Last night he'd called his big scoop in to the News Desk of the Star; reporting that Governor Anders had stopped Evelyn Curry's execution, and that the Police had Bea Carroll in custody in connection with the murder of Jack Kennedy. He felt he clearly satisfied George Taylor's demands.
Today he expected to start at the Daily Star as full Reporter, with a wage, and a Press card, and most importantly unfettered access to the huge new gathering machine that was Metropolis's leading daily paper.
“Wow buddy – look at this the Curry girl is innocent according to the Star.”
Kent recognised his neighbour coming home from his night shift.
“Really? Please can I look at that?.”
Kent looked at the Headline. In seconds he absorbed the article, two things pleased him, and one puzzled him. His byline was there, 'Reporting by Clark Kent ' and there was no obvious reference to his actions in costume.
Good! he thought, I'm not mentioned.
What he didn't understand was the byline – additional reporting Lois Lane, and the inclusion of the text of Bea Carroll's confession. Somehow Lane had got hold of this word for word.
Clark was impressed; and concerned, clearly Lane wasn't just a pretty face, she was a good reporter, he would have to be careful around her, or risk exposing his double identity and the advantage that this gave him.
Clark walked into the Newsroom of the Star. He was immediately intercepted by a man he recognised as a fellow reporter.
“Kent, given those glasses – it's got to be?”
Clark nodded.
“Good. I thought so; glad you're here, glad you're early – good sign.” The big man yawned. “Me I've yet to get to bed.” He gestured across the Newsroom.
“Taylor wants to see you in his office straight away, that's like now - hustle buddy, the Chief's all steamed up about something.
“And Kent - congratulations on your first front page; and welcome to the team by the way .”
“Thanks...”
“Get moving Kent! I'm Lombard, in case you're wondering, and my top tip for your first day is: Never keep the Chief waiting.”
Kent hustled. Greeted Alice, who just pointed towards her boss. Clark knocked and entered the glazed Editor's Office.
Taylor lent back as Kent opened the door. “Sit down Kent.” He said
Clark took a chair in front of the big desk. Seated across from them was a immaculately turned out Lois Lane; not that she fooled him, he could see through her make up, she was dog tired, running on adrenaline, and her heart beat was raised. Something was exciting her; and Taylor for that matter.
Yet they were playing it cool. Clark relaxed in the chair; hiding his concern.
“You wanted to see me Mr Taylor?”
“My Reporters call me Chief.”
“Sorry Chief. Does that mean I'm officially on the team?”
“Depends Kent. Can't say I haven't hired you. You delivered a front page, just like I asked; but that doesn't mean I won't fire you just as fast.”
Clark looked puzzled. He genuinely was.
“You ever heard of Superman?”
“What! I mean who – who is super-man?”
Taylor gestured to Lane.
Lois looked Clark in the eye, at least she looked at his thick lenses.
“Superman is what people are calling the fella you didn't describe in your first freelance piece. Remember that one - buried on page four of yesterday evenings edition. You called in the Baker County Jail riot. What you reported was that 'a civic minded citizen persuaded the mob to disperse with a powerful argument'.
“What actually happened was Superman punched out every single rioter, and saving the alleged Kennedy shooter - Sims from a lynching.”
Taylor picked up the lecture. “You see Kent, you failed to communicate the nuance of this Superman's compelling argument in your otherwise very accurate – well let's be honest dry report of what went on.” He lent forward and pointed a finger. “Thing is Kent I want to know what is going on between you and this Superman character, why didn't you report this story? Dammit man – Superman is the story; a front page in itself.”
“You're right Mr Taylor I didn't mention Superman.”
“Why Kent? Don't you want to be Reporter?”
“Chief, look it from my point of view; I didn't know what to think – I'm green, I'm an unknown quantity to you, and imagine it - I ring into the News desk with a tall tale of a super-man beating up a gang of thugs?
“I mean would you have given me the time of day? This is the Daily Star, not some penny rag with stories of aliens and ghosts and such. I thought you'd laugh me out town.
“Look I can see why - when Lois found out about... Superman's appearance – why you'd listen to her, she's a tremendous Reporter – with a great record. But me - I'm just a fella from Kansas looking for a break.”
“Okay Kent that sounds fair – but what about this business with Bea Carroll? Taylor asked. “You were the first Reporter to call in the story that the Curry girl had been reprieved by the Governor, how do you explain that.”
Clark looked at Taylor and then at Lane; he could tell by their posture, their pulse, their attitude, that there was something as yet unspoken going on. He knew for sure Lane had got a copy of the Carroll confession to Taylor; what does Lois know he wondered.
“Chief my source was Superman.” Stick with the truth Clark, his Mom had always told him.
“You know Superman?” Lane asked.
“We talked after the Baker County Jail Riot, he told me Sims was innocent, what Sims had said – he then said he was going to prove it; and if I wanted that story I'd keep him out of the papers.
“Given that I didn't think I could sell the whole 'man takes on a mob single handed and wins' angle – I thought it was a fair deal – that I'd get a real headline story if I played it Superman's way.”
“Why were you at the Hilow Club?” Lois asked
“I was trying to get to Bea Carroll, since Sims had named her as the guilty party. I was going to talk to her but Superman got there first. I let him do his thing.
“Later he called me, gave me the scoop as he'd promised, and I called the Star with the story.”
Taylor relaxed. “Okay Kent. I'm sold – you made sense.”
“Then I'm still hired?”
“Yes. Truth is Kent I had a hard enough time believing Lois when she told me about Superman.”
Taylor raised a hand to Lois stopping her before she could speak – she sulked offended.
“If it hadn't have been for Governor Anders calling me himself – asking me not to go public with the Superman story, until he had chance to brief the State Authorities, I wouldn't have believed any of this.“
Lois wasn't going to stay quiet. “So what now chief?”
Taylor kicked back. “Isn't it obvious. I'm making this your steady assignment.”
“Covering Superman?” Lois asked obviously pleased.
Then Taylor surprised them both, saying. “You think you can handle it Kent?”
Lois looked dumbstruck.
“Chief if I can't find out anything about this Superman – no one can.” Clark stated confidently.
“Taylor laughed. “I didn't mean covering reports of the guy with a cape Kent. I reckon you're ahead there already.
“Really I meant can you handle Lane?”
“What do you mean George?” Lois demanded. She glared at Taylor.
The Editor of Star smiled. “This is your steady assignment – both of you – Kent clearly has the connection – he's won Superman's trust; he's good at the details – he's accurate.
“Lane you're all fired up as usual and your the best damn Reporter, man or woman, that's ever hustled me; so that's how it is – you're both already all over this story, so you can work together on this Superman thing - or not at all.”
“Chief!”
“Lois – don't push it! Yes or No?”
“Yes.” She replied quietly fuming.
“Kent?”
“Working with Miss Lane will be a honour Chief.” Clark answered as Lane stormed out.
Taylor laughed. “Better run Kent, if wanna keep up with that dame, you'll have too.”
Taylor had not been joking Kent reflected; he did need to hustle to keep ahead in this fast changing game; things hadn't played out as he had planned. He wasn't sure what the rules were yet, and even which side his new 'partner' was really playing for. Would Lois's investigative flair lead her to him – would she discover his secret? If so would she expose him?
'Superman' Lois had called his costumed alter-ego. He hadn't considered taking a name; maybe it that was down to his inherited mid western conservatism: adopting a title bestowed on you by your peers was one thing, creating one felt like an act unbridled pride; and pride came before a fall his Mom would say.
He watched Lane exiting across the Newsroom floor. She moved with like a movie star, dressed to wow in high heels and pencil skirt, add in a matching tailored jacket that kicked out from under the neat colour coded belt, and a delicate hat pinned in place – she looked like one too.
“Any of you News Hounds want a tip?” Jake asked. “Come on, I know it's early... Kent?”
“I'm with Lois...”
“That ship has sailed 'Mr Front Page' – do you want this tip or not?”
“I let Lombard have it, but he's away in dreamland over there.”
Kent could see the journalist asleep, you didn't need good ears to hear the loud snoring.
“All right what's the lowdown?”
“I just got a tip from my buddy down at Metro-PD; they've just had a small time operator by the name of Connor in the cooler overnight on a drunk and disorderly, they've let him walk on account they reckon he's running with a real bad crowd – Matson's gang; they're hoping he'll lead them to bigger fish.
“My pal reckons he left them in a foulest of moods – like he was spoiling for a fight. Thing is Kent he has reputation for beating on his wife.”
“Do you want it? - Could be lead into something bigger?”
“Okay Jake I'll take it, where to?”
“211 Court Avenue is the home address - either there on any bar between there and Metro-PD Central.”
Clark left the Daily Star Building, but Superman arrived at Court Avenue. The red and blue blur wasted no time in scanning the tenement with his exceptional senses. Connor was home. Jake's pal was spot on - Connor was angry; he was blind with rage and he was already taking his senseless anger out on his wife.
Superman's reaction was swift. He bit down hard as he struggled with his righteous indignation; from boy to man he understood that only the lowest of the low raised his hand to a woman. From pulling pigtails to punching seven bells out a terrified mother, Superman saw a bully and coward.
The Man of Steel didn't wait to try the door, he smashed through it like a wrecking ball.
“Hold it!” He roared.
Connors looked around startled; he held his belt above his head. Not satisfied with his fists he was lashing the woman at his feet with the folded leather strap.
“What do you want?” He snarled. “Get out of my house. I'll have the law here, you can't break into a man's place, this ain't any of your business.”
“As soon as you struck her, you made this my business.” Superman strode to face the ugly tempered thug.
“Don't get tough fella! Just head on back to what ever sideshow you tumbled out of – and keep out of my face.”
Connors jabbed the Man of Tomorrow's chest, but found himself hoisted to head height with one hand.
Superman held the failing spitting bully at arms length. “Tough is putting mildly the treatment you've you're going to get – unless you simmer down and give up all you know about Matson's operation.”
Connors responded with a torrent of foul mouthed expletives.
Superman roared back at him. “You're not fighting a woman now!” Full of just anger the Man of Tomorrow hurled Connors against the opposite wall. Connors's back smacked hard, plaster broke away from the wooden lattice behind covering him in dust, sliding down onto his ass, he sat stunned.
Superman approaches the winded man, waiting for him to finishing coughing and gasping.
“Give it up.” He warns.
Beside Connors lay the contents of the kitchens utensil draw, and grabbing a cooks knife, the angry fool drove at the Man of Steel, and with considerable force boosted by rage driven by fear, Connors thrusts the Knife downwards striking at Superman's heart. With a sharp snap the blade breaks!
He gasps and stares open mouthed at the broken blade, the heavy knife useless against Superman's invulnerable form.
“Now I'm going to give you a lesson you will never forget Connors.” Superman said coolly.
Wide eyed Connors shook, his face paled, and then he collapses. For a moment Superman let's him fall, but his strength of character prompts his actions always, and at the last his powerful hands catch Connors before he smashes to the floor.
“Fainted!” Superman observes, before his superhuman hearing detects the rapid approach of heavy footsteps.
In whirling blur Superman reaches under his cloak where he'd attached the waterproof satchel to the back of his elastic costume; he empties it of the compressed clothing, first the bulkiest items – his shoes. Then with the balance and poise of a dancer the caped man dons his street-clothes and vanishes replaced by Clark Kent.
By the time the Police arrive, alerted into action by Connors Neighbours Superman has vanished, leaving Clark kneeling by the unconscious man.
“What are you doing here?”
“Captain..” Clark observed the high ranking officers rank by his insignia.
“Blake. Metro-PD Central. Who the hell are you?”
“Kent, Clark Kent.” He stood and flashed his press card. “Reporter with the Star.”
“Don't know you Kent.” The Captain holstered his gun, he gestured to the two accompanying officer's to check out Connors.
“Here's a heads up Mr Kent. I'm what you'd call the Sheriff in these parts, I ask the questions, and people give me the answers. So – once more; what are you doing here?”
“Just arrived myself, found the place like this, saw this caped man going out the window as I was coming through what was left of the door.
“I guess it looks like our friend Superman has dropped in to pay this fella a visit.”
“You're lucky Kent, I've been put in the picture about this Superman; one my boys would be running you down town, Star Reporter or not; but I'm interested what do you know?”
“I covered that business that went down over at the Governor's Estate; that's all.
“Mind if I talk to the wife?”
The Captain seemed satisfied yet displeased. “Go ahead, I doubt you'll get much out of her, she loves this waste of space regardless.”
-'S'-
“Lane - I thought you and Kent were chasing down Superman.” Taylor asked.
“I'm making some calls now Chief. Leave it with me I can get this story.”
“Yeah? Kent's making calls too. Except he's ringing in with a Superman story, not sat here chasing could haves and maybes.”
Lois bit her lip. “Sorry Chief. Guess running around last night took more out of me than I thought. I should maybe take a leaf out of Lombard's book and get some beauty sleep while I'm at it.”
Taylor laughed. “Nah, Lane, take one look at that lug, sleeping here never made him any more beautiful – and the thought of two lookers like Lombard is more than my poor heart can take.
“But seriously Lois, give Kent a break, I'm not asking you to marry the guy and have his kids, just stick with the assignment; two heads are better than one. Cover the ground apart if you must, but make sure you're working together – get it?”
“Righto Chief, Understood.”
“Good. Well here's your chance; when Kent gets back I want you two to work up a piece to lead tomorrow's paper – I'm thinking a big Superman headline – So start scribbling. I want all the strands from last night tied together - but this time lets put big blue and red in the middle of it all.
Taylor read the prose the two Reporters has submitted. “You type this Kent?”
“Yes Chief – is it Okay?”
“Kent it's great. I'm tempted to fire you and then hire you on the proof-desk; and that's a threat by the way if you don't shape up.
“The pace and style of the piece - that's clearly Lois Lane; that's the fire I wanted.”
“Thanks Chief.”
“Save it Lois, I'm thinking I might just get Kent to sit down and teach you to use a type writer properly.”
Lois pulled a face.
Taylor pulled out at mock-up of the Star's front page.
“This is how I see it.”
A banner headline ran across the top of the page under the Daily Star motif. 'Announcing the newest wonder of the world!'
Then in triple height banner headline 'Superman!”
Then yet another banner headline. 'Governor Anders confirms existence of superhuman agent of justice!'
“I just wish we had a decent picture to run with. I hate to admit it but the Picture Post is eating into our circulation with it's image led format.”
“I guess if it's pictures you want then we're going to have run with a camera. Maybe we'll get lucky.” Lois suggested. ”Kent here apparently managed to catch a glimpse of Superman this morning. ”
“Thanks but no thanks Lane. You're better with a typewriter than you are with a camera. What about you Kent?”
Lois stuck her tongue out at the back of Taylor's head.
“Can't say I've taken many pictures Mr Taylor. I could try.”
“Forget it for now. Stick with learning this reporting gag; I want to see Lane's fire in your belly and on the page.
“I'll guess I'll have look into finding someone to run with you. Should be some fella in Metropolis that can take a picture and wants the work. Until then we'll just go with what we have.”
“Is that it Chief, are we done?” Lois asked.
Taylor blew a smoke ring and nodded, waving them back to the News floor.
Lois kicked back in her chair. “Well Kent, that's the end of your first full day. I sure hope things stay as interesting now you're here.”
She laughed.
“What's so funny.” Clark asked.
“Just that you 're so well... y' know square – and yet exciting things happen around you.
“Oh I'm sorry Kent that wasn't so kind of me.
“I'm tired.”
“Okay Lois – I think I understand – Why don't I just take that as a compliment - but I'm sorry too, sorry that you're tired, you see I was wondering Lois,
“Wondering if you'd come dancing with me tonight?”
“Why Clark – are you asking me out on a date?”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“Thank you, that surprised me. I really didn't think you'd be the sort just to ask a girl out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had you pegged a the 'cautious lets be friends' type
“Shoot Clark - I guess I'm not making this partnership thing very easy; but that's my point, we work together, and it wouldn't be professional of us to step out together too.”
“Oh, I see, but what if I told you I had ulterior motives?”
“Clark Kent – what would your Mother say!”
Clark looked shocked. “Nooo. I mean well, you're really very attractive and I mean...”
“Stop digging Kent. Just start over.”
Clark took a deep breath.
“Y'know my Superman scoop.”
“Yes Kent rub the salt in why don't you.”
“I didn't mean...”
Lois interrupted. “Just tell me what your thinking”.
Clark adjusted his tie. “Well I spoke to that poor woman; Mrs Connors, the battered wife, she wasn't easy to talk to, but I did manage to learn something.”
“And?” Lois asked.
“Well I wanted to check it this evening – that was my other motive.”
“So this date you had planned out was really work?”
“Yes; errm maybe I hoped we'd have some fun too. Is that so bad?”
Lois laughed. “Wait let me grab and coffee. You want one?”
“Thanks.”
“Okay. There you go Kent, shoot. What did the Connors Woman say?”
“Sadly it went along the lines that her husband wasn't a bad man, that it was her fault because she made him mad, and so on – but then she told me that Connors had a job; y' know as if it made everything all right. She was real proud of that. She told me he was working as a doorman at a joint called the Atlantis Club and since the Cops have Connors running with Matson.”
“Hey Okie my boy! Good work!” Lois beamed. “Word is Matson is muscling in on that place.”
“Yeah that's what the News desk said; doesn't this pretty much seal it – Matson must be using the Club as his latest front.”
“So you were going to take me down to the Atlantis to see if you could pick up any leads, and thought you'd stand out less if you were on a date?”
“Lois you make it sound like I'm just trying to use you to get a story.”
She smiled. “You might yet make it as Reporter Clark Kent.
“Maybe that gal was right about me having to watch the quiet ones?”
“Pardon?”
“Don't worry your head cowboy – I was thinking aloud. Look. I'll suppose I'll give you a break - for a change.”
“You'll come, but I thought you were tired?”
“I was. Just keep the coffee coming Kent and we'll see what see what we can see down town in the Atlantis joint.”
Clark is surprisingly light on his feet, Lois thought and this was a relief, since they were in big shoes he wore. Lois had started out imagining him to be a clumsy dancer, and while Clark was no Fred Astaire he wasn't standing on her toes. Kent also needed to get a decent dress suit for starters; at least he isn't the only guy here in a lounge suit Lois conceded.
She had dressed up, wearing a low backed red evening gown, while Kent had stuck with his uniform dark suit; then again times were tough, he might not own anything better; but Lois was just used to her date's having more style.
After the second time around the floor she decided Clark basically managed to tread the fine line between, on the one hand being both dangerous and just plain embarrassing; and on the other - being mechanical, and just when you thought he might do something extraordinary – good or bad, he seemed to pull back keeping things predictably dull.
Clark made conversation, he even made her laugh a couple of times. finally asking.
“Lois why was it you did your best to avoid me in the office this morning.”
“Clark, please I've been scribbling all day, last thing I want to do is talk a sob story.”
“Sob story Lois?”
“Don't make me dish it out Clark.”
Across the Club in a private booth on a elevated staging area a group of thickset looking men in lounge suits sat with a better dressed man wearing a classic black tuxedo.
A bull a man leered in Lois's direction. “Nice looking dame down there. Remind you of someone Andy-boy?
His friend a lean mean looking man looked in Lois's direction.
“There in the red.” The big man pointed at Lane. “That's some hot tomato - guess I'll cut in boys.”
“Mr Matson, do you think that's wise, the last thing we need is a fracas on the floor, I don't want to attract any undue attention to our business agreement.” Said the better dressed man.
Matson laughed. “You old hen – stop clucking Brand. You owe me big-time – that means I own this joint of yours and it means I own you too. The first thing you need to get clear is that I always do as just as I please – when I please.”
Brand persisted. “But what if her companion objects?”
Matson's cronies began to laugh derisively.
“So what if chunky gets nasty, I'll push his face into those goofy specs.” Matson laughed back.
“This is going to be good – go for it Butch, and ask her if she's got any sisters, will ya – for me and the fellas?.”
“That's for sure Andy-boy. Watch me go.”
Butch Matson tapped Clark on the shoulder.
“Hey bub, mind if I cut in?”
Clark looked a Matson. “But this isn't a robbers dance.” He said.
“Listen fella I don't care what you think, I said cut and run.”
“Clark – don't let him push you around. Are you going stand up for yourself?” Lois said casually watching the two men face up to each other.
Clark sensed he was missing something, was Lois playing a game, her heart had begun to beat all the quicker.
Kent was already annoyed - just when he felt Lois was warming to his gentle charm. Now he was being backed into a corner.
Clark couldn't risk scrapping with this big man, whatever Lois might think. Kent recalled his first fight; the bully Brad Riley had almost broken his hand just by hitting him, this bull of man could hurt himself badly punching Clark; and in any other circumstances that would be just fine, but here in public, with Lois watching – such a fight could easily expose his double identity.
Instead Clark said meakly. “Sir I don't think your attentions are welcome.”
“You being flip bub? Be smart - shut it, n' beat it; if you know what's good for ya!”
“Sir, really the choice of who partners a lady on the dance floor should be hers; if Miss Lane wishes to dance with you then I'll gladly step aside.” Clark looked a Lois as much to say – you decide.
Lois glared at him. “Why Clark, seeing that you're so happy to oblige this fella – why don't you have a nice dance with him!”
“Doll you'll dance with me – and you'll like it, don't cha y' know who I am?”
Lois stared at the big man defiantly. “Butch Matson?” She suggested slowly, glancing back at Clark as she spoke. “I'm right aren't I, you're him; the man they call Butcher Matson?”
The big man laughed. “Is that a fact?
“Yeah that's me honey.” Butch looked at Clark. “See fella – that's real steel.” He laughed as he pointed at Lois. “No man has called me Butcher to my face... oh in a long long time; and now this sweet gal just stares me down and calls me out.
“Got to like your fire beautiful.”
“The name is Lois Lane - Matson. That's Lois Lane of the Daily Star.” And without catching breath she asked. “Isn't it true you've taken a majority stake in the Atlantic Club? Just how long have you been working your operation out of this place? ”
Butch stopped grinning.
“A gal reporter, well ain't ya the model modern woman.” Matson looked her over, dipping his head in an exaggerated motion so that his leer couldn't be misinterpreted. “Then again I can see why the boys up at the Star let you play with their toys – you'd sure brighten up my working day.”
Matson then lunged at Lois. “Come here doll I'll give you something to write home about.” He snapped.
Lois twisted clear of Butch's groping reach, and smoothly landed a loud and powerful open handed punch to the side of his face, the slap sounded loud and clear even over the music. Matson's cheek glowed an angry red.
“Well done Lois.” Clark whispered under his breath, then he acted out his role. “Lois for God's sake don't provoke him!” He appeared to stumble clumsily between the gangster and Lane.
Matson growled a curse, and glared at Lane. He tried to push his way past Kent, Clark awkwardly stepped back but kept his footing, Matson angrily threw a punch at Clark as he tried to get at Lois. Kent rolled with the blow, he couldn't let Butch realise just how tough he was, falling wildly Clark actually controlled his descent so that he smacked his head against a nearby table; breaking it. Drinks went flying, a seated couple were forced to jump out of the way. They immediately began complaining angrily.
Kent now feigned injury, letting Butch believe the combination of blow, collision and fall had knocked him out cold.
Clark had ended the fight before it could really begin. At the same time his calculated play act had created enough commotion to bring the dance floor to a halt and drawn the attention of the room to Matson.
Brand clearly felt he had to intervene. “Is everything all right Mr Matson?”
Butch sneered. “Yeah I'm fine.”
“I'll just throw these troublemakers out.” Brand suggested, indicating to his staff to attend to the chaos, and placate his angry customers.
Clark got to his feet with the help of one the Atlantic's waitresses.
Butch was rubbing his fist. “You've a hard skull fella.”
Andy-boy sauntered up. “Need any help here Mr Brand.”
“I'm Okay.” Clark stammered. “Thanks Miss, I think I can walk.”
Lois grabbed him. Jamming her shoulder under his arm. “Come on Kent, let's beat it, before you cause more damage to more of the furniture.”
Marston watched the girl reporter leave. He was fuming. “ No dame says no to Butch.
“Especially one with an agenda
“Andy-boy I don't want to read about tonight – or anything about our operation in the Star; need to send a message to those print boys; follow her and that chump of boyfriend – if they take one of my cabs, well make sure they end up at the shop.
“If they don't take one of ours, y' know what to do - make sure they end up at the shop any way.”
Lois and Clark found themselves escorted outside by the Atlantic's doormen, where Clark quickly straightened up, Lois gladly released him.
“Fresh air helps.” He volunteered.
“Great work in there Cowboy.” Lane said sarcastically.
Clark felt she was being unfair. “I can't believe you Lois – you deliberately provoked that thug, knowing exactly who he was.”
“And I can't believe you! Clark men like Matson don't respect you unless you show some backbone; a real Reporter would have played his game, won him over, got him talking; but you were just spineless – you took a golden opportunity and wasted it – then managed to make a lousy situation worse.”
“I was trying to avoid a fight...”
“Oh shut up. Y' know what my sob is story Kent? I'm a just a woman so I get stuck baby sitting you. Which is bad enough, but what's worse it that you're not only green Kent - you're yellow.
“And Kent I can't abide cowards.” Lane informed him coldly as she opened the door of a waiting cab.
“Lois!” Clark pleaded to no avail.
Behind him Andy-boy strode out into the street, he gestured to the taxi driver. A subtle tip of his hat, was met with a nod of the head from the cab. Then the hoodlum then made a quick but clear hand single, one hand striking the other; the edge of Andy-boy's right hand chopping down on the palm of his left.
The Cabbie nodded. Matson's organisation was far reaching, and when he took over a joint he took control of everything; his suppliers provided the liquor, cigarettes, and staff; and you needed a ride – you rode in one his cars. The driver made an OK sign, before turning to his fare. “Where to Lady.”
Lois looked his way, ignoring Clark, she gave her address, and the taxi pulled away leaving him on alone the side walk.
Clark had many amazing abilities, but he didn't possess eyes in the back of his head. He didn't see Andy-boy's hand signal, he didn't read anything sinister into the cab driver's gestures.
After watching Lois leave he dug his hands into his pockets, and reflected on his night.
It was not a complete disaster he decided; they had at least confirmed Matson was definitely entrenched here at the Atlantic, and while Lois unfortunately thought less of Clark Kent, that only meant she was less likely than ever to suspect that he was Superman.
His enhanced vision pierced brick and cement, his super hearing focused on the Butcher Maston's conversation with his cronies.
“That skirt has attitude, God I need a drink.”
The hoodlum cursed, drank and recounted a lewd story.
Clark's loitering outside the Atlantic drew attention.
“Hey buddy, if you're taking a cab, take a cab, if not hit the street, you're making the place look untidy.” Andy-boy suggested with malice.
Kent adjusted his fedora, and walked away.
He continued to listen.
Butch's lieutenant spoke to the Atlantic's doormen. “You and you - go and work that one over; bring him around the back.”
Clark ambled along, hunched up he acted the part of a disgruntled guy whose just argued with his girl, it wasn't a big stretch for him. He listened to the footfalls behind him.
Putting a comfortable distance between the Atlantic's bright and well lit frontage the thugs waited until Kent slipped into the night's shadows.
Grabbing him from behind a rough hand clasped around his mouth while a second man jabbed him low in the stomach. Clark allowed his belly soften and absorb the punch, and the first man to drag into the even darker side alley.
“Work him over, and then we'll get him around the back to the club.” The first man instructed.
Clark moved, ducking down, the man's hold was instantly broken, Kent by grabbing his mid rift tossed his assailant over his head at the second man; their heads connected, skull on skull knocking both unconscious.
The next second saw Clark Kent replaced by the red and blue figure of Superman.
The Man of Tomorrow leapt skyward, landing on roof of the Atlantic's roof.
Again he looked deep into the bowels of the Club; quickly he determined the gangsters were making their way outside.
“I sent a couple of fellas after the chump because he and the Lane dame had a spat; they didn't leave together, she grabbed a ride with Mickey; I gave him the signal so she's already on her way.” Andy-boy told Butch.
On cue as the hoodlums walked out onto the street an expensive town-car pulled up in front of the club. Matson's gang climbed into the big auto.
“Ok boy's let's go back to the Shop and have a conversation with Miss Lane.” Butch chuckled. His driver engaged the column shift and the big Cadillac pulled away.
Superman followed.
