hobbs Bay associates?”
“Not yet, Nigel. We need not act precipitously. Watch. Just watch.”
“I’ll make arrangements.”
++++++++++
Molinaro’s was in mid-lunch hour frenzy as Clark stood near the doorway, scanning the throng for Dan Scardino. A passing Vito stopped to greet him, “Ah, the man with good taste. Looking for Daniel?”
“Yes. Is he here?”
“In the back booth. I believe he’s entertaining one of his usuals,” he added scornfully. “No food, just coffee.”
As Clark approached, he saw that Inspector Henderson was in pressing conversation with an insouciant Scardino.
“Are you going to tell me what this investigation was about or not, Scardino?”
“Not, Inspector. At this critical stage, I can’t take a chance that what I know won’t get back to the wrong people.”
“I’m the police, Scardino. We’re on the same side.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a leak in your squad room. I can’t tell you.”
“That sounds familiar,” said Clark, looking down at the two men.
“Well, if it isn’t the man from the Daily Planet. Come to fill me in on your latest hot lead?” replied Scardino.
Henderson looked up. “Don’t tell me you’re working with this guy?”
“No, I’m here for the same reason you are, Inspector. To find out what he knows about the material in Lois Lane’s files.”
“Well, he isn’t talking. I’ve a good mind to run him in for obstructing justice.”
“But you won’t,” interposed Scardino. “First, you’ll go to my superior and see if you can use an end run to get what you want. Meanwhile, either stay and have some food, or get out of here and let me enjoy my lunch.”
Henderson rose and left with a parting shot. “Don’t leave town. This isn’t over.”
Insisting on the last word, as always, the federal agent shot back, “I’ll be around.”
Clark remained where he was. Scardino, looking up at him, said, “Don’t waste your breath, Kent. I’m not talking to anyone.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll talk, Scardino. We’ll be sharing information, yet.”
“Only when Lois Lane comes back from the dead. Now get outta here and let me eat my lunch in peace. All this bickering is giving me indigestion.”
Clark caught up with Henderson outside and said, “I take it you found her files as mysterious as I did, Inspector?”
“Right. I have a lot of questions about them, but no answers yet. My men will be following up on some of the suggested leads. And, by the way, thanks for giving me access, Kent. You’re proving to be a man of your word.”
Clark shrugged. “I always have been, Inspector.”
“Yes, I’m beginning to see that. Why don’t you call me Bill? And keep filling me in as you dig deeper.”
“I will, but I wanted to ask. What do you have on Lex Luthor?”
Henderson laughed shortly. “Which Lex Luthor would that be? The Mr. Perfect Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-in-my-Mouth Billionaire? Or that slimy under-rock-shadow, Mr. Big that I suspect but can’t quite pin anything on? That’s off the record, by the way.”
This was new information for Clark. “Mr. Big? Who is that?”
“It’s a name that crops up when we pick up some penny ante grifter who’s escalated his m.o. into a big time operation. It’s Mr. Big who’s behind it all, but nobody’s ever met him, and nobody knows who he is. At least that’s the story. If it isn’t the truth, they’re too scared to squeal.”
An alerted Clark now understood his antipathy toward Luthor: an invisible aura of evil repelled him. Had Lois found out something about Luthor? Was it Luthor who had killed her?
“Could he be responsible for Lois’s death?”
“Not according to him. He says he loved her. But what’s that saying? ‘Each man kills the thing he loves.’ In my opinion, Luthor would sure be capable of it. But it would take a lot of legwork and a lot of luck to prove it, beginning with tying him to those corpses in the Hobbs’ Bay district.”
“I’m already on it,” said Clark, as he turned and strode down the sidewalk toward the Daily Planet.
++++++++++
To Be Continued
