"…Lois Lane."

The old man looked up, one eye cloudy and blind and the other a bright blue but with distracting scars around it. There were deep wrinkles around his eyes and a string of liver spots just above his cheek bones. A white tuft of hair hung over his forehead covering a couple of scars that distorted his furrowed brow. The rest of his white hair was long and hung down to his shoulders. His mustache was trimmed and his beard thick and groomed – it had a few dark areas, too.

The collar of his shirt was greasy and lined with black, flecks of dead skin were caught in the creases of his muscled neck. His shoulders sagged a little; still strong but he had clearly been a much bigger guy when he was younger. His clothes hung loosely on him – it primarily comprised of old army attire, including a jacket with the badges worn off. The numerous holes in his clothing were often joked away as 'bullet holes' by those who knew him.

His hands were thick and strong, and his fingers moved quickly as he flicked the beer mat between them. Liver spots and scars marked the back of his hands and, occasionally, part of a thick scar could be seen on his left forearm.

There was a rancid and unwashed smell, but every once in a while the air around him smelled fresh and clean.

"Excuse me?" he asked, his voice deep and a little grating. His accent was difficult to place but it seemed to be from the West Coast.

The woman standing before him smiled. She was around 5'7 with dark, shoulder-length hair. She was wearing a Metropolis Sharks football jersey, jeans and flats, and had a dark messenger bag flung over her shoulder.

There was a sudden roar as the Sharks scored a touchdown. She stepped forward and said, "I said, 'Hi, my name's Lois. Lois Lane.'."

"And?" asked the old man gruffly.

"Well," she said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. The old man raised an eye-brow quizzically. "I'm a reporter for the Daily Planet, and-"

"I know your work, Miss Lane."

"Really? That's great."

"This place isn't your kind of scene. Shouldn't you be out there tracking down gun-runners or something?"

"Ordinarily, sure, although this is my kind of scene *mumbles* if only people didn't clam up when they see me."

"Ah, so the…clientele here has rejected you?" chuckled the old man.

Lois frowned a little before glancing over her shoulder.

"How can I help you, Miss Lane?"

She scooted her chair closer to the old man, ignoring the smell and slightly puzzled that it kept fading. The crowd in the Ace o' Clubs is generally loud and the game on the screens is making them louder.

"Here's the thing: gun-runners, traffickers, dodgy judges and senators – I've got a nose for that kind of thing. An instinct, one could say. A good reporter, though, has range and should be able to recognize and write well beyond her comfort zone."

"Infiltrating an underground slave ring was comfortable for you?"

"No. Necessary."

The old man nods. "Go on."

"I have a…colleague…he tends to write human interest pieces-"

"Tends to?"

"He's broken some pretty big stories but he seems to prefer the 'person on the street' stuff."

"And?"

Lois sighs and rests her hands on the table before slowly lifting them with a disgusted look on her face. As she digs out a tissue from her bag she says, "And, I figured I could, for a little while, take a stroll in his neck of the woods and maybe see things a little differently."

"This isn't the best place to be for that kind of thing, Miss Lane."

"Lois. Please."

"Lois. The folks that come here tend not to take too kindly to reporters. Even your colleague sometimes has issues here. In fact, I'm surprised you even made it across the room. Pretty gutsy to rely on the game distracting them long enough.

"Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Tell me your story?"

The old man smiled. "I don't have a story to tell, Lois. I'm just an old man kicking up the papers with my worn out shoes. Dirt in my hair and my clothes in rags."

She leaned forward, "You have some pride in your eyes, though."

"Really?" he grinned and pointed at the cloudy blind eye, "even this one?"

The old man sat back and scanned the room, his gaze lingering at various tables. "There are a lot of stories here, Lois, but I don't think many of them are willing to be told to you. No, the kind of stories you're looking for, the ones outside your 'comfort zone', they're out there on the street corners, in the homeless shelters and derelict theatres. There's one in your comfort zone here, and you already know where that is."

Lois looked over her shoulder again and then back at the old man. He nodded at her, noting the flash of anger in her eyes.

"He was released earlier today. Tense, flighty, agitated. Not ready for a confrontation with you, but quickly picking up the pieces in order to make up for lost time." She looked at him questioningly and he said, "Yesterday's papers tell yesterday's news, Lois, but they can provide insight into what's happening today and what could happen tomorrow, the day after or further down the line. Threads and connections – wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded quietly, her heart beating faster.

There was another huge roar from the crowd.

The old man leaned forward slightly. "Are you going to be okay getting home?"

Lois smiled. "I'll be fine. Thank you. There's still another half hour before the game wraps up, so I should probably head out now. Y'know, avoid the rush."

"You're sure?" he was looking at her hands. They were shaking a little. She nodded.

"I'm sure you'll find the stories you're looking for Lois. You've got a nose for them." He winked at her, sat back, and began to pass his eye over the crowd and tables again.

Lois stood up, slipped her bag on, and began to make her way out of the bar. A man at one of the tables watched her, the old man watched him. As the door closed behind her, the man left his table and followed. The old man continued watching while passing his eye over a couple of the other tables.

Outside Lois walked quickly, her phone to her ear as she called Perry.

"Lucas is out. I just saw him. Call Mason and make sure the girls are safe."

She hung up, pocketed her phone, and began to jog. Footfalls behind her began to pick up pace. Palming her can of mace, Lois stopped under a street light and turned around. The man who had followed her from the Ace o' Clubs, Lucas, slowed down and smiled.

"Lois, Lois, Lois. I don't think I've ever seen you so…covered up." He licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair. "I told you I'd be out before the ink would dry on your witness statement. You've cost me a lot of money, Lois Lane. A lot of money." He began to put on a leather glove. "I'm betting you know where the girls are. Their new owners are quite anxious to be in possession of their purchases."

Lois shifted into a fighting stance and Lucas smiled again. He touched his swollen and cut lip and then began to put on the other glove.

"Your exposés showed us how lax we've been getting, so thank you for that. However, it also reassured a number of the higher-ups that they're safe. Hence –" as he bowed theatrically, cheers erupted from a couple of the nearby watering holes. "You're making me miss the game, Lois, but I'm not going to begrudge you that."

A cat darted out of a nearby alley, hissing and distracting Lucas. He yelped in pain as Lois hit the side of his head with the base of the can. She brought her foot down at his right knee, hard, twice. As he fell to the floor she sprayed him with the mace.

Blue lights flashed behind her, and the cat sat in the middle of the sidewalk watching. Lucas writhed on the floor, switching between holding his leg or clearing his eyes. He swore at her, repeatedly.

She wanted to kick him and keep kicking him. "The youngest was six…" she whispered.

Detective Mayson Palmer ran up, accompanied by a few officers. "Lois, I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd been released." As the officers read Lucas his rights, Lois took hold of Mayson's arm and pulled her away.

"He said there were higher-ups."

"There were bound to be."

"In this city, Mayson."

"The girls are safe. I promise. We'll break this thing down."

Lois nodded and glanced over at the alley the cat had ran out of. The old man waved as he turned and slipped back into the darkness. She took out her phone and called Perry again. "Lucas is being taken in…yes…a task force. Thanks Perry. I'll call Clark now."