Alan Robertson looked up as the door to his office swung open to admit a tall, broad-shouldered younger man who strode implacably toward his desk. Robertson’s secretary Margaret trailed in the man’s wake, nipping at his heels like a puppy and yipping that he couldn’t come in. The man ignored her and didn’t stop until he rooted himself to the floor in front of Alan’s desk.
“Mr. Robertson,” he said, “I’m Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. I need to speak with you.”
“I do not give interviews, Mr. Kent. Please follow my secretary out of my office and out of the building and do not return.”
Kent leaned on the desk even as Margaret tried to pull his arm back. Judging by the effect she had on him, she might as well have tried to pull a fifty-year-old oak tree out of the ground.
“I’m not here to interview you, Mr. Robertson,” Kent growled. “I want to talk to you about Lois Lane.”
Alan looked into the man’s eyes and saw steely determination. He sighed, knowing now that Kent wouldn’t leave without accomplishing his mission. “It’s all right, Margaret,” he grunted. “I’ll speak to Mr. Kent. Please go back to your desk.”
“I could call security, Mr. Robertson. You shouldn’t tire yourself. You know what your doctor said.”
“I’ll be fine, Margaret. Really. Thank you for your concern, but please leave us alone for now.”
She glared at Kent for a long moment, then turned and stormed out. The door slammed into its frame with enough force to shake the wall.
Alan turned to the invader and said, “Please tell me what you need to know and let me answer your questions. My doctor still has me on half-day office hours and I tire quickly.”
“Fine.” Kent straightened and loomed even larger. “I’ve read the description of the woman who shot you. It sounds like Lois Lane in a thin disguise. I also saw the police sketch of her face. It looks like Lois with shorter hair.”
“I do not believe the woman was wearing a wig, Mr. Kent.”
“Neither do I, which means she cut her hair and dyed it. Did she say anything to you about why she was doing this?”
“Have you heard the tape?”
“I read the transcript.”
“Then you know as much as I do. I do not believe I can add to your knowledge on this subject.”
“I think you can. You can tell me what the two of you talked about at dinner. The police report was pretty thin on those details.”
Alan leaned back and took another look at the reporter, then thought hard for several seconds. Then he decided to take a chance.
“You are in love with her, are you not?”
Kent’s face flushed and Alan knew he’d scored a hit. “We’re not talking about me, Robertson, we’re talking about you and Lois.”
“I have not changed the subject, Mr. Kent. You were the man of whom she spoke at dinner.”
“What? What man? What did she say?”
“As we ate our salads, before the entrees arrived, I asked her why she, such a beautiful, confident, intelligent woman, was not already involved in a satisfying romantic relationship. She told me that she had been all but engaged to a wealthy man who did not love her and whom she did not love, and that she had foolishly rejected the love of another man who did love her quite unreservedly. I asked why she did not seek to rectify that situation, and she put down her fork and said – quite cryptically, I thought – that time did not permit her to pursue that option. Then she brightened and redirected the conversation to me and tried to convince me that being a corporate attorney was a fascinating occupation.”
Kent’s expression fell. “That’s it?”
“I fear so. I made two or three attempts to learn more about the woman who I knew as Lola Dane, print advertisement model, but she parried them quite deftly and repeatedly turned the topic back to me. I must admit that I was flattered – until I found myself tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse in Gotham City, pumped full of mind-altering drugs, and shot.”
“You confessed to a great many crimes, Robertson.”
“I am not a criminal attorney, Mr. Kent, but I have employed one for my own defense. And my attorney tells me that my so-called ‘confession’ was coerced under very dubious and stressful circumstances. I was also drugged. There is no way to prove any of those allegations. Any investigation resulting from that tape would, in legal terms, be the ‘fruit of the poisoned tree’ and therefore would not be admissible in a court of law. No judge would allow such calumny in his courtroom.”
He didn’t tell Kent that the rules for police interrogations and civilian tips weren’t quite the same, and that evidence from a citizen wasn’t subject to the same strict guidelines as information gained during police questioning. He also didn’t reveal that his attorney feared that there were many judges in the state who would be thrilled to hear that tape and preside over any of the resulting trials, Robertson’s own included.
Kent’s voice yanked him back to the moment. “Calumny, huh? That’s a three-dollar word if I ever heard one.”
“Please do not insult me by implying that you do not know that it refers to a malicious slander.”
“I won’t.” The reporter shifted his weight slightly and seemed to grow denser. “Did she say anything about where she was living?”
Robertson tried not to show his sudden fright. “No. She allowed me to believe that she lived from hotel to hotel as she traveled to her photography jobs. You did know that she approached me pretending to be a lonely model looking for intelligent dinner company, did you not?”
“Yes. So you have no idea where she might be now?”
“So long as I do not find her waiting for me in a stolen sports car when I leave my office, Mr. Kent, I could not care less where she is now or where she will be in the future, whether near or far.”
Kent seemed to deflate slightly. “Okay. I guess that’s all I have to ask you. Thanks for your help.”
“You may best thank me by not harassing me. Should there be a next time, I will not be so patient with you.”
The man’s chocolate eyes turned to ice. “The next time you see me, Robertson, I’ll be watching you in court.” Those eyes narrowed and his voice turned hard. “And if a quarter of what’s on that tape is true, I hope they throw you under the jail and leave you to rot.”
Kent spun on his heel and yanked open the door, then left as abruptly as he’d arrived. Alan let out a long breath in relief. He’d had no doubt that the younger, bigger, and obviously far stronger man could have overcome him in seconds had the impulse overtaken him. And Margaret, as short and slender as she was, could only have called for an ambulance to take his body to the emergency room or the morgue, depending on how angry Kent really was.
Things were not going well. Dr. Leibowitz and Ms. Carter were back in their office, but despite Alan having come to their rescue after that very distressing episode in the doctor’s office after the assault by her intern, Dr. Leibowitz had not spoken with him since the tape of his ‘confession’ had been sent to the police. His own organization was in disarray as some of his underlings deserted the city like rats from a sinking ship, while others demanded larger shares for their own work and for taking over for their departed peers. He had enough hidden cash on hand to make his payments for the next three weeks, but beyond that he would have to dip into his private savings, the money not even his defense attorney knew about, unless the situation turned around quickly.
Or – perhaps there was another option.
Instead of making his usual payments to Leibowitz, he could take that money, his personal savings, the cash and bearer bonds from his safety deposit box, and run. The total added up to a sum over three hundred thousand dollars. All he needed to do was go west, maybe as far as St. Louis, to hide from Nigel St. John until he could make his way to Barbados or San Juan. If Nigel caught him, no one would find his body for years – if it ever was found.
But if he could avoid Nigel, he could live like a king in either of those places.
Or, perhaps, Haiti would be a more convivial destination. That island country was rife with corruption and graft, and with his dark skin and education and obvious sophistication, he would fit right into the upper tier of society. He could offer his legal expertise to the Haitian leaders and generals to help them hide their ill-gotten gains from the local police and from the American authorities who regularly swept through the island nation to ‘fix’ it. The island nation was a shining opportunity for Alan to enter a new phase of his life.
Yes, that was a viable option. He’d consider it from all angles tonight and make his decision tomorrow. If he decided to go, he could buy a car or van for cash and disappear before Margaret could miss him.
There was no percentage in hanging around while waiting for either Jenna Leibowitz or the court system to get their hooks in him. Neither of those options sounded good to him as long-term solutions. It was time to fold his tent and set up shop using one of his other identities.
Sometimes it was good to be inconspicuous.
*****
Clark stopped on the street outside Robertson’s office, pulled out Perry’s cell phone, and dialed the office. His boss picked up after two rings.
“Perry White, Daily Planet.”
“Chief, this is Clark. Robertson didn’t give me anything I could use to find Lois.”
“Well, son, we knew it was a long shot going in. Come on back to the office and you can get started on your next assignment.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “She’s still out there. I need to find her.”
“We won’t stop looking, I promise you. But we do have this little thing called the Daily Planet which you and I have both neglected a bit recently.”
“I want to take a shot at Dr. Leibowitz. I think I can get something from her or her staff.”
“I’m sorry, Clark, but the answer is no. We can’t get in the way of an active multi-jurisdictional investigation and you know it. Much as it pains me to say it, we have to wait for Bill Henderson on this one.”
Clark controlled the reaction to his frustration and didn’t crush the phone in his hand. “Maybe if I talk to someone in the DA’s office?”
Perry’s voice turned more urgent and more intense. “Don’t you dare! You know that Bill is not only honest but dedicated to justice. Not all cops are both of those things. The people in the DA’s office are dedicated to closing cases and convicting the guilty, not finding wayward reporters. And if you let anyone else in that building know about the group working on the evidence from those tapes, the bad guys will find out before the day is done and you’ll be guilty of obstruction of justice and I don’t want my two best reporters at odds with law enforcement at the same time.”
Clark sighed, knowing that Perry was right but hating to admit it. “Okay, I’ll come in. But if I hear anything solid about Lois’s whereabouts, I’m going out again.”
“Fair enough. Now come on back here and give me something I can put on the front page.”
Clark closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. He really hated the way he seemed to be two steps behind Lois no matter how fast he moved. He’d always known she was very good, but he was gaining a new respect for her talents. No one would admit to knowing where she was, and, unsurprisingly, none of the people she’d ‘interviewed’ – he liked Perry’s term for it – would give him any real information. He’d hit the proverbial stone wall.
Maybe the best thing he could do would be to go back to the office, get his assignments, and work them from the street angles until they found Lois. After all, she thought her condition was terminal, and that meant she wouldn’t stay hidden for long.
He’d find her.
He’d save her. He had to. He just had to.
*****
Lois sat on the bed in her seedy apartment, sipped a lukewarm soft drink she’d bought from the dented vending machine downstairs, and pondered her next move. She’d appeared as an older, chubby blonde bag lady, a sensuous brunette with blonde highlights, a testy redhead, and herself. In order to get closer to Nigel St. John, she’d have to appear as someone else, someone he wouldn’t necessarily expect but who wouldn’t set off any alarms for him. It wasn’t going to be easy.
He’d be alert for any woman he didn’t already know. And Lois was sure that he had all of his snitches on the lookout for her. Whoever she appeared to be, she needed to blend in to the background, yet be noticeable enough for him to listen to her suggestions.
But how?
How could she disguise herself this time? Bag lady was out, sultry model was already used, snippy secretarial intern was off the table, hookers didn’t wear enough clothes for a disguise –
Wait a minute.
All those roles were female roles. Maybe – just maybe –
She had to think.
Of course! She could recreate her disguise for the car theft ring she’d infiltrated the year before! Jimmy had helped her with the walk and the voice, but she was sure she remembered it all. She’d have to scrounge up an Ace bandage to squish her breasts and pick up some generic men’s clothing from the local Goodwill store, but she was sure she could do it.
It meant cutting her hair even shorter, but she was more than willing to go that route if it meant that she could get one step closer to the Boss. And when she did, she’d make him pick up a telephone and call the police and confess to keep her from shooting him right there on the spot. All that she’d learned since she’d gone underground had convinced her that if Nigel wasn’t The Boss – and she didn’t believe he was – he reported directly to whoever was The Boss. And Nigel reported directly to Lex Luthor.
The man who’d told her that he loved her and who had led her to believe that he planned to ask her to marry him.
The man she was starting to believe was, indeed, Metropolis’ resident criminal mastermind.
All the little clues that Clark had tried to get her to look at, all the little things she’d learned by herself over the past few weeks, subtly pointed to Lex Luthor as The Boss. Not any one piece of information confirmed that suspicion, of course, and each one of them could be explained away individually, but when she combined them with the information she’d gotten from all the people she’d ambushed since her terminal diagnosis, the fickle finger of fate indicated her erstwhile boyfriend.
The people she’d spoken with since beginning her end-of-life quest – Lois didn’t like to think of herself as an armed bully – had repeated rumors to her that the tests of strength Superman had undergone not long after he’d arrived had been directed by Lex. Her father’s involvement with the cyborg boxers – and Lex’ shooting of Max Menken – had been cast in a different light by other things she’d learned. Lex’ appearance at the Metro Club when she and Clark were investigating the Toasters and their arson now seemed most incriminating. She’d discounted Clark’s assertion that Lex had been involved in the Smart Kids case, but the things she’d learned from her interrogations had convinced her that Clark had been right. She’d even uncovered signs that Lex had been deeply involved with Miranda and her stinky Revenge perfume.
And the hits just kept on coming.
The weight of the evidence had all but convinced her that everything Clark had told her, everything he’d hinted at, everything he suspected about Lex Luthor was right. The man was a heel, a criminal, a thief, a murderer, and a surprisingly adroit liar. It would not have surprised Lois if Lex had pressured the advertisers to leave in droves in order to drive the Daily Planet nearly out of business, just so he could swoop in and save it and thereby impress her with his business acumen and compassion.
She shuddered as she remembered that she’d kissed that man right on the mouth.
None of what she’d learned was airtight, alibi-free, proven-in-court solid. But even the possibility that he’d been involved infuriated her.
She had to get to him. And the best way to do that was to go through Nigel.
She seriously doubted that Nigel would respond to simply having a weapon pointed at him, so she’d have to shoot him to make him talk. And she’d probably have to shoot first or he’d kill her. He was far better than she was at hand-to-hand combat, not to mention far more experienced and lethal. She couldn’t risk arousing his suspicions.
So where could she hide her weapon?
She felt her frown turn upside down and morph into a laugh as she realized that if she disguised herself as a man, she already had the perfect hiding place. And if her jeans were loose enough, no one would ever find it because no man would search her in that area.
She pulled a pen and notepad out of her purse. If Nigel was going to buy the story she planned to tell him, it would have to be a very good one, with no holes or weaknesses. He had to believe that her new persona – perhaps Tyler Josephs would be a good name for him – that Tyler was a street thug and a reliable source of information, just a little off on his timing. She’d have to maneuver him until they were alone together, some place where he couldn’t call for reinforcements.
And then she’d shoot him and question him. She could shoot him in the knee. He couldn’t hurt her then, as long as she kept his hands off her. It was short and simple, like all good plans should be.
She could do this.
She had to.
And she had a good idea where to start. After all, Lex had to store his cars someplace.
*****
“St. John here. Yes, I know. I’m sorry, she did what? Are you certain? Have any warrants been issued? Yes, yes, you’ll be paid! Double? Now see here, I will not – No. I will pay four times the standard rate for this information. If that is what you feel you must do, then by all means, look for another purchaser who can protect you from my displeasure. It is that or I will visit your Uncle William in his senior living center. That is what I thought. No later than tomorrow morning. Have I ever failed to pay you before? That is not germane to – very well. Yes, direct wire transfer. I have your account number.”
Nigel hung up the phone in his office and sat back to think. This was bad news, very bad news.
Nigel would never admit, even to himself, that he was frightened. Not after the capers on the Continent during which he’d more than earned his ‘double-oh’ designation – his license to kill – while employed by British Intelligence. His far more famous compatriot James Bond had nothing on him, either in missions successfully accomplished or in body count. Nigel had never faced a situation while under contract to MI-6 which had frightened him. He’d been puzzled, stressed, pursued, even fooled once or twice, but he’d never been frightened.
Now, however, he felt – mild concern.
He starred at the telephone on his desk. Sometimes he hated telephones. They occasionally conveyed such distressing information.
His mole in the District Attorney’s office, Maura Ingles, had finally secured the tape he’d ordered her to find and delivered it to him in return for an envelope full of cash. Then the traitorous little child had returned to the District Attorney and made a full confession of her activities for the past three years, naming names and revealing cases which she’d influenced by simply rerouting or delaying the delivery of documents. There were no warrants issued for Nigel’s arrest as yet, but it was only a matter of time – a very short amount of time.
The worst part was that Nigel hadn’t told Luthor about this latest development. It was Luthor’s probable reaction to this news which filled Nigel with – mild concern.
It was time for him to leave. Nigel had always known when to shut down an operation, and this one was unraveling fast. It was almost inconceivable that one skinny reporter with exotic eyes and a harpy’s tongue could shake the carefully constructed edifice of his criminal activity at its very foundation. Luthor, with Nigel at his side, had kept Intergang out of Metropolis, had prevented the Russian mobs from establishing a beachhead in the city, and had even driven the majority of the old Italian mobsters out of the state to greener pastures. None of them had thwarted Luthor’s will. Yet Lois Lane, in less than three weeks, had hacked her way through their defenses and was poised to do even worse.
And Nigel still didn’t know where she was.
It didn’t matter. Nigel needed to run, and he needed to do it now. It no longer mattered where the Lane woman was or what she might do next. It no longer mattered that his network of spies was melting away like fog under the summer sun. The only thing that mattered was getting out of the city safely.
He hoped Link was working in the garage today. Link could get the Lincoln Town Car, the one with the cache of cash and spare clothing for him, and give Nigel the keys without asking questions. And the town car had the range to take him south, out of Luthor’s immediate reach. From there he could pick and choose his destination and his new identity. He rather fancied becoming a beachcomber, wearing a canvas hat, denim shorts, flip-flops, and a ragged shirt. Anyone looking for Nigel St. John would never see him as Old Bob, British expatriate and bum, down there in Margaritaville.
It was best done quickly.
He took his favorite Beretta out of its desk drawer, checked the breech and the magazine to make sure it was loaded and ready to fire, and settled it into his shoulder holster. He hung two more fully loaded twenty-round magazines under his right shoulder, then picked up a laptop computer and slid it into his briefcase, along with the bearer bonds and cash from his office safe. This close to the mid-day meal time, no one would question his appearance or movements for perhaps an hour. He would need no more time than that to disappear as if he’d never been to LexCorp.
He nodded to his secretary as he ghosted through the office to the executive elevator bank. As always, the car was available for him as soon as he pressed the button. He pressed the button for the garage level as the doors closed.
Nigel breathed a silent sigh of relief as he exited the elevator and saw Link at the garage desk. The older black man struggled to his feet and smiled, making his chubby cheeks pooch out even farther. “Good day, Mr. St. John,” he called. “Shall I get the Jaguar for you?”
“Not today, Link. Please bring the light blue Lincoln Town Car around.”
Link’s eyes flickered, but his smile never dimmed. “Sure thing, Mr. St. John.” Link opened a nearby wooden stand and pulled a ring of keys from one of the posts. “Yo! Carleton!” he shouted. “Got a car for you to bring up. And make it snappy!”
A slightly sloppy young man with a thin moustache and ragged hair stepped around the corner. “Sorry, Mr. Link,” he said, “Carleton already went out to lunch. I’ll get the car if you want.”
Link nodded and tossed the keys to the young man. “Okay, Tyler, go get the light blue town car in slot sixteen, this level.”
“Yes sir!”
Nigel watched as Tyler quickly jogged down the rows of vehicles. “I don’t know that young man, Link.”
“Oh, he’s new, Mr. St. John. Started yesterday mornin’. He’s got a little bit of a smart mouth on him, and he knows how to use his fists. Seems to be a good worker, though.” Link frowned. “There ain’t no problem, is there, sir?”
“As long as he brings the correct car, I don’t care if he’s a professional cake decorator in his spare time.”
Link smiled with relief. “He’ll get that car, sir. Oh, look, he’s bringing it already.”
Nigel nodded with approval as the car slid to a gentle stop. He’d half-expected the young man to squeal the tires both starting and stopping, but he’d handled it with skill and care.
Tyler emerged from the driver’s door and handed the keys to Nigel. “Here you go, sir.”
Nigel took them and sat in the driver’s seat. Behind him he heard Link say, “Hey, Tyler! Next time you just leave the keys in the – hey! Get out of there!”
Before Nigel could turn his head and look, the driver’s side rear door opened and slammed shut. A quick glance in the rear view mirror showed Tyler’s youthful face, now wearing a mask of barely controlled fury.
It also showed a large-caliber revolver pointed at Nigel’s neck.
The young man ignored Link’s shouts and gyrations outside the car and pulled back the hammer on the pistol. “Drive!” he growled.
Nigel started the car and pulled forward. “Which way?”
“You pick the route. But know and believe that if anything bad happens, I will shoot you.”
Nigel turned right and glanced back at the mirror. Tyler’s eyes were narrowed and determined but not desperate. If Nigel kept his head, he would live through this day.
“You do understand that you cannot succeed in this endeavor, young man, whether you have robbery or kidnapping or some other motive for this rash action. There is no avenue for success open to you.”
“Doesn’t matter, Nigel. I’m on a dead-end street anyway.”
Nigel blinked. That voice – the eyes – of course!
He was an idiot. It was Lois Lane in the back seat of the car holding a weapon on him, not some frightened and idiotic young punk. Maybe he could talk some sense into her.
“Very good, Miss Lane. You had me completely fooled.”
“Shut up.”
“I only – “
She poked him in the neck with the muzzle of the revolver. “I told you to shut up.”
“As you wish.” He raised his hand to rub his neck and she poked him again.
“Both hands on the wheel, Nigel. Don’t touch anything else except the turn signal lever or you’ll have an extra hole in your head.”
He returned his hand to the steering wheel and nodded. “I assume you were responsible for the chaos in Dr. Leibowitz’ office a few days ago.”
“I was. And before you ask, yes, I’m the one who got Alan Robertson to bare his soul on that tape. And before that I shot Big Mike Pittman and Walt McNally to get information from them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know those last two names.”
“Low level crooks in Lex’ organization. No reason you should know their names. They didn’t know you, either.”
“I see. Then, if I may ask, how did you locate me so quickly?”
She tapped him on the shoulder with the muzzle of the pistol. “Take a right at State, then another right at Ninth when you get there. And don’t move too fast or I’ll get nervous and pull the trigger.”
He glanced at the mirror again and decided that she was not bluffing. “Consider it done.”
They drove in silence until he turned at State, then stopped at a traffic light at the next intersection. “You were about to tell me how you found me so quickly, Miss Lane.”
“Pure luck. After a few days puttering around in the parking garage, I was going to find an excuse to go up to see you. But you came to see me on my second day. How very accommodating of you.”
The light turned green and Nigel guided the big car down the street, grinding his teeth at his misfortune. He’d made the right decision at the right time, and it had blown up in his face. He knew that operations sometimes went that way, that the most careful planning might be for naught if your opponent did something either out of character or unexpected.
Something out of character –
Why was Lois Lane acting like this? Why did she say that she was on a dead-end street? Why was she using violence to investigate Luthor’s illegal businesses?
“Miss Lane? Might I ask you a question?”
“No. Shut up and drive.”
“But I – “
She poked him in the neck again, harder this time. “I will drop you right here and now if you don’t shut up!”
He had no choice but to comply. They reached Ninth Avenue, and Nigel turned right on the street. They were now about eight blocks from LexCorp Towers, and he wondered what the next turn might be. It was obvious, to him at least, that her real target was The Boss, and she seemed to know who that person was.
Wait a moment.
She’d mentioned Lex’ organization, not Nigel’s. And Nigel hadn’t expressed surprise or corrected her description.
He sighed quietly. Even the rawest rookie agent would not commit such an egregious error. He was an idiot twice in one day. If the woman hadn’t already had proof that Luthor was The Boss, she’d just received confirmation of it from Nigel’s own lips.
And if she gave Luthor that little bit of information, no place on Earth would be safe enough for Nigel to hide from the man’s wrath. He would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for Lex Luthor to bring that final sting of death to him.
An idea formed in his mind. If he brought her to Lex Luthor, his position in the company might still be secure. If Lex had Lois in his grasp, he might overlook Nigel’s failures to this point. It might work even if all he brought was her dead body.
All he needed to do was to wait for his chance.
Then another phrase she’d spoken surfaced in his mind, that she was on a “dead-end street.” What did that mean? What was she –
No. It couldn’t be –
Yes it could.
Of course. It was so obvious it was almost funny.
She still thought she was dying of cancer. She was working her way up the organization’s command structure in this manner because she didn’t believe she would survive long enough to do the job legally. And that gave Nigel an edge. As soon as he took that revolver away from her, he’d inform her that her diagnosis had been in error and that she was as healthy as she had ever been. The shock would take away her desperation and anger, rob her of her motivation to destroy what it had taken Lex and Nigel years to build, and she would easily surrender to Nigel’s tender mercies.
Then he’d shoot her in the head and take her body back to Luthor.
The most direct route back to LexCorp Towers was a right turn onto Park Lane, but Lois allowed him to pass it. Then she tapped his shoulder again and said, “Take a right down the alley beside Harper’s Dry Goods. Go just past the service entrance and stop.”
“You’re climbing the food chain, aren’t you, Miss Lane? You’re looking for the top predator. How do you know it isn’t me?”
“I never heard of anyone so chatty who had a gun pointed at his head and was told repeatedly to be quiet. Now stop talking.”
He nodded. This was an excellent place for him to overpower her. His training and experience gave him the confidence that he could best her in any fight, irrespective of any initial disadvantages he might face. The day was not over for Nigel St. John.
The car glided to a silent stop as Lois had directed. “Now put the transmission in park and turn off the key. Slowly, very slowly, take the key out of the ignition and hand it to me.”
This was his chance. He would take her now.
He moved the shift lever to Park, then turned off the key and slid it out of the ignition as he –
BLAM!
The bullet tore through the seat, then hit the back of his right shoulder and threw him forward as the impact twisted his torso to the left. The keys flew out of his hand and he slumped down to the middle of the front seat, stunned and bleeding.
Through the haze of stabbing pain and confusion, he thought he heard Lois say, “The police will be here soon and they’ll bring an ambulance. Stay down and close your eyes because I’m going to put two more shots through the windshield to make sure somebody calls the cops.” Then he thought he heard her grunt, “And it’ll look more like a crime scene and they’ll search the car and find whatever you’ve got hidden in here.”
The back door opened closed and he heard running feet, then two shots rang out from outside the car. Glass fragments scattered around his head and left arm, and he glanced up to see spider cracks from the bullets spread across the windshield.
He grabbed the wheel with his left hand and slowly pulled himself upright, then reached for the ignition when he remembered that the key was somewhere on the floor of the car. He gave up and leaned back, knowing that he didn’t have the strength to pick up the key even if he could find it. He couldn’t even reach the bullet wound over his shoulder blade. He was only glad the round hadn’t exited the front of his shoulder and made two bloody holes in his torso.
He looked down the alley and saw Lois shoot twice into the lock on the side entrance to the company parking garage, then pull it open. From that door, she could climb the stairs all the way to the top floor and walk directly into the executive offices. She must have researched the mechanism and discovered the best way to destroy it, he mused. The woman was nothing if not prepared.
Under other circumstances, he might have admired that quality in her.
An outside door slammed behind him and someone shouted for someone to call the police. A jowly middle-aged woman slowly crept into his line of sight and yelled at him through the window, asking him if he was hurt.
He gave her his best withering stare, one which unfortunately had no effect on her screeching calls to him. “You hurt, mister?” she repeated. “Don’t worry, the police are coming now.”
Had he still had the strength, he would have thrown the car door open and run. But he couldn’t move his right arm at all, and he had begun to feel cold. His vision grayed out and he knew he was going into shock. The pain would get worse, he knew, before it got better.
The best outcome he might hope for was to awaken in the hospital surrounded by police officers. And it was the second worst fate he could imagine for himself.
The worst fate, of course, was to be dead.
