Chapter 15: A Little More Bite and a Little Less Bark
A little less conversation, a little more action, please.
All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me.
A little more bite and a little less bark . . .
--“A Little Less Conversation”
****
Lois’s words rang in my head: “Apparently, they fished a body out of a dumpster in a bad part of town. It was Keira Fisher.”
It took me a few seconds to find my voice. Finally, I ventured, “What?”
She shifted the pen in her right hand to her left, looking agitated. “Her body was riddled with bullets, and police are blaming gang violence . . . . You and I both know that’s not the cause. Henderson said he didn’t have any leads otherwise, but he did tell me that if we found any concrete evidence one way or another to let him know. One of my sources said that she was poking around and asking about some people high up on the totem pole at Sallya Technologies. With the explosion of that building, a lot of hard workers are out of jobs, though a few of the bigwigs quit and are now being employed by Luthor Technologies. I did manage to talk briefly to Lex about it, and he said that what happened was a tragedy. He’s going to try to find jobs for as many people as he can—it seems Sallya Technologies will probably shut down completely.”
I looked away from her and bit my lip. Knowing what had happened to Mark Christensen, I should have just told Keira Fisher to leave Metropolis. Her help hadn’t been necessary; her safety should have been top priority. It was bad to try to control people’s lives—but surely strong advice was allowed . . . .
“Hey, you all right?”
I turned to Lois, who appeared to be worried. I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Looking at me carefully, she said, “All right. Then let’s do some more work.”
****
We began examining Sallya Technologies’ finances more closely. From what we could tell, it appeared as if Sallya Technologies had never been terribly profitable, though it had made some money. A big insurance policy had been taken out on the building, but we ran into difficulties tracing the policy’s beneficiary.
After a few hours of work, some help from Jimmy, and a few queries from an interested Perry White, we were able to trace the insurance money to Harrison McGregor. He was a big CEO, but he was very young. Too young for me to really believe in the plausibility of his position.
“I don’t know, Lois,” I said, my brow furrowed. “I’m not sure if I buy this. We’ve been having such difficulty with our investigation—why have we suddenly found where the money trail leads now? McGregor just seems too young for this to work. And why would he be the one receiving the money? It just doesn’t add up.”
“He has major shares in Sallya Technologies, Clark. It makes sense to me.”
I shook my head. “There has to be more to this story than meets the eye, Lois. I think there might be a connection with LexCorp here . . . . I think someone else is pulling the strings.”
“Lex has firm control over LexCorp,” she told me, “and he wouldn’t do anything like this. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. The explosion can be tied to a greedy young businessman—we’ve got all the evidence right here. He’s the primary shareholder since the founder retired. All the trails lead to him.”
I stared at her for a few seconds, thinking about Lex Luthor. I didn’t truly want the man to go to jail. He was a philanthropist and had done a lot of good with his money. Jealousy was holding more weight in my heart than any real conviction that he was guilty of something. I was being unreasonable. Lois was free to date whoever she wanted—and she would never be dating me. No woman ever would.
“Okay,” I conceded. She was probably right.
****
We stayed late and wrote a story on McGregor and then sent it in. He’d taken out the insurance policy just shortly before the building had exploded, and he had publicly made a statement afterward that there wasn’t enough money to rebuild—which turned out to be a fabrication. The insurance policy had been worth far more than the cost of rebuilding.
When we were finished with our story, I went to my apartment, tired and a bit cranky.
As I opened the door, Shelby jumped down from the couch and came over to greet me, his leash in his mouth. I had been coming home every day on my lunch breaks to refill his food dish and take him on a quick walk. I had thought the arrangement would only be temporary; really, I wish it had been . . . . Not because I didn’t like the dog—but because it would mean that Keira Fisher would still be alive.
I snapped the leash onto Shelby’s collar and kicked a once-squeaky toy out of the way. The toy bone, I noted absently, was riddled with teeth marks, courtesy of a very strong dog.
I knelt in front of him and scratched behind Shelby’s ears, grateful for his near-invulnerability. At least there was one living creature I could touch without fearing I would cause harm.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, looking into his dark eyes, “but Keira Fisher is dead . . . . I guess you belong to me now, Shelby.”
He looked back at me intently, not understanding, and I gave him a pat with a sad smile. Then I stood and opened the door. Shelby pranced outside, his nose sniffing wildly. I shook my head, feeling a little envious of animals. They didn’t understand issues of mortality. They lived in the moment. Perhaps there was a lesson in that.
As I watched Shelby lift his leg beside a bush, I decided that I was going to have to call him something else. I just didn’t think the name “Shelby” was appropriate for a male dog. And besides, I wasn’t sure if his name had been known by others in the laboratory. It was best not to take any chances, even if I didn’t intend to have my dog splayed all over the news for anyone to make the connection.
He saw a cat and nearly jerked my arm out of its socket as he began an attempted pursuit, and I told him sharply, “Bad dog!”
He put his ears down and looked at me, running one of his front paws over his snout as if to apologize.
I smiled and reached down to scratch behind an ear. When Keira Fisher had asked me to keep him temporarily, she hadn’t realized she had just asked the best qualified individual in the world. If he ever went on a destructive binge, all I would have to do was wait for my powers to return, and then I could stop him.
As Shelby looked at me and wagged his tail, however, I knew that worrying about him going on a destructive binge wasn’t necessary. He was a nice dog. Probably the only things that needed to fear him were cats and squirrels . . . . And squeaky toys. The teeth marks he had put in that toy bone had been impressive indeed.
****
When I got to the Planet in the morning, I set a paper bag on Lois’s desk and went to make a cup of coffee. As I returned to my desk, I saw Lois peering into the bag before pulling out a donut and then handing the bag to Jimmy, who was standing nearby and examining some papers.
“Thanks,” she told me, taking a bite. She already had her mug of coffee, or I would have gotten it for her. “Perry hasn’t come out of his office yet, so I don’t know what he thought about our piece. He’s busy yelling at Ralph, or I would have gone inside to ask him myself.”
“I’d sure hate to be Ralph,” Jimmy commented as he pulled a donut out of the bag.
“No kidding,” I agreed. The balding man was known for putting too much faith in his sources and too little interest in hard evidence . . . . As a result, he got chewed out by Perry White on a regular basis. Every now and then, however, he would chance upon something good, which was probably why he hadn’t been fired . . . . Well, there were some rumors that he was related to someone on the Planet’s board of directors. There were also some rumors that this person was the one who fed him his occasional good stories. I wasn’t sure what to believe; mostly, I tried to avoid the man.
Ralph finally came out of the office shaking his head and looking relatively unharmed. As he passed by, he muttered, “Geeze, you’d think a source that turned out not to be credible is the end of the world with that guy.”
Jimmy snorted. “Maybe if you spent a little more time checking out your sources and a little less time jumping on everything they say, you wouldn’t run into problems with the Chief.”
Ralph stopped and turned to Jimmy. “This coming from the office gopher.”
The younger man tilted his head. “You know, at least I actually listen to Perry. You could learn a lot from him—like what stories are publishable and what stories aren’t. It’s not that hard to learn.”
Ralph rolled his eyes and turned to me. “Can you believe this guy?”
I crossed my arms, not willing to commiserate with him. “He’s got a point, Ralph.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. As he walked away, I wondered idly if it would really be that bad to drop my ethics for a few minutes and give that weasel a good pounding. Jimmy just shook his head and walked over to his own desk to look at something.
I heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see the Chief Editor coming toward Lois and me.
“Lois, Clark—I managed to take a look at that piece you wrote.” His face was grim, and Lois and I exchanged confused looks. “It’s, well, it’s not what I expected . . . . ”
“What’s wrong with it, Chief?” Lois asked, standing up, ready to defend the piece.
He broke out into a grin. “Aww, I’m just funnin’ with ya. It was brilliant, just like I’ve come to expect from you two. You make a great team—but you’re not permanently together, remember. At least, not yet. It is possible to have too much of a good thing.” He suddenly realized that the newsroom was quieter than normal and some people were staring at him. “Judas Priest, folks! What do you think this is, a zoo?” he shouted. “Back to work!” He pointed a pair of fingers at us. “Seriously, good work, you two.” He moved away from us and barked, “Jimmy!”
I smiled as I watched Jimmy respond immediately, but my smile turned to a frown when I saw Cat approach.
“Hello, handsome,” she purred.
“Hi, Cat,” I returned uncomfortably.
“Don’t you think you’ve tried enough times to sink your claws into him, Cat?” Lois asked in an annoyed tone. “You do know that he doesn’t like touching people . . . . And we know what sorts of activities you are interested in.”
“At least I have a social life,” Cat responded coolly. “Not that you would remember what that was like—if indeed you ever had one.” She turned to me with hungry eyes and puckered her lips to gently blow me a kiss. Then she leaned over me—careful not to touch me—and whispered in my ear, “Somebody has to keep her tongue in working order . . . . You’ll need it one day to battle with yours.” As she strutted away, I gawked at her. Somehow, I knew she hadn’t been referring to Lois and me engaging in a verbal sparring session.
“What did she say to you?” Lois asked, crossing her arms.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumbled, my face red. “Look, I need to go and cover that press conference on Luthor’s museum donation. I’ll see you later.” As I retreated into the elevator, I realized I had been right when I thought Cat would be a great threat to me. Now, I wasn’t able to get the mental image out of my head of me kissing Lois and seeing just how agile her tongue could be.
****
That night, I took Shelby out for a walk. I still hadn’t decided on a new name for him, but he didn’t seem to mind the use of the old one, so I was in no rush. But I was going to have to introduce him to Lois sometime soon, and I needed to think of one.
We were walking by an old building when I heard what sounded like a frightened shout. I stopped walking and listened, trying to hear some more. Shelby growled deep in his throat and broke his leash free from my hand. Then he burst through the wall of the building as easily as if it had been paper. I hesitated for just a moment before running after him down a damp and dirty hallway.
I could hear an angry voice coming from a nearby room, “Tell me where your house and car are, or you’re going to regret it.” An icy hand engulfed my heart as I heard the faint sound of a child sobbing.
Just as I came up behind Shelby, he burst through the open door and leapt at the person I’d heard. The angry man had a gun and saw the dog just in time to let off a shot before his gun hand was engulfed by Shelby’s mouth and his weapon clattered to the floor. Though no one else seemed to see it, I realized the bullet had hit Shelby in the chest. I rushed forward and picked up the gun, tucking it into the back of my pants. “Move, and I’ll shoot,” I warned him. But he was too busy making frightened noises and staring at Shelby to pay me much heed.
The child I’d heard was standing beside a skinny blond man tied to a chair. The boy looked to be about six, and I thanked my lucky stars that he appeared to be unharmed.
“Are you two okay?” I asked as I approached.
“Y-yes,” the man said shakily.
I took a deep breath and untied him while keeping a wary eye on the gunman, whom Shelby seemed to have under control.
Once released, the blond man immediately embraced the child, who cried into his shirt, “D-Daddy . . . ”
“Son,” the man whispered into the boy’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re all right . . . . ”
As I looked at them, holding the rope that had bound the father to the chair, I thought of what could have been lost. Human lives were so fragile. If I hadn’t been near to help, there was no telling what would have happened. It was fortunate Shelby had taken action.
I turned to stare at the man who had threatened them, and a great animosity swelled up within me. But such anger was destructive, and I forced myself to concentrate on breathing for a few seconds before I moved toward him with rope still in my hand. Shelby was growling, and the latter was on his knees and looking utterly terrified.
“Please get your dog off me,” the gunman pleaded, seeing he had my attention. “Give me my hand back.”
While still holding the rope, I knelt beside the brown-haired gunman. Then, left without any other choice, I grabbed his free hand. “All right. I’m going to have him let go of your hand, and you’re going to give it to me. Any wrong moves, and he’ll attack you.” I didn’t actually know if that was true—but neither did he.
“Fine fine fine,” he sputtered. “Just get this dog off me!”
“Shelby,” I said in a commanding voice, drawing the dog’s eyes to me. “Let go.” I waited a second and realized he must not know that command specifically. Then I tried, “Drop it!”
He obediently released the man’s hand, which I quickly but carefully grabbed. I tied the man’s hands together behind his back, marveling at the fact that Shelby hadn’t bitten down hard enough to draw blood. If a dog could be that careful, couldn’t I? The thought lingered in my mind.
When the rope was firmly tied around the criminal’s hands, I held onto the middle of it and turned to the blond man standing beside the chair. I kept a careful eye on the gunman, but I wasn’t sure it was necessary, as Shelby was looking incredibly watchful.
“Thank you so much,” the man I’d saved told me thankfully. He was holding the hand of his son, who had quieted down and was staring at Shelby with wide eyes. “He—he took my keys . . . . He wanted to know where my house and car were so he could take more . . . . I didn’t know what to do—my wife is at home, and I didn’t want him to hurt her. But my son . . . ”
I looked at the child grimly. “Did he . . . ”
“No. You came just in time. He didn’t hurt my son.” He used an arm to pull the boy closer. “Thank God.”
I sighed in relief. I had gotten there just in time.
I watched the child, who was staring wide-eyed at Shelby in interest. The boy tugged at his father’s arm and led him to the dog. His father came with him warily, not certain whether Shelby was friendly. “Peter . . . ” the man trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I said in a quiet voice. “He won’t bite either of you.”
The boy stood in front of Shelby and patted him. “Good boy.”
Shelby took his eyes away from the gunman and tilted his head. Then he promptly gave the child’s face a tongue bath.
The child laughed. “Silly dog.”
A smile broke out on the man’s face. Looking heartened, he reached out and gave Shelby a pat of his own.
I glanced at the gunman and then at the door. “Do you think you could go and call the police?” I asked the child’s father. “I’ll stand guard.”
“Yes,” he agreed. He left the room holding his son’s hand, and the child waved at Shelby.
Now my attention was turned back to the one who had threatened those two people, and my mouth formed a thin line. “Did my dog hurt you at all?” I asked the man. I hadn’t seen anything, but I wanted to be sure.
“No,” he admitted. “You’ve sure got him well trained.”
I hadn’t actually done any of the training; Keira Fisher had. But I wasn’t about to admit that. There was no need to let this man know that I wasn’t sure what commands Shelby knew. “He’s a smart dog,” I replied.
We were quiet for a few minutes, and then he said, “I wasn’t going to really hurt the kid, you know.”
The words made me feel a little better, but I still wasn’t happy with the man. “Why did you do all this?”
He shrugged. “I needed the money . . . . You know how it goes.”
“No,” I said in a low voice, “I don’t. No matter how low you get, that’s no excuse to threaten a child or steal from someone.”
“Yeah, that’s really something coming from Mr. GQ,” he snorted.
I bit back a reply and just waited. When the blond man returned to the room with his son, he told me, “They’re on their way. Thank you so, so much, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me. My name’s George.”
I smiled. “My name’s Clark. And don’t thank me. Thank my dog.” I nodded toward Shelby.
He looked at the dog and said softly, “Thank you.”
Shelby wagged his tail, looking happy as could be.
George laughed and then turned to me. “Is there anything I can do for you and your dog, Clark? I’ve got a cousin who owns a pet shop—how about a few free things from there?”
“Really, that’s not necessary,” I told him. “I’m just glad to help.”
“No, I insist. Surely there’s something you need?”
I considered. “Well, he does need a new collar . . . . ”
“Consider it done,” George proclaimed with a chuckle. “Just go to Penny’s Pet Palace. The name’s ridiculous, but they should have a good enough collar selection for you. Tell Penny that George sent you. I’ll call her tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully.
“By the way,” he said, looking puzzled, “I saw the number you did on that wall. How did you do that?”
I mumbled something about old buildings, and he fortunately didn’t ask for further details. He and his son just walked over to Shelby and showered their canine savior with attention.
I pressed the criminal forward, and he sat in the chair at my prompting.
I took the gun out of my waistband and lightly touched his back with it. “No funny moves,” I warned him, and he grunted in assent.
The blond man had stopped petting Shelby and was talking to his son, so I made a clicking noise to get the dog’s attention. “Come here, boy.”
Shelby came to me with tail wagging, and I knelt and carefully felt his chest for a wound. There was no blood, but as I probed where I thought the bullet had hit, he whined. So, there wasn’t a wound—just a bruise. “Good boy,” I told him quietly, patting his head.
As I turned my eyes back to the gunman and stood, I thought about how Shelby had risked his life.
I hadn’t really been worried that Shelby would hurt the gunman, even though he was apparently strong enough to break through a wall without any effort. Somehow, I had known that Shelby had everything under control. He was an animal—and thereby subject to an animal’s baser instincts. Yet I didn’t truly fear that he would ever hurt anyone by touching them. Somehow, I knew he could control his powers. Shouldn’t I be able to trust myself the same way?
Part of me said that I couldn’t. Part of me said it wasn’t worth the risk . . . .
But then I thought about what Lois had said about the Black Knight . . . . Was I obligated to use my powers for good, even if they might be accidentally used for evil along the way?
No one was perfect, least of all me. But if I was anything short of perfect when I used my powers, it could spell catastrophe. Was it worth the risk?
My eyes flicked to the boy and his father. Despite what the criminal had said, what if they had been hurt? What if I hadn’t made it in time? Just thinking about it depressed me.
I thought then of the bus that had taken three lives. With my powers, I could have stopped the vehicle. Even if I had stopped it a little too quickly and some people had gotten whiplash and broken arms, there would have been a greater good accomplished—I would have saved lives.
And if I got out of control, my parents would use the meteor rock to stop me—in fact, I could keep my locket with me just in case . . . . Surely I would be able to save more people than I would hurt.
I looked down at my hands, one of which was gently pressing a gun into the brown-haired man’s back. I hadn’t hurt anyone tonight with my hands. If I made this leap to helping people on a more widespread basis, then I would probably be touching people frequently. Could I handle that?
I thought of the woman who had been hit by the bus and survived only briefly. I might have been able to get her to the hospital in time for them to do something for her, even if I hadn’t been able to stop the bus. Weren’t the reasons to do this outweighing the reasons not to do it?
I was terrified of what would happen. There were so many “what ifs” floating in the air.
If I did this, I would be plastered all over the news. There was no question of that. And if I failed in front of the whole world, what then?
With my free hand, I touched my locket through the fabric of my shirt. If I failed the world, then I would kill myself if I had to. I had failed myself before—maybe this was my chance for redemption. And if it came to ill, then I would do what needed to be done.
I looked again at the boy, who was laughing as his father ruffled his hair. If Shelby and I hadn’t been there to help, they could have been hurt or killed. Even if they had been left unharmed, it was possible the criminal would have harmed the child’s mother when he went to break into their home.
Was it really worth the risk? I furrowed my brow.
But then the boy walked over to me, and he tugged at my shirt.
I knelt in front of him and asked, “What is it?”
“Thank you for being my hero,” he told me. And then he walked back to his father.
I felt a tear in my eye, and I lifted a finger beneath my glasses to wipe it away. Then I took a deep breath and steeled myself. The time for tears in the night was past. I needed to be strong. My decision was made. I was going to reemerge in front of the world.
But I couldn’t allow myself to be seen as the Black Knight. People wouldn’t fully trust such a figure, even if that figure helped bring criminals to justice. I would need to act as someone who didn’t seem to be hiding something—even if I really was.
I inhaled deeply, feeling a strange contentment with my decision. My parents would be proud of me.
