Lois & Clark Forums Forums Active Threads This Week

You're the Devil in Disguise
CalliopeWayne
Summary:
Perry White stumbles on Clark Kent in the storage room and assumes the worst.

Notes:
Takes place during the Pilot. In this AU Jimmy Olsen is Jack's kid brother. I might change it down the line, but for now I like Jimmy being younger like in TASS.

“Okay, sorry about the late hour folks,” Perry entered the conference room. “There just doesn’t seem to… EXPAND ▼ be enough time in the day. “Where are Lois and Jack?” Perry asked, looking each of his reporters in the eye.

Lombard snored by the window. Ron Troupe twiddled his thumbs, routinely fiddling with his tie, which was askew. Cat ignored them all, playing games on her iPhone. Angela Chen stirred a fresh mug of coffee, glaring reproachfully at Clark Kent. Clark lounged on the farthest side of the table with his feet propped on the table, expertly flicking rubber bands into the trashcan across the room. Perry raised an eyebrow as his newest recruit shot a third and fourth rubber band into the trashcan without missing a shot; a trashcan that was twenty feet away easily.

“Clark?” Perry frowned at him.

Clark immediately straightened and kicked over Angela’s mug. “Not again,” Angela whined. “Clark, I swear you should come with a warning label.”

“I assumed they’d be here,” Clark said in a rush.

“Did Lois say where she was going?” Ron asked.

“She never tells me anything,” Clark said. “How should I know?”

"She's your call girl,” Cat said. “You should know where she is.”

“It was one date,” Clark protested. “And she slammed the door in my face. Trust me that ship has sailed."

"Sailed to the Tunnel of Love," a devious smile cut across her face, and she brushed her blonde hair behind her ear. "When you get bored with Lois, you can fly into my bed, Smallville."

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Clark's voice rose an alcove higher, paling. "You couldn't be farther from the truth."

Ron ignored them and started taking notes furiously.

“Trouble in paradise?” Cat quirked up one eyebrow suggestively. “Did you dump soy sauce in her lap?”

Clark visibly relaxed. “How do you know we went out for Chinese food?” Clark bit his lip nervously. “I didn’t even tell Lois where we were going.”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” Cat smirked. “Nothing happens without me knowing. You should be more careful if you want to keep it secret.”

“Alright, settle down,” Perry restrained an eye roll. He was going to have a long talk with Lois about proper etiquette in the newsroom. Losing your clothes was no excuse to miss a meeting. “We can just start without them,” Perry sat at the head of the table and looked into the trashcan. He counted ten rubber bands. If Clark’s career tanked, he could fall back on basketball. Lois would love that.

“Okay, now,” he eased into the comfortable chair, reserved for the editor. “The piece on the recent sex change in the royal family, he said. “Now, I kinda have mixed feelings about this . . .”
Clark stood without warning and headed for the exit. “I Kent . . .” Perry frowned. “Meetings not over, son.”

Clark bounced on the balls of his feet, restless. It almost looked like he was floating. In the dimly lit room with his unusually windswept black hair, Perry noted there was something familiar about that silhouette. The seed of an idea was planted. But it was silly. Clark wouldn’t be caught dead in that clown suit. Though, if you squinted The Flying Man sometimes looked like Elvis. And Clark looked nothing like the King.

“It’s not like Lois or Jack to miss a staff meeting,” Clark said. “I thought I’d go call around if that’s okay?” he stumbled over his words with a nervous stutter. Why did it feel like he was being lied to?

“Hell of a way to run a railroad,” he looked down at his notes and then back at the door. Clark was no longer there. Outside the conference room, a storm of papers scattered about; poor Jimmy fell backward as if a strong wind had blown him over.

“Alright, let’s see where was I, oh yeah?” Perry shifted gears. “Cat how goes the human interest piece on The Flying Man?”

If anyone could find dirt on the guy it was Cat. Lois was too close to the story to see objectively. Only four days since he made his big debut saving the Prometheus Space Shuttle and Lois had been saved by him three times. His reporter instincts told him there was something between those two. He had never seen Lois so smitten with a guy before, not even when she went on a date with Bruce Wayne. He couldn't believe Lois would choose Clark over the superhero. Maybe Cat had her wires crossed.

“Zippity squat,” Cat said. “He’s impossible to tail. I followed The Flying Man to a fire in Suicide Slums, by the time I got there the fire was already out.”

“Not acceptable,” Perry said. “We’re sitting on top of the story of the century here,” he said, growing impatient. “I want the name of this watchamecallit to go with the Daily Planet like bacon and eggs,” Perry said. “Franks and beans, death and taxes, politics and corruption,” he said. “I want the inside scoop on this guy,” he said. “Where does he sleep, does he have a family, a girlfriend . . . what does the ‘S’ stand for?”

Ron Troupe raised his hand like he was in class. “He’s faster than a jet plane,” Ron said. “His flight pattern might leave disturbances we could track.”

Genius. “Excellent. Ring up your contact at S.T.A.R labs. We’re going to nail this guy,” Perry said.

“But what about the royal family?” Angela asked.

“It’s just another Caitlyn Jenner,” Perry said. “They’d be tons more stories just like it. I want everybody on the Flying Man. And Cat?” Perry prompted. “I want you to tail Lois.”

“But she’s so . . . Lois.” Wherever Lois was the Flying Man was sure to follow.

There was a crash from next door. Angela swore. “Clark must have broken the door again.”

“He broke the door?” Perry asked.

“Yeah, his coat got caught in the revolving door,” Angela rolled his eyes. “And when he pulled it out, he took part of the door with him.”

And she didn’t think that was worth investigating? He would love to hear Kent’s excuse for the broken door. Silence fell and they all traded nervous smiles. “Nah,” Cat and Angela said at once. “He can’t even dress himself without Lois’ help,” Cat said. “And besides, Clark has shorter hair than the Flying Man,” Cat said with a dreamy smile. “Those curls do things to me.”

First day on the job he wore a flannel shirt and jean jacket. “Meeting dismissed.”

The reporters scurried out of the conference room. Perry walked past Jack Olsen’s desk. His kid brother, Jimmy was playing Pac-Man on his brother’s computer. “Olsen, this is not an arcade. Make yourself useful,” he told the teen. “Where is Clark?”

“He’s in the storage room,” Jimmy said. “Said something about calling Lois.”

“In the closet?” he said incredulously. “And you didn’t think that was odd?”

The kid shrugged. “He spends most of the day in there.”

“I bet he does,” Perry marched to the storage room and opened the door. “Kent?” he looked beyond the shelves and found Clark sitting by an open window, his shirt untucked. The dorky tie lay at his feet. But there was no sight of Lois.

“Oh, Kent, there you are,” he smiled at the young reporter. He sat there awkwardly, hands shoved in his pocket.

“Yes, sir,” Clark answered obediently.

“Jimmy told me you were in here,” Perry approached him and Clark’s hands flew to his shirt, eyes widening. He had put it on backward and his coat was wrinkled. Perry suppressed a chuckle, eyes twinkling as he saw unmistakable red panties hidden under Clark’s foot. Those probably belonged to Lois. He was positive if he investigated further he would find Lois Lane hiding behind one of the shelves. Good. He was rooting for Lois and Clark. This secrecy they insisted on was laughable. Everybody knew Clark Kent was in love with Lois Lane.

“Yes, sir,” Clark nodded.

“So,” Perry crossed his arms, viewing the young lad in a new light. “Did you make your call?”

“I was just about to, sir,” Clark said. Perry thought he heard a giggle and looked sideways, but it was just the wind blowing through the open window. Say, why was the window open? Everybody would hear them!

“So, are you looking for something?” Perry returned his gaze to Clark. A siren blared in the distance.

“No sir, not really.”

“Um . . .” he surveyed the cluttered shelf and boxes. There was a woman’s black pump on one of the boxes. He found the other shoe on the bottom shelf. He saw Lois wear a pair like that not too long ago.

“Well, I guess I better be getting back,” Perry said.

“Yes, sir,” Clark nodded.

“When are you coming—- out of the closet?” he asked.

Clark stood. “Soon, sir, very soon.”

Perry suppressed another chuckle. Should he mention his shirt was on backward? Honestly, how stupid did he think he was? It was insulting. He was happy for them, his little girl deserved all the happiness in the world. And Clark was such a catch. But they couldn’t have waited till they were at Clark’s apartment? He was surprised at Clark. He pegged him to be a more traditional man. The poor kid, Lois Lane had destroyed his innocence.

Perry nodded,took one last look at the glimmering black pump, and closed the closet. COLLAPSE ▲

Clark Scissorhands by CalliopeWayne.
Clark's elementary art teacher gradually realizes Clark Kent is an extraordinary boy.

Welcome to new readers and old. I write AU fics combining the DCAU and L&C. I hope you enjoy! All my stories are connected unless specified otherwise.

Chapter 1
Eight more days of this hell hole and then I’m a free woman!!! Ten. There’s no way I can close my classroom in… EXPAND ▼ one day. I have to clean the oil pastels, color code them, wash the watercolor pallets, sharpen pencils, and take inventory for next year. The list is endless.

Decorating the display cabinet in the front of the school is the last thing I want to do, but you don’t say no to the principal. Mr. Kwan wanted it bright and sunny for the gremlins returning for Summer School. The overachiever I am, I decided to make a lesson out of it and had all the kids create Van Gogh-inspired sunflowers.

This means I’m stuck cutting laminated sunflowers out during my planning period when I should be organizing this mess. Mr. Kwan wants the display cabinet finished for the award ceremony so the fifth graders graduating can take pictures. That is two days away. Yippee. I haven’t even started on the backdrop for the flowers.

I have quite a few talented fifth graders. Maybe I can enlist their help. The door opens and a trio of giddy fifth graders enter, carrying a sloppy volcano between them. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“We’re going to explode the classroom!” Pete explains, giddy with excitement, showing me the makeshift volcano that looked more like a pile of horse dung.

“Dummy, it’s not a real volcano,” Clark rolled his eyes at Pete. “We’ll be in big trouble if it were.”

“Clark,” I try to stifle my laughter and make choking noises. “That is a not a nice way to . . .”

“You won’t know a joke if it bit you in the ass!”

“It’s got to have super-duper sharp teeth,” Clark crosses his arms, laugher twinkling in his unnaturally blue eyes. “See, I can joke?” he beams proudly.

“You just ruined the punchline.”

“Ross!” I try to take control of the situation. “We don’t use that kind of language in . . .”

“Boys!” Lana claps her hands authoritatively and both boys jump. Lana looks adorable in her red pigtails tied up in pink bows, and somehow still manages to be the most mature one in the room. “You’re embarrassing me. If you can’t behave you’re going back to class.”

“You heard her boys,” I say, feeling as the only adult in the room I ought to say something.

“Mrs. Timm,” Lana faces me, all smiles. “May we please use some of your paint for our volcano?” she pouts, giving big doe eyes. “You won’t even know we’re here.”

I’ve got so much work to do, but I can’t say no to that face. “You know where the paint is,” I say.

“Thank you, thank you!” Lana leaps into my arms and hugs me tightly. “I’m going to make the best volcano ever!” she dances away to gather paint.

Translation: Clark Kent is going to make the best volcano ever while Pete offers commentary. I know my kids.

Lana doesn’t have a lick of artistic talent, but she makes up for it by Tom Sawyering the boys into doing her bidding. She is pretty and knows it. I’ve been watching her puppeteer Clark Kent since Kindergarten. I continue to cut sunflowers keeping an eye on the gremlins at the painting station. I can’t believe this is my last year with these gremlins. No more Clark Kent busting scissors. No more Lana playing matchmaker with her classmates. No more Pete Ross throwing balls in the classroom —okay that I am not going to miss. Even so, watching them paint, it hits me like a ton of bricks to the gut. This is the last time they’ll be in art. My eyes grow misty. Those were my babies. I’ve had them since Kindergarten. Where does the time go? Soon they’ll be in high school!

“Lana, why are you getting pink?” Clark asks. “Volcanoes are not pink.”

“This one is!” Lana fills the plate with pink. “And purple.”

“So you’re making a Mary Blair volcano,” Clark smirks, looking at me for approval. We did a lesson on Mary Blair in second grade, I’m surprised he remembers that.

“Blair a who?” Pete frowns, starting to sloppily plop pink on the cone.

“Mary Blair was a concept artist for Walt Disney,” Clark parotted. “She worked on Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and designed the puppets on It’s a Small World.”

“Nerd alert,” Pete coughs in his hand.

“Don’t you guys remember?” I smile. “We learned about Mary Blair three years ago and color theory.”

“I can barely remember what I had for lunch, let alone two years ago!” Lana shook her head, face squashed with dismay. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“Don’t say that,” Clark sheepishly looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “You have the memory of an elephant,” he gushed. Oh, boy. That was not going to end well for him.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Lana halts painting to glare daggers at Clark. Uncultured swine.

“No . . . uh, what now?” Clark stumbles over his words. “Elephants are majestic creatures.”

“You’re attracted to giant cows?”

“Elephants are descendents of mammoths . . . I mean who said anything about being attracted to you?” I cough to cover my laughter. Clark Kent has been making moon-eyes at Lana Lang since they were in diapers.

“Shut up now, Clark. You’re digging your own grave,” Pete warned.

“You’re not attracted to me?” Lana smirks, knowing full well the power her words have over Clark. “I’m everybody’s type.”

“We need more white,” Clark flees from Lana and grabs the tube of white paint.

“Remember to be gentle!” My warning is too late.

Clark squeezes the tube tightly and the paint dispenser is squashed to smithereens. Paint splatters all over him and my freshly cleaned floor. Lana squeals and jumps out of her seat, dancing like there’s a bug in her hair. Pete snatches some paper towel and rushes to help Clark; he trips over the spilt paint and falls on his rearend.

“I’m so sorry!” Clark looks mortified at me. His lower lip trembles like he’s about to cry. “I didn’t mean to,” he whimpers in the same way he did when he shattered the scissors bare handed in first grade. “Please don’t tell my Ma!” Big tears cascade down his cheeks. “She’ll take me out of school!” he starts to hyperventilate. “I don’t want to be home schooled!”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I kneel on the floor and wipe up the paint. “It’s just paint, no harm done,” I reassure him.

Though I can’t figure out how he broke the plastic bottle. Clark has always had a knack for breaking unbreakable things. I sent him to retrieve a box of erasers from the cabinet once, and he returned holding half the door. One strange kid. Their was an unspoken rule among the locals of Smallville, never to talk about the strange things that happened around Clark Kent. One: You’ll be accused of insanity. Two: Martha Kent was as likely to poison your slice of apple pie as she was to kill you with kindness. She is astronomically protective of that boy.

“I’ve been meaning to replace these old bottles anyways.” I use old condiment dispensers from the local diner to dispense paint to the kiddos.

I smile at the kid. He’s the most talented kid in his class, I sometimes forget he’s a sensitive ten-year-old. He sniffs and offers me a grateful timid smile. In the ruckus his glasses fell off and I’m stunned by the surreal blue eyes. It’s as if the Aegian sea looks back at me, swirling and full of secrets of the deep.

“I think Ma has some at home, I could give you,” Clark offers quietly. That was the thing about Clark Kent. He’s notoriously clumsy but eager to fix his mistakes.

“That will be great,” I ruffle his dark curls.

Clark beams, content, and returns to mopping up the floor. The kids laugh as Pete paints a white mustache over his lip. “Marty,” Pete hunches over like an old man, mimicking walking with a cane. He whacks Lana with a broom. “What are we going to do with that clumsy son of ours,” he looks at Clark with reproach. “That’s the second time we’ve had to rebuild the barn,” Pete laments.

Lana giggles, joining in on the fun. “At this rate Clark’ll be too busy fixing his mess to give us grandbabies,” Lana chortles.

“What gal is going to want to have such a klutz for a husband,” Pete muses puting a hand on his bad hip and groaning comically.

Clark turns crimson. “They don’t sound like that!”

“Did you hear something?” Pete scratches his earlobe. “Sounded like a train exploding.”

“You diseased . . . clown!” Clark seizes. He was never very good at insults. “This train will throw you in a volcano!” his eyes widened as he realized what he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that! I love you Pete.”

Lana and Pete shared amused looks and burst out laughing. “You’re so cute, Clark,” Lana hugged him, getting paint all over her uniform, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Like a teddy-bear.” Clark’s expression droops in disappointment. Having his crush compare him to a toy is no fun. Lana is a good two head taller than Clark, making the hug quite awkward. He’s the smallest fifth grader but what he lacked in height he made up for in wits and brains.

I remember those days. I was the dorky runt of the litter, too. Give him time. He’ll grow into his limbs and stop looking so disportionent. Though, Jonathan was never that tiny and clumsy as a kid. Clark must get his small frame from Martha’s side of the family. With Farmer John’s genes, it’ll be only a matter of time before Clark shoots up.

The second the bell rings Pete and Lana rush into the hall. “Hey!” I follow them out. “You left a mess!” but they have already been swallowed up by the throng of students heading downstairs for dismissal.

“They’re allergic to cleaning,” Clark states plainly.

“Last time I let them paint,” I scowl. “You should go get your backpack kiddo.”

Clark frowns. at the mob of students clammering down the hallway, and inches closer to me. “Can I help you clean?”

“Sure, I could use the help,” I agree amiably. Though, we both know he’s just avoiding people. “One day soon, mister you’re going to be a celebrity commanding the attention of a room full of strangers,” I laugh as he inches closer to me.

“Never, ever going to happen,” he closes his eyes tightly as a stray backpack strap hits him. “I don’t like people.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” I prop the door open and head back into the classroom, Clark following closely behind. “You’re a social butterfly.”

“Yeah,” Clark relents. “I like people. People are neat,” he picks up the sheet of laminated flowers without thinking. “They each have unique stories dying to be heard.”

Using his index finger he mindlessly cuts out the sunflower with his fingernail from the lamination. I gulp. Don’t blink, don’t dare move, lest you scare the kid. Clark’s method of cutting is nothing new.

You’ve seen it before.

It’s our secret.

Even after having taught him for six years, his sharp nails still baffle me. He was in third grade the first time I saw him use his fingernail to cut. We were working on cardboard sculptures and Clark was brought to tears of frustration after breaking ten scissors. He was so excited when he tried to cut with his fingernail and it worked. I didn't have the heart to tell him how abnormal that was. He was already teased for being the strongest in his class. The other kids called him Clarkzilla to his face and some of the meaner kids referred to him as Alien Shortstack.

In a few minutes Clark had the rest of the sunflowers cut out and in a neat pile by his elbow. “Mrs. Timm, can I ask you something?” he met my eyes timidly.

“Of course, kiddo,” I say. “You know, you can talk to me about anything.”

Clark swallows hard. “You’re old,” he states matter-of-factly. “Been around awhile.”

How old does he think I am? Guess once you have kids of your own, you immediately transition from ‘cool young teacher’ to ‘old, weathered veteran.’ Story of my life. I’m barely past thirty and the kids think I’m ancient now that I’m a mom.

“Have you ever had students who could cut like me?” he asks.

I knew this question was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for it in the slightest. After the cardboard incident I was careful to omit any lessons that required cutting from Clark’s class. It might have raised some eyebrows if Principal Kwan ever saw what Clark could do. He’s a tender soul, I couldn’t risk the wrong sort of people finding out about him. The government will ship him off to some remote island and do experiments on him. I couldn’t let that happen.

“We never used scissors in my class,” Clark observes. “It’s because of me isn’t it?”

I swallow hard. What do you say to that? Clark is too observant for an elementary kid. The makings of a detective in that kid. “You’re a special boy,” I tell him, feeling that’s the safest course of action.

“You mean, I’m a freak,” he says in a small voice. “I can’t even cut properly. Clark-Scissorhands,” he makes a disgusted face.

“Everybody has their own unique gifts,” I say. “Never be ashamed of who you are.”

“Do you think I’m human?” he asks seriously.

I pause and study him carefully, certain he’s pulling my leg. But no, the kid was dead serious. “You’ve been watching way too much X-files.”

“I’m the kind of thing Fox Mulder will chase after,” he says. I’m surprised and a little concerned Clark is watching X-Files. That show is not appropriate for kids.

“Mom won’t tell me why I’m so different,” Clark sighs heavily. “I want to believe her.”

“You’re as human as me, son,” I fight the urge to hug the little kid. He looks so small and uncertain about the world.

“Are you sure?”

I raise my hand to him and gently grab his small hand, placing it flat on mine. “You know, I’ve been thinking lately, that you could be some subspecies of elephant.”

Clark giggles wraps his arms around me. “I love that movie!”

“Me too, kiddo,” I say. It was my childhood.

“You’ll always be in my heart,” Clark hugs me tighter. “I’m gonna miss you Mrs. Timm.” I stroke his head, throat tightening with grief. I’m going to miss him too. “I don’t want to go to middle school.”

“Growing up is part of life,” I say sadly. “And I’ll always be here. You can visit any time you want.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Clark hugs me one last time. “I’ll never forget you. Thank you,” he says teary-eyed. “I was worried I wasn’t human.” What a strange thing for a little kid to say. “I’m being dumb.”

“You should get going,” I release him, also teary-eyed. “Mama K. will be worried sick.”

You’re not supposed to have favorites as an art teacher, but I totally do. He was my baby. I've taught him for six long years. Longer, if you count the private lessons Mrs. Kent paid for in Pre-K. Come to think of it, it’s odd they didn’t enrol him in Pre-K with the rest of the kids. He was such a bright boy.

“She’s so paranoid,” Clark rolls his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“It’s a mother’s job to worry,” I smirk, thinking of my own son at home. Brucey just turned five and climbs on everything. Needless to say he’s given me a heart attack once or twice when he fell. Hell, Clark gave me a heart attack when the oak tree on the playground fell on him.

“Don’t worry about, Bruce,” Clark hugs me again. “I’ll catch him if he falls.”

“I’m sure you will, kiddo.” Who was going to catch Clark if he fell? He kept himself so isolated, even when he was surrounded by people, I worried he’d end up alone.

Clark’s smile melts away, growing forlorn. “Bruce is lucky to have you as a mom,” he hugs me again as if afraid to let me go. “Don’t die,” he pleads. Somehow I know he’s thinking of another little boy named Bruce that used to visit him regularly and was now the most famous orphan on the planet.

“It’ll be okay, O’l Sport,” I stroke his head. “Us farmers are built of stronger things.”

“I hope so,” Clark hugs me one last time and slips out of the art room.

Chapter Management
Edit Chapter
Chapter 2
Chapter Text
Clark never revisited the art room. As with most kids, life happens, and they grow up, forgetting their ancient art teacher. I saw Clark in passing in town occasionally, but the little boy I once knew was gone, replaced by a moody teenager.

As expected he had a growth spurt and soon was taller than everybody in his class. Each year, his muscles filled out until he was almost unrecognizable. He wore baggy clothes to hide his changing body, but the girls flocked to him like moths to a flame. He had eyes only for Lana Lang.

All of Smallville expected him to marry his neighbor (we all knew he had been using that telescope of his to spy on Lana since he was in middle school.) Wedding bells were around the corner. I’m ashamed to admit I snooped on the young lovers one too many times. They were such a darling couple. I even had Lana and Clark babysit Bruce and baby Brielle a few times, hoping Lana would get baby fever and elope with Clark. Their babies would have been gorgeous.

But their love was not meant to be. Nobody knows exactly why they broke up. Some say Lana set her eyes on someone more sophisticated. Some say Lana’s ambition drew a wedge between her and Clark. Some believe Lana was not ready to settle down. Either way, the Smallville gossips all agreed on one fact: Lana Lang ripped Clark Kent’s heart out and crushed it like a grape.

So when I entered the Tipsy Chicken after a grueling day of snot-faced kindergartners and angry fifth graders, I was not surprised to find my old pupil hunched at the bar, drinking straight whiskey. Martha will be livid. What was Bill thinking serving Clark? He wasn’t even nineteen yet! I marched over to set things straight but was cut off by a tall girl.

“Clark Joseph Kent!” she grabbed the drink out of his hand. “You’re better than this, Smallville. Don’t be such a predictable depressed, lovesick moron.”

Ah! It was the stray, city girl Martha picked up. I forgot her name. She was the only one who called Clark, Smallville. She moved to Smallville last year following a lead on a story. City folk are super weird. If my little girl ran away from home I would have dragged her ungrateful butt back home and made her rethink her life decisions. Not exile her to a foreign town. That poor girl had Darth Vader as a father.

“Don’t you have some story to chase, Snoop,” Clark made an ugly face he reserved for bullies.

“Yeah, you,” Snoop said. “The fall of the great Clark Kent,” Snoop clutched Clark’s arm. “This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me, you stupid, nosy hag!”

“I know you’re hurting, so I’m going to let that comment slide this once,” she said seriously. “Talk to me like that again, Kent, and I’ll beat the crap out of you.”

“I wish you would,” Clark took another sip of whiskey and slammed it down in frustration.

“Your girlfriend is right,” I crossed my arms and gave Clark a hard look I never had to give him when he was my student.

“I’m not his girlfriend or anything . . .” the girl rambled. “Whose this Clark? Moving on from Lana so fast?”

“Mrs. Timm?” Clark gulped. “What are you doing here?”

“Better question, what are you doing here?” I arched an eyebrow at him. “Last time I checked, you’re not twenty-one! I can’t believe you will sink to this level. What will your mother say?”

“Yeah, Clark,” the girl’s hands flew to her hips, mimicking Martha Kent expertly. “I’m so disappointed in you, son I don’t know where to begin!”

“Young lady, he is not the only one drinking underage,” I faced the city girl, unable to keep my anger in check. What’s her face was a bad influence. “You are both in serious trouble.”

“Us Lane girls can hold our liquor,” Lane said. “It’s Clark you should be worried about. He’s a lightweight. One drink and he thinks he’s Peter Pan and tries to jump off rooftops.”

“I do not!” Clark turned crimson. “You big, fat liar!”

Lane decked him across the face. Clark flew backward, knocking into the countertop. The metal counter groaned under his weight and crumbled like dust. Oh dear! I quickly stepped in front of the broken counter to hide the damage from the cub reporter. Mercifully there were no drinks in danger of falling, but there was a Clark-sized dent on the rim of the counter.

“I am appalled at both your behavior!” I use my teacher's voice. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. This is not the Middle Ages. You use words, young lady not your fists. And you Clark,” I whirled on him. “I thought I’d never see the day Jonathan Kent’s son treated a lady with such disrespect!” All the while I made sure to block any wreckage from his nosy friend.

“She's not a lady, she’s Lois.”

“My daddy taught me never to show weakness,” Lois held her head high. “And not to ever let a man disrespect me.”

“He also wants nothing to do with you,” Clark said.

“Was that comment necessary?” It’s like I don’t know Clark anymore. What happened to the sweet, caring boy I used to know? God, this is why I don’t teach high school. Hit puberty and all the manners they learn fly out the window.

“No, ma’am,” Clark looks down at his feet. “But it’s true.”

“Yeah,” Lois acknowledges. “I don’t want anything to do with the general either.”

“He’s your Dad,” Clark said seriously. “You don’t mean that.”

“Not all of us are lucky enough to have Bo Duke for a father,” she said.

“Who?”

“You uncultured swine,” she elbowed Clark. “You’ve never seen Dukes of Hazard! We’re rectifying that travesty right away!”

“I’m regretting ever asking,” Clark said.

I watched Lois drag Clark outside by his hoodie and shook my head. That girl was something else. She’s been in Smallville for a year and already got Clark involved in an illegal car race, broke into a government facility with him, threw a party at the Kents' house while they were away, and was caught naked in a cornfield with Clark. The last bit was pure rumor, but based on my own experience with the city gal, I won’t put it past her. I won’t be surprised if she’s the reason Lana broke up with Clark.

Clark followed Lois Lane to Metropolis University (though he insisted his choice to leave Smallville had nothing to do with Mad Dog Lane.) He visited on the weekends, and Lois regularly tagged along for Mama K.’s cooking. The two of them were glued to the hip. He finished his internship at the Daily Star, but made the transition to the Daily Planet after a few short years. When asked, Clark will say it was always his dream to work at greatest newspaper in the world. But I know better. It was no coincidence he moved to the Daily Planet after Edward Lytener tried to kill Lois. Smallville wanted to keep an eye on Mad Dog Lane, and what better way to do that than to be her partner?

When the mysterious flying man surfaced I knew it was my student. Clark went through a phase in high school, where he drew nothing but that strangely shaped ‘S. Clark left Smallville and suddenly that symbol was popping up on all the crime scenes. It was a no-brainer. I keep tabs on all my students, it’s a small town and most of them don’t leave Smallville. Clark was trickier. I had to rely on town gossip and tabloids to pin him down. But he wasn’t fooling me for a second. I do wish he would give up the gloomy black costume. He was not that nut in Gotham. Even on his worst days, Clark Kent had an optimistic outlook on the world. He might have doubted himself, but he put his emotions aside and was a shoulder to cry on for his friends or the steadfast hero Smallville desperately needed.

I was disappointed Clark landed the first exclusive with the Flying Man instead of Lois. It wasn’t right. I understood why he did it. He wanted to control what information got out to the public, but it still felt icky and dishonest. He was writing about himself! The article itself was a bit wish-washy and read like a snippet from a Warrior Angel comic book. He inserted in a corny quote that sounded like something the winged alien would have said. But there was nothing about the family or a peek behind the Boy Scout. He kept the facts, and nothing more.

The joke was on him. Lois still got the upper hand. The second he flew onto the Prometheus Space Shuttle wearing Martha’s handiwork, Lois sized him up. Clark might have had the first exclusive, but Lois christened Superman and unearthed the truth of the last son of Krypton. Knowing the two of them, Lois undoubtedly bullied the truth out of Clark.

It was surreal. Part of me didn’t want to believe it. An alien grew up in my backyard. I taught him about analogous colors and how to cut. He broke countless scissors. Suddenly his odd question all those years ago made sense. Deep down Clark always knew he was different. But by gosh. It didn’t matter where that boy came from, he was still one of us. I just wished he wasn’t so alone.

It made me happy knowing Clark had Lois in his corner. Though this business of Clark Kent and Superman was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. That poor girl was smitten with Superman. Anyone could see that in the photos of Lois and Superman. She lost track of how many times she saw Lois and Clark in the tabloids. The Daily Star had started referring to Lois as Mrs. Superman and there was no end of rumors about the happy couple.

Clark wore his heart on his sleeve. This business with Lobo was the last straw. Lois practically announced to the whole world Clark Kent is Superman when she stood up to the bounty hunter, fighting alongside Superman. There was also the matter of Lobo abducting Lois and Clark and taking them to God knows where. I worried the wrong people would realize the truth and hurt my boy.

Somebody needed to knock some sense into that boy. Martha shared my fears. It would take one wrong person observing Superman and Lois to expose our boy. Martha tried warning Clark but boys rarely listened to their mothers.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number Martha gave me. “Whatsup?” A woman answered the phone.

“Is this not Clark Kent’s cell?” I frowned, taken aback by the stranger on the other end. The girl sounded nothing like Lois. She had a grating voice that reminded me of a vulture’s cry.

“Yeah, he’s in the shower. Who’s this?”

“This is Mrs. Timm . . . I was Clark’s elementary teacher,” I said. “I didn’t realize he had a girlfriend.”

“It’s kinda new,” she said. “We’re still keeping it under wraps, he hasn’t told his parents.”

Alarm bells immediately went off in my head. It wasn’t like Clark to hide anything from his parents. “You don’t say,” I mused. “How did you meet? Where did you study? What is your name? Where are you from?”

“Listen, lady, I did not sign up for the third degree. What Clark and I do is between us!”

“You’ve slept with him?” Martha taught Clark better than this.

What about Lois? It was bad enough that things didn’t work out with Lana, but after their last visit to Smallville, I was slowly warming up to Lois. She was good for Clark, kept him honest, and didn’t give him an inch. They were also ‘The hottest reporting team in town.’ You didn’t get a title like that without a bit of chemistry.

“So what if I did?”

Oh my God! This Superman persona is giving Clark a big head. I was afraid of this happening! He’s only a man, susceptible to the same temptations as a human man. But come on! He had the perfect partner. Who was this crazy loon?

“Leslie, who’s that?” Clark’s voice was muffled as if coming from deep underground.

“Some crazy nut, says she’s your teacher.”

“Hello?” Clark answered.

“Who the hell is she?” I screamed. “You and Lois are supposed to be together!” I was so thrown off by the prostitute that I forgot why I originally called.

“Hello to you too, Mrs. Timm,” Clark’s voice was laced with amusement. “How are Bruce and Brielle?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I said. “This is serious. Are you cheating on Lois? What’s going on? You were raised better than this. Lois would never forgive you. Your mother will disown you! How can you be sleeping with another woman.”

“First off,” Clark said testily. “Nobody is sleeping with anyone,” he said. “And second, Lois and I are just friends.”

“But the tabloids!” I screeched and faltered. What if this Leslie doesn’t know Clark is an alien? I lowered my voice. “The world thinks you’re in love with Lois.”

Clark dropped the phone. “Love,” he laughed, shuffling on the other end as he righted the phone. “I’m her occasional errand boy and personal punching bag. There’s nothing going on between us.” I noticed how he didn’t deny that he loved her.

“Is that so?” I said dubiously. He followed Lois around like a lost puppy. She drove her car into a lake to get his attention. He knew how Lois liked her coffee. She knew his favorite comfort food and how to lift his spirits.The love between them was obvious to everyone except for Clark. I gave Leslie a week.

“Yes,” Clark said seriously. “And you can share that with the rest of the Smallville busybodies,” he sounded perturbed.

I clearly wasn’t the first concerned neighbor to butt in where I wasn’t wanted. What can I say? When you have a family member thousand of miles away, people tend to worry. Each week there seemed to be a new big bad trying to prove themselves by taking down Superman. Only yesterday a mobster tired to kill him with alien weapons. It made front page news.

“We’re just concerned about you, honey,” I said. “You haven’t called your mother in six months!”

“I just got back,” he lowered his voice. “It’s been hectic around here.”

The story The Daily Planet ran was that some nut hired Lobo to collect Superman and Lois got caught in the crossfire. And this was before Bruno Manheim allegedly used alien technology against Superman.

“And Lois, was with you?” I keep my voice neutral. The town is already abuzz with rumors. Clark and Lois on an alien planet together, alone, trapped inside a Kryptonian habitat . . . imagination did run wild. Some were just waiting to hear the announcement of Clark Jr.

“Well, yea,” Clark said, matching her neutral tone. “She got the story on Superman.”

“Right, the story,” I echo dubiously. “It’s always about the story with her.”

“Lois is in love with Superman, not me,” Clark said.

“But you are. . .” I swallowed my tongue. You are Superman! But I don’t want to risk the crazy lady hearing.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said cordially. “It was good hearing from you Mrs. T. I’ve got to go now.”

“No, Clark, wait!”

But he already hung up. Martha was not going to like this. I called Martha next, but she didn’t answer. So I called Widow Maud who lived down the road from the Kents. Within the hour the whole town knew about Leslie and was not happy.

Smallville was divided between team Lois and team Lana. I thought Lois was the best thing to happen to Clark since he discovered Stephen Spielberg movies. But we all agreed Leslie Willis was bad news and needed to go.

I easily found Lois’ number online and rang her up. “Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she answered breezily.

“Hi Lois,” I kept my voice cheery. “You probably don’t remember me,” I said, feeling silly as a schoolgirl playing matchmaker. “This Mrs. Timm,” I said, winching.

What was I doing? I didn’t even know if she knew he was Superman. But she was better than that phony. Lois and Clark had chemistry. They belonged together.

“I was Clark’s art teacher back in the day . . . We met briefly at Tipsy Chicken.”

“Oh yeah!” Lois explained. “You’re the nut that screamed at me.”

“Well, you were underage. You had no business being in a bar.”

“I was just there for moral support,” she admitted. “Clark was in a dark place.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” I treaded carefully. “He’s come down with something,” I think on my feet.

“Clark never gets sick.”

“He’s not quite sick,” I fib. “It’s more of a mental affliction,” I decided, which was true enough. “You should probably go check on him. Make sure he’s okay, cook him some cookies - he loves chocolate chip cookies.”

“You found out about Leslie,” Lois sighed loudly. “Clark is a big boy. He can make his own dumbass decisions.”

“She’s not right for him.”

“He’s got to figure that out the hard way.”

“She’s going to hurt him, you know that,” I tried again. “You remember how broken Lana left him.” The last thing they needed was a depressed Superman wrecking havoc.

“Eh,” Lois said carelessly. “Clark thinks he can fix Leslie, once he sees she’s a lost cause he’ll lose interest.” Clark didn’t give up easily. He saw the good in everyone even if they walked all over him.

“I give them a month,” she said confidently.

“You don’t sound the least bit jealous,” I observed.

“For the last time, nothing is ever going to happen between Clark and I, got it?”

“So nothing happened between you and Superman at the Cosmic Zoo?”

“I thought we were talking about Clark,” Lois said suspiciously.

“That’s not a denial,” I smirked. If I could just plant the seeds of doubt in her mind, everything else will fall into place. She loved Superman and was best friends with Clark Kent. It’s about time she realized her best friend was moonlighting as a superhero.

“Nothing happened,” Lois said dejectedly. “Now, did you just call to talk about Clark, or do you have a story for me?”

“Do me a favor, and check on him,” I implored. “I don’t like the idea of him being alone with that siren.”

“No problem,” Lois agreed. “But I’m not cooking. I’ll burn down the house.”

“Good thing you’re best friends with Superman, then?” COLLAPSE ▲

The bridesmaids gathered around the bed, each woman clutching the bottom sheet. They hummed along to a folk song, giggling as they made the bed.  Lois’ arms trembled as she hauled the sheet to the corner of the bed. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed this Greek tradition. She was bone-weary and sluggish. A cloud hovered over her brain, making it difficult to think.  … EXPAND ▼     

The bride-to-be danced around the bedroom, her feet moving passionately with each beat of the music. The flowers weaving through her bun made her look twenty years younger. She looked at Uncle Mike as if he were Perseus reincarnated. Lois couldn’t for the life of her remember the cook’s name. It was her cooking uncle Mike fell in love with.

 Lois’ eyes were drawn to the circle of groomsmen dancing around the bed, and crowing with glee. She found Clark instantly and moistened her lips. He threw his head back laughing, hands braced on the man’s shoulders beside him. The muscles in his forearms rippled, begging to be explored. Clark moved like a Greek who had learned to dance before walking. 

Hera, save me. That man’s moves were sinful. 

 It was so unfair the groomsmen got to be so close to her man while she was saddled with blankets. There was nothing more sexy than Superman Greek dancing. The only thing that would make it better was an airy toga with a great view. His broad shoulders rolled lyrically with each step – his movements as fluid as an incoming wave.    

“Na zisete!”  Clark screamed over the roar of the other Greeks. His voice crashed into her and Lois felt suddenly embarrassingly warm. She caught a whiff of electrifying ozone, the smell of lightning touching down — and an undercurrent of earthy tones uniquely Kal-El.

“Ela pare lige gia kali tichi!” 

A chunky bridesmaid offered her a basket of rice. Lois was annoyed at her view of Clark being blocked, but quickly forgave her when the smell of rice overpowered Clark’s scent. She took a fistful of rice and shoved it in her mouth. The bridesmaid’s eyes widened. She screamed at Lois, horrified. It was all Greek to her. 

“You’re supposed to throw the rice on the bed, not eat it,” Clark said, leaning into Lois from behind. His breath was hot on her neck and smelled like honey. Lois stiffened, her body itching to grab him. 

“It’s tasty.” 

Not as tasty as his mouth. Lois whirled around and slammed her mouth on his. Clark’s eyes widened. Cheers erupted from the bridal shower. She forced her way on top of him, heedless of the audience they had. She couldn't get enough of him. 

“Kai sa echoume enan allo gamo!” the bride-to-be clapped enthusiastically. She screamed at her bridesmaids. Lois gnawed at Clark’s bottom lip, only half listening. Greeks only had two volumes, loud and louder. It was difficult to tell whether the bride-to-be was angry or elated to see her future niece so happy. 

 Clark screeched like a dachshund who got its tail stepped on. Lois blinked confusedly, barely registering what was happening. Two hefty men tossed Clark onto the bed, laughing and applauding. Arms grabbed Lois from behind and dropped her on top of Clark. The beadboard groaned under their combined weight. She felt Clark tense with fear, and she grabbed his hand to reassure him. She knew how much he hated the attention. 

“This is bad luck for the wedding!” Clark protested, trying to get up. “We’re not the ones getting married!” 

 Uncle Mike gently pushed him back to the bed. He looped an arm around his fiance’s ample waist. She grinned ear-to-ear. “Much too old to be thrown on a bed,” Uncle Mike smiled, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Not good for me ol’ back.”  

“But it’s tradition!” Clark protested. The bridal party was happy with the new arrangement. People threw money and rice over Lois and Clark, gay laughter ringing through the bedroom. The bride and groom danced around the bed. Lois was impressed by how freely they moved in the small area. Lois had never seen Uncle Mike so happy and free before. He dipped and spun his fiance, kissing her as eagerly as a schoolboy. A cousin flung money at the happy couple and then threw some more at Lois and Clark. 

Lois was hunkered down by Clark, basking under the glow of the adoring crowd. Euros and rice rained down on them—a spattering of white feathered throughout Clark’s black hair. She plucked a grain off his eyebrow and ate it. Clark scowled. 

“You know there’s real food in the . . .” 

She shut him up with a hard kiss. She hoped that when it was their wedding day, it would be as joyous as this. With their track record, it was unlikely.    COLLAPSE ▲

Forgive the long absence. Writer's block is not fun!

Now we see what Lois and company are up to.

Drop a line of comment if you get a chance.

As the sleek silver Jeep Grand Cherokee whipped through Metropolis’ late-night traffic towards the business center of downtown, Eugene exclaimed, “Miss Lane! Don’t drive so fast! The police will pick us up for speeding long before we get to RoxxTen!”

“If you had worn the right outfit when you first came downstairs, I wouldn’t have to drive so fast!” she retorted. “Who ever heard of someone wearing… EXPAND ▼ a white shirt and tie when they are going to break into a building?”

“Sorry, I forgot to consult my latest copy of ‘What the Well-Dressed Burglar Should Wear!’” Eugene snapped back, tugging at the sleeves of a black wool turtleneck sweater that protruded from beneath a heavy jacket.

Talmadge couldn’t help but smile. Their reluctant computer expert passenger had guts talking to Lois as if they were bickering siblings. But Eugene Laderman was in for a surprise. Talmadge’s smiled turned into a smirk as he said, “Relax, this is Lois’ normal driving.”

Tapping Lois on the shoulder, Eugene said, “You didn’t drive like that during the Ides of March caper –”

Lois interrupted, “I couldn’t risk it then! At that time the police were always two steps away from arresting us! Look, consider this night out an adventure! How many of your colleagues ever leave the comfort and security of the classroom or computer lab to hang out with two intrepid reporters and stop the wrongdoings of an international criminal organization?”

“Only me, but –

“So, now you’re ahead of the curve! But my temporary partner and I are the experts, so like the man said, relax and leave the driving to me.”

Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Eugene said, sitting back with a reluctant groan.

Talmadge’s normally mild tone lifted with a touch of humor. “That’s why we asked you to help us; nobody else would be crazy enough to do it.”

“Terrific. That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Came the petulant reply from the back seat.

“Sorry, Talmadge,” Lois corrected, “But Eugene isn’t the only scientist who tagged along with me and … Clark.” Her voice wavered on his name.

It was quiet inside the Jeep for a few moments and then, Eugene sensing how much it cost to mention her missing fiancé’s name said. tried to shift the conversation, “Who else went with you on nights like this?” He still couldn’t bring himself to say they were going to break into RoxxTen.

“Bernie Klein.”

Eugene gave a low whistle and said in a respectful tone. “Doctor Bernard Klein?”

Talmadge looked first at Lois and then turned in his seat and glared at Eugene, “Who is Dr. Klein?”

His companions proceeded to tell him about the shy genius scientist who worked for S.T.A.R. Labs and Lois filled in how he had assisted her and Clark on a number of daring escapades. Lois was secretly grateful to Eugene for quickly taking the spotlight off Clark and shifting the focus onto their scientist friend. After all this time, she was still uncomfortable talking at length about her fiancé in front of Talmadge.

On they drove through the cold, dark night, passing the Daily Planet, Napier Avenue and Centennial Park. As they sped by the lovely park, wrapped in early winter’s drab hues, Lois stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the now deserted fountain where Clark had proposed. Although Centennial Park’s main fountain was not musical like many others that had been built around the same time, the water patterns which spurted from the fountain were ever-changing, with soft twinkling lights, as gentle as a lover’s kiss. That enchanted spot held too many happy memories, and right now was not the time to revisit them.

Finally, Lois made a hard right turn, and from the back seat came a sharp intake of breath. However, to Eugene’s credit, he never uttered another word of complaint. Maybe talking about how brave Bernie had been on his stake-outs had helped firm his own resolve to go on one himself.

With that last abrupt turn, the Jeep pulled deep into a dark alley and parked in the rear of a single black dumpster filled with all kinds of trash, that recked terribly despite the cold night. With this action they were leaving bright streetlights behind. The only illumination now was slivers of light from the full moon high above, slicing between the two tall rectangle office buildings.

In a low whisper Lois said, “Okay guys, we are here.” She reached into the backpack and, after rummaging around in it, pulled out a pair of thin, plastic surgical gloves. “Wait a minute, Eugene. Put these gloves on. Remember your fingerprints are in the Metro PD database.”

Eugene closed his eyes and made a slow groan. But he wordlessly slipped the gloves over his fingers.

Everybody out,” she said, opening her door. Phew! That dumpster stinks of spoiled cabbage and rotten eggs!” Lois muttered.

The threesome quietly exited the car. Talmadge handed her the backpack and she slung it over her shoulders. Speedily and silently the trio made their way to the side entrance. The oxygen that was expelled from their lungs made clouds of frost in the freezing night air.

Before them was a heavy door with a square steel lock. Quickly, Lois pulled out the gleaming lock-picking tools and went to work on it. In a very few seconds, the lock yielded to her ministrations and the door swung open with a slight metallic click. They all winced upon hearing the sound, echo down the alley, hoping no one was inside the building to hear it.

They entered the maintenance area and proceeded soundlessly up a flight of concrete stairs. They were in luck, as the building seemed to be unusually devoid of life, but it was late Friday night and doubtless, most, if not all, of the staff had departed early. At this hour, even the cleaning crew had completed all assigned tasks and headed for home.

“What floor is Simcoe’s office on?” Eugene asked.

“The fifth. Its where all the customer service reps are stationed.” Talmadge replied.

“How … how do you know so much about this place?” Eugene’s breath labored as they ran up the stairs.

Lois whispered the answer, “Like any good reporter, he does his research. Now be quiet! We’re almost there!”

They exited the stairwell on Simcoe’s floor after thoroughly examining the darkened corridor to make sure it was deserted. Despite walking quietly, their footsteps made loud clicking sounds on the tile floors. The trio moved down the hallway until they were outside of his office. Lois knelt down so that her eyes would be on the same level as the door lock and again fished out her lock picking-kit from her backpack. As she was unzipping it to get out the tools she thought were needed, Eugene, growing frustrated by the delay and worried that someone might come along, reached out, turned the doorknob, and pushed.

The door swung obligingly open.

Lois was chagrined. Why hadn’t she thought to check to see if it was unlocked instead of just assuming that she would have to pick the lock? To cover any embarrassment, she blew out a breath and said, “Thanks, Eugene.” Standing, she led the way into the office. Once they were all inside, since the door was solid, Paul switched on the light.

“This is the office of a customer service representative?” Lois said incredulously. “It’s larger than Perry’s and has a window!”

Indeed, the office was spacious with a U-shaped desk setup including a hutch with frosted glass doors and covered in commercial grade laminate the color of expresso coffee beans. There was a door next to the desk that must be either a supply or coat closet.

But the most unusual feature of the room was the body stretched out on the tile floor in front of the desk, an ugly purple bruise, long and straight across his face. There were other markings as well, a blue powder. Some of the powdery substance was sprinkled in the man’s hair. Lois, despite being frightened was trying to remember where she had seen such a colored powder before.

Eugene let out a yelp of surprise as his gaze fell on the body, and he turned to exit. Lois laid a restraining hand on his arm and asked in a harsh whisper, “Where do you think you’re going?”

His mouth fell open, all color draining from the normally bland face as he pointed at the body laying down on the floor. He whispered in a hoarse voice. “What did I say earlier about breaking the rules? I knew something awful like this was going to happen! No sooner do I get involved with you in a caper, I’m tripping over dead bodies! The very nature of successfully hacking into a company computer is that no one realizes it’s been done. A corpse changes matters dramatically. People… especially the police, are bound to think one of us is the killer.”

Again, he turned to run out of the room, but Lois grabbed his elbow and, with an effort to camouflage her shaky voice, insisted, “No. We… we have a job to do.”

While they were arguing, Paul knelt down and placed a gloved finger on the throat of the man for a moment before looking up, “The body’s still warm, but he’s gone. Our computer friend is correct. I knew something like this would happen.”

Lois, trying to hide her own shock, said to Eugene, “See, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The poor man is dead already, so there’s no way can he cause us any harm. Look, I understand this is completely unexpected, but why don’t you do what we came here to do? The computer is on the desk. Please examine it.”

Nervously looking at the dead man, Eugene nodded stiffly and moved around the body like a scuttling crab for cover behind the desk. He wasn’t a quitter. No one could have gone through the experiences of falling in love with a traitorous woman like Lena, being used as the patsy for her husband’s supposed murder, and fighting for his freedom, and be a coward. Yet whenever he spent time with Lois Lane and Clark Kent or, in this case the mysterious Paul Talmadge, the most remarkable events took place – such as breaking into an office building and finding a dead body! His was definitely not the normal life of a professor of computer science.

Meanwhile, Paul had been studying the dead man’s features. Lois pulled a camera out of her bag and started snapping pictures. As she did, Paul said, “I recognize the victim. This is Mr. Elden Kraft. He’s the missing accountant/computer genius everyone has been looking for. I saw a dodger on him in Bill Henderson’s office.”

Lois said, “Look at his face, those blue marks, almost like the woad markings on the Scottish Celts in Braveheart.”

“Not exactly; those markings were of a darker hue. This looks more like pool cue chalk.” Talmadge said.

“Chalk?” Lois asked.

Musingly, Talmadge said, “Yeah, like pool cue chalk. Where have we seen that before?”

There was a comment from Eugene at this point, “Hah, gotcha. I was right. It was turned off. It is booting up now. I need to look around. There may be a clue to his password somewhere here in the office.”

Laying a gentle hand on his shoulder Lois said consolingly “Go to it, Eugene. We are counting on you.”

As Lois turned away, Eugene started to examine the items in the office. There were a couple of pictures of Simcoe with a large German Shepard. He mused, “He’s a dog fancier. The password could be the dog’s name. That would make it difficult. I’d have to run a dictionary. What else is there around here?” He continued his search, riffling through papers and floppy disks scattered on the desk. Finally, he looked up at the cabinets above the desk. Prominently, in the center, sat a spreadsheet. It was quite simple, having only a date and a word scrambled next to it. Eugene turned to Lois and said, “Eureka! Apparently, he is a bug about altering his password frequently, but he is only concerned about an outsider attack.” Placing a finger on the spreadsheet, he continued, “This is a list of his passwords! I just need to go backward from today to see which one works.”

Lois said in a whisper, “’Was’. The man is dead.”

“Never mind Lois! Keep working on that machine, Eugene. We need every bit of information it spills out!” Talmadge said, with more life in his voice than usual.

“Exactly. Information. Why is Elden Kraft here in Simcoe’s office of all places? Everyone was after him. Including prominent members of Intergang,” Lois said with a sigh.
Nodding his head, Talmadge muttered, “Agreed. Why Simcoe’s office? Why not his own?

Lois lifted slender shoulders and shrugged; the man has been missing for months now. She replied, “By this time, surely his office is occupied by another accountant. Remember when we interviewed Simcoe? He was so smug about how Kraft had covered up the computer glitch which caused so many clients’ bills to go unpaid. What if all the information we need to know about Belfield’s activities and his connection to Intergang are tied up in that thing’s rusty innards?”
“But what about Kraft’s computer?” Talmadge said.

“Insurance companies are notorious for being tight-fisted. Rather than wiping the hard drive or dumping Kraft’s machine, they would have given it to someone else… like Simcoe.”

“That is cheap!” Talmadge scoffed in annoyance.

Eugene noisily turned around in his chair to join the conversation, cautiously trying not to look at the corpse that lay only a few feet away. “Oh, that’s a very common practice! Our department does that all the time. A colleague departs for whatever reason and the computer is purged of all the former teacher’s passwords and access codes. One associate jokingly said he would leave a backdoor program open so he could always have access to the department’s social calendar. Koechling will do anything for free food and drinks…”

Lois narrowed her eyes and then said, “That must be it! Secret access to whatever RoxxTen had going on. Think about it: Elden vanishes mysteriously, and his computer is taken to have its settings returned to ‘factory fresh’. But either he creates a backdoor or Simcoe gets the computer and continues taking payments from the clients, yet does not grant remuneration for medical services.”

“Good theory, Lane. But what brought Elden here tonight? Most important of all… who killed him and why?”

Rubbing her chin Lois sighed, “Let’s hope Eugene can pull something off the machine’s hard drive. That should point us in the right direction.

It only took a few minutes for Eugene to access what he needed and then insert a disk to copy information off the hard drive.

“Almost done,” Eugene said with palpable relief. Working in a room with a corpse was an unnerving experience, and he wanted it over with as soon as possible.

“Good. We can leave, and no one will ever suspect we were here,” Lois said.

Just as the computer made a short sharp sound indicating the download process was finished, Eugene removed the disk and placed it in his jacket’s inner pocket, they heard the creak of a door opening, male voices, and heavy footsteps approaching.

Swiftly Talmadge turned off the lights, grabbed Eugene and pulled him to hide in the closet. Meanwhile, Lois squeezed into the knee space under the desk, ducking out of sight.

A minute passed, as the footsteps grew closer. Abruptly the door was thrown open, and the light switch hurriedly flipped on. Apparently, the newcomers were not concerned about being discovered.

The sounds of two sets of feet could be heard. Two men: one heavyset, with shuffling steps, and the other, with ultra-light footsteps, who must be as thin as a beanpole, entered the office. With the efficient movements of an undertaker’s assistants, they came to collect Elden Kraft’s body. In the process, they struck the computer desk and bumped the monitor, which awakened from sleep mode.

“Hey McCracken, what about the computer? It’s just lit up! I thought it was off when we was here before. Maybe somebody’s here?”

With a grunt, McCracken said, “Nyah, it was probably on all the time. My nephew says computers go to sleep if nobody’s working on ‘em. Besides, if anybody’s here, I got somethin’ for them.”

“Put that gun away! We… we don’t need no more trouble! What would your geeky nephew think?” Beanpole asked nervously.

“That he needs to keep his head in the books. Look, if ya so worried about a computer, we’ll use it to weigh down the body when we toss it into Hobbs Bay. The guy who’s paying us will like that we’re cleanin’ up loose ends. Especially since he was the one to put Kraft’s lights out.”

“How’s about taking it to your nephew? Tell your sister it’s a gift.” The thin man wheezed with laughter.

“Idiot! The last thing I need is for that kid to be crawling around in a stolen computer, especially one that was used by that weasel, Simcoe. We’ll come back up here and get it after putting Kraft in the trunk.” With that, the two men exited carrying Elden Kraft’s body between them.

Lois sat under the desk thinking one of the men’s voices was familiar, when she heard the meaty thud of a body hitting the floor and McCracken’s voice from the other side of the door growl. “Hicks! Shut the lights off!”

The heavy wooden office door opened again, and they could overhear Hicks muttering darkly about how some people think they are the boss of everyone. He quickly shut off the lights, closed the door and rejoined his companion to complete their grisly task.

The sharp click of the closet door opening filled the now silent office, Talmadge whispered, “Lois, are they gone?”

“Yeah, but let’s give it another five minutes. We don’t want anyone seeing or hearing us leave. Those tile floors are noisy!”

The time passed slowly, but soon Lois peeked out from the knee space. “Whew! That was close! “Guys, let’s get out of here!”

“But what about the computer? We can’t let them take it! There might be essential information on there!” Talmadge said.

In a hoarse whisper, Lois replied, “A good investigative reporter knows when it’s time to cut and run! Those thugs are going to be back in a few minutes. Eugene, did you get everything that was on the hard drive?”

“Maybe…”

Talmadge cut through their conversation in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, “We need to leave. Now. One of those guys is armed and we have nothing to defend ourselves with.”

Without another word, Paul walked across the room and cautiously opened the door. Seeing no one in the corridor, he motioned for his associates to follow. As silently as possible, they departed the empty office and swiftly retraced their steps down the service stairway until they exited the office building into the cold winter night.

Two things hit their faces upon emerging from the building: the frigid, crisp air, and the overripe smells of rotting garbage from the dumpster. Lois slid behind the wheel, waited for Talmadge and Eugene to get in their seats, and then fired up the Jeep’s engine. They pulled out, moving toward the light at the end of the darkened alley, glad to be out of danger."

Little did they realize that a dark figure huddled beside the dumpster, watching them leave with intense eyes. The man pulled a camera from the confines of a stylishly cut black coat. As the Jeep drove out of the alley, the light from a streetlamp spilled over the vehicle and he took a single photo of the license plate.

***

Lois released the breath she had been holding as the Jeep turned a corner, narrowly missing a Metrocab. The driver leaned hard on his horn, and the deafening noise echoed down the street, but her response was to push harder on the accelerator.

“Are you trying to draw the authorities down on us?” Eugene asked nervously.

“No. I’m looking for a place to stop so I can call the cops.”

Eugene fairly squeaked, “What! Lois, why? They will know we were there at the scene of a crime. That I was there! What about that promise that my name wouldn’t come up? As reporters … especially you Miss Lane … the unexpected is expected. But with Superman gone…” His voice trailed off at the same time that Lois pulled into a brightly lit twenty-four-hour gas station.

Once the engine was silent, she turned to Eugene and said. “That promise is still good. No one needs to know Eugene Latimer was in Simcoe’s office unless you tell them. But a crime, a murder, has been committed and it must be reported. Inspector Henderson can send over his team hopefully before those two thugs get too far.”

Opening up the car door, Lois said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“What happened to your cell phone?” Talmadge asked.

Looking towards the ceiling she groaned, “Forgotten at home. Still not used to carrying the pesky thing!” With that, she jumped out of the Jeep and ran for the pay phone inside.

It was silent for a moment in the Jeep, then Talmadge, using his chin, pointed in the direction of the gas station, and spoke. “Eugene, trust her. Nothing is more important to that lady than loyalty. She will do everything in her power to keep your involvement in this situation anonymous.”

Eugene sighed then said, “I know that’s true. To be honest, if I had really wanted to stay out of this situation, I should have told both of you to leave my office. Don’t worry about me complaining anymore Mr. Talmadge. By the way, where is your cell phone?”

Embarrassed, he said, “Regardless of what everyone tells me about how important they are to modern life, I’m still not used to having a mobile, either. I forgot to put it in the docking station!”

Despite all that had happened to him that day, Eugene started to laugh. “Welcome to my world, Mr. Talmadge. My mobile is rarely charged!”

His companion gifted Eugene with a tight smile. The computer professor had turned a corner. He was going to be okay. “No need to be so formal after all we have been through this evening. Paul. My first name is Paul.” COLLAPSE ▲

Lois checks into a clinic that treats amnesia. While she's supposed to be recovering, one of the doctors in the clinic is brainwashing patients to commit murders. Lois' doctor, after forbidding Clark from disclosing his relationship with her, begins to fall for Lois.

-Favourite scene?
-Favourite quote?
-Fanfic recommendations?
-Plot bunnies to release?