Action Comics#10
Superwoman Goes to Prison!
Meeting with an unknown person at the dead of night in one of the city's seedier areas might have raised some concerns with your average reporter. Clara Kent, otherwise known as Superwoman, shrugged them off as she walked through the dimly lit alleys. A whisper called out from the shadows. "You Kent?"
"Yes. Are you my story?"
A woman stepped forward. Using her enhanced vision Clara could tell the she was haggard. Her cheeks were sunken in and her clothes filthy with grime. "Name's Crane. You got any food?"
"I know a place. Walk with me and let's talk."
The two of them went over a few blocks towards an all-night diner. Nestled in a back booth, Crane hungrily devoured the sandwiches and coffee before her. When she was finished, she sighed, tears welling in her eyes.
"About the story. You claim to be the escaped convict everyone's looking for?"
The news hit the wire yesterday. Wanda Crane, convicted of armed robbery and assault, escaped from the Coreytown Jail last night. Looking at the woman across the booth, Clara admitted she could have been the same figure she saw on the front page, minus thirty pounds.
"Lady, I've done a lot of rotten things, but nobody deserves to be sent to a hellhole like Coreytown."
"Prisons aren't known for being nice, but what makes this one so terrible?" She recalled the place had a decent reputation, for no escapes at least. Anything else didn't make the papers.
Crane shuddered. "Look, I've done some bad stuff, yeah, but fifteen years for knocking over a gas station? My lawyer didn't argue, hell, he said plead guilty. So, I escaped, then they added ten years! Twenty-five years for stealing a hundred dollars? Does that sound fair to you?"
"It does seem a bit harsh."
Crane snorted. "Harsh? Lady, they tortured us there. Hot-boxes, no food, rotten milk. If you're real lucky you might a paper cup with beans and water. They work us like dogs building that county and they pocket all the cash."
"Sounds like pure dynamite, but do you have any proof?"
Crane hung her head. "I got scars. Warden Wyman likes to take a personal hand in discipline. I saw him flay a gal's back to ribbons. Doesn't that count?"
Clara shook her head. "I need more than just your word. Look, lay low for a few days. I'll make some inquires. Can you do that for me?"
Crane ran her hand through the tangled mass of hair on her head. "Fine. Two days then I split. I'll contact you." Crane slipped out of the booth and went out through the back.
"Hmm, this looks like a job for Superwoman!"
Coreytown was a small patch of dirt some miles north of Metropolis. The women's prison and a main drag were pretty much all to denote the presence of people. The newly appointed Governor Bixby (Siegel having stepped down due to…health reasons) arrived with full fanfare.
After a showcase of the prison's facilities, Bixby and Wyman talked in the warden's office. "Good work here. Nice to see the budget is being spent wisely." Bixby noted the thick carpet and many paintings lining the walls.
"Of course, we do what we can to keep the place operating like a well-oiled machine." Wyman started his spiel when Bixby took a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the desk.
'Convict Still at Large!' screamed the headline. "Care to explain?"
Wyman never missed a beat. "Wanda Crane, one of our trouble makers I'm afraid. Always talked a good game about escape, but this time she was serious."
"I'm sure. I talked to the state police. Seems you didn't notify them of her absence until three days later. Why?"
"We wanted to make sure, of course. Why, back '25 one inmate had the idea to hide in a vent."
"You know the rules Wyman. There's supposed to be a count twice a day at a minimum. I didn't see any records. Are your men even doing that?"
Wyman started to sweat. "Of course! We follow all the rules and guidelines!"
Bixby wasn't impressed. "No accountability forms, your guards look half drunk, and those inmates…" he jerked a thumb out to the yard. "Oh, they look well fed and busy, but according to the numbers you should have more, plus what about all that money spent for job training? I didn't see any instructors."
"They're all out. Training, you know."
Bixby nodded after several uncomfortable seconds. "You're on my list Wyman. I'll make another visit, only this time there won't be any advanced notice."
Wyman mutely nodded as the governor left. Balling his fist, he slammed it into the newspaper. "Crane, when I get my hands on you I'll kill you myself!"
The car looked official. The large black sedan pulled up in front of the Daily Star. A well-heeled man slipped out of the front seat and opened the back door. Wyman stepped out and marched into the building. Two police cars pulled up behind them. Four policemen followed behind.
Barging into the newsroom, Wyman stomped over to Clara Kent's desk. "You Kent?"
Clara looked up at the man. A quick use of x-ray vision showed his wallet and gun. "Warden Wyman?"
"Yes," he smiled, impressed that she knew who he was. "I have here a warrant for your arrest." The policemen appeared behind him, their handcuffs at the ready.
"What? What's the charge?"
"Aiding and abetting a fugitive. Unless you spill, I'll make sure you do no less than ten years!"
The cuffs were quickly clamped down on her wrists. The entire newsroom was looking at them. Clara thought quickly. "Wait! I know where Crane is!"
The entire grew quiet. Wyman blinked in surprise. "She's at the Hotel Alexander! Right now!" She followed her after their first meeting. It was child's play to keep tabs on her. She was currently asleep.
"Well, it is nice to see the press helping the authorities for once!" Wyman smugly uncuffed her. "You heard her boys." As the police left, he turned again to face her. "And if she isn't there, rest assured I'll be back!"
George Taylor looked at the scene with a cold fury. Once Wyman had left, Taylor marched over to her desk. "Kent, pack your things. I want you out of this office by the time I finish this cigar!" he waved the half-smoked stump in his hand for emphasis.
"Sir, I can explain!" Kent protested as the office in almost unison turned their back on her.
"A good reporter never gives away a source, least of all to a thug like that!"
"Easy for you to say, you weren't in handcuffs!" Clara thought. Aloud, her tone was more pleading. "Sir, everyone, listen! Yes, I lead them back to Crane, but I can keep tabs on them from the inside!"
"How? After this Crane won't talk to anyone!"
"She can if I'm in jail too. Look, if I can go undercover I can get the whole scoop and maybe clear Crane in the process!"
Taylor was silent for nearly an entire minute. "It's possible. I'll call some favors…" Clara cut him off.
"No, I'll go under an assumed name. If anyone else knows, they might tip off Wyman."
"Alone?" Taylor's eyes bugged. "That's crazy!"
"No, I can take care of myself. Look, when the time comes just call those favors in so there won't be any issue." She stood up. "Don't worry sir, I'll get you the biggest story the Star's ever seen!"
With Taylor properly informed, Clara left the city in disguise. It didn't take much effort to bleach her hair a tacky shade of blond. A generous helping of makeup covered most of her features. It was the now fully transformed Jane Smith who stepped off the bus into Coreytown.
The streets were clean and deserted. The sun was already setting when she finally spotted the warden's shiny black car parked in front of the town's sole restaurant. Walking to the saloon down the block, Clara parked herself on a corner stool and started ordering. The few men in the bar had issues with buying her drinks.
After a few hours, and enough alcohol to daze a horse, Clara pretended to stagger outside. Spying the warden's car still parked, she almost comically limped into the cab of a nearby truck. She managed to hotwire it just as the drunken owner rushed out.
She revved the engine and threw it into reverse. Shifting gears, she barreled down the street, driving in a wide circle. Building up speed, she aimed at the warden's car.
The crash was spectacular. The truck plowed into the shiny sedan, bending the frame and shattering all the windows. Clara was thrown forward, slamming her head onto the steering wheel hard enough to break it.
The front of the truck was crumpled and ruined, various fluids rushing into the street. Wyman rushed outside, his cheeks a glowing shade of red. "Arrest her!" He managed to choke as witnesses dragged Clara from the truck.
"Hey, what gives, who parked that car in the middle of the road?" Clara slurred.
"Sheriff, I want this…this…whatever, arrested and charged to the full extent of the law!" Wyman shrieked.
The sheriff nodded mutely and slapped the cuffs on Clara before taking her to the jail.
The next day the trial was handled in record time. Clara, still pretending to be drunk, hooted and laughed during the prosecutor's charges. Her own lawyer barely opened his mouth as the judge sentenced her to no less than four years for grand theft and destruction of private property. "I'll have to have the Star cut me a check for that poor man's truck. I hated to do that, but car theft seemed more likely to get me thrown in jail."
"Well, here's hoping this works!" Clara found herself before Warden Wyman. Her makeup was gone, but her hair was still dyed.
"So, Miss Smith, the judge sentenced you to four years. Rest assured those years will be spent at hard labor and you will pay me back for the damages you did to my car if it takes a hundred years!" Clara said nothing as she was lead to her cell.
The days passed slow. She mostly worked in the prison's various fields. She didn't mind that work; in truth, it reminded her of her childhood in Smallville, but she didn't see Crane until the fifth day. She looked like she had lost fifteen pounds. She saw the guards drag her from a small lead box on the edge of the prison's property. "So that's why I couldn't see her!"
She had been taking account of the prison since her arrival. The inmates were worked from sun up to well past dark. The stronger ones were sent to work the soil while the weaker ones were chained inside, mostly making various clothes and items the warden had sold in town. She couldn't help but notice none of that money went to the prison's upkeep. Thanks to a camera she hid outside on her first night she had been documenting the crumbling infrastructure.
"I could probably just kick one of the walls down." She mused as she was assigned to work in the field. Her shift was a grueling sixteen hours with no shade. A normal person would have been burned blood red within a week. Clara kept her cool, mostly slowly tilling the soil as she watched Crane be dragged back and forth from the bunk houses to the small box.
After her third day, she started walking towards the boxes, her hoe slung over her shoulder. "Hey! Get back to work!" screamed a guard. The skinny man stomped over, his keys jangling on his hip. He pointed his shotgun at her chest, finger on the trigger.
"What? I'm taking a break. You wouldn't want me to report you to the shop steward, would you?" Clara kept walking.
"That's it!" the guard slammed the butt of his gun across her head. Clara sighed in annoyance and gently sat down. The guard kept hitting her until two of his fellows pulled him off.
"A real tough broad, ain't you? Well, the warden likes tough broads. On your feet!" he roughly grabbed Clara and dragged her to her feet.
Clara, uninjured and unbothered, walked with the guards towards the warden's office. She spied Crane peering out from the box. She winked at him.
"Refusing a direct order and assaulting a guard? Little missy you just added three years to your time here." Wyman smugly puffed on a cigar.
"How is my getting knocked on the head assault?"
"That brave office risked his life to subdue a dangerous felon. You think about that when you're sweating some of that sass off. Eight hours in the hole." He nodded to the guards.
Wyman went back to his paperwork. When Clara had been dragged away towards the hole, he paused. "That gal must have a head of solid rock. I swear, I don't think I've ever seen anyone take a beating like." He mused as his mind drifted.
That night, Clara stretched as best as she could inside the small metal box. "Sun's finally down and the new shift is coming on. Time for Superwoman to make the scene!"
She rolled onto her back and placed her bare feet against the door. With only a slight effort she popped the door free of the frame. Climbing out, she rushed to Crane's box. With one tug she tore the lock to pieces and yanked the door open.
Crane crawled out, her thin body drenched in sweat. "Who are you?"
Clara smiled. "A friend. Ms. Kent sent me. Come on, you have a date with the governor." She gently picked her up as the guards turned the spot lights on them.
"Escape in progress! Shoot to kill!"
Clara turned her back to the guards as they opened fire. The bullets tore her shirt to ribbons, but with one standing jump she cleared the fence and bounded off into the night.
The arriving guards were dumbfounded. "Well, I give up. How do we report this?"
The trip was swift. Crane passed out midway through, which was for the best really. Superwoman landed neatly outside the governor's mansion. Armed men patrolled the grounds, but she wasn't concerned about them.
Setting Crane down gently, she moved carefully over to a small tree. "Still here!" She beamed as she took a tightly wrapped bundle out of the trunk and unfolded it. Tossing her blue and red costume over a bush, she quickly shucked her tattered uniform off and threw it aside. In a flash, she was garbed in her proper Superwoman suit. The blond dye was easily burned off with a little bit of heat vision and a borrowed mirror.
"Now to business!" She picked Crane up and leapt over the governor's wall. She ran full tilt towards the master bedroom, zooming past the dazed guards. Inside, she found Governor Bixby pouring over various bits of paperwork.
"Ah, Superwoman. My predecessor told me to expect you at odd hours. Have a seat." He pointed to an empty chair. Superwoman set Crane down.
"Governor, I have to talk to you about the Coreytown Prison!"
"I figured, what with the infamous Ms. Crane dozing in my favorite chair. I take it you have enough evidence that would help me move onto Warden Wyman?"
"Photos a plenty" she silently thanked the copy boy Olson for showing her a few tricks with a camera. "Plus the state of Ms. Crane's back."
Bixby leaned back in his chair. "You risked everything on the word of this convict. Why?"
"I didn't see a convict, just a person. Nobody deserves to be treated like an animal, and that's just what that warden in doing!"
Bixby smiled. "You might want to consider politics. Leave Ms. Crane with me, I'll make sure she gets proper care. I'll ring the state police too. I think we must pay a visit to Mr. Wyman this very night!"
"Excellent idea sir, but do you mind if I leave now? Just to make sure he doesn't try anything funny."
Before Bixby could comment, she was gone. "I never thought this job would be so exciting." He mused as he dialed the phone.
Superwoman bounded back towards the prison at top speed. She landed near the front gate. "The state police should be here in a few minutes, but I want to make sure the warden is here to greet them." She marched up to the main door. Twin spotlights focused on her.
"Freeze!" cried one of the guards as he opened fire. The bullets harmlessly bounded off her scalp as she kicked the mighty door open.
"Where's Wyman?" Superwoman shouted as more guards poured into the yard. Dozens of men took position and opened fire. Superwoman stood there under the normally lethal barrage looking bored. "I say again, where's Wyman?"
She waited until the machine guns ran out of ammo before charging towards the warden's office. She jumped towards the highest window, smashing through the glass. Wyman sat at his desk, piles of paper in front of him and a small fire going in his trashcan.
She inhaled a mighty gulp of air, killing the fire. Wyman staggered away. A tiny pistol was in his hand. "Stay away!"
Superwoman narrowed her eyes. A thin beam of pure heat melted the hammer. Wyman pathetically threw the now useless gun at her. It bounced off harmlessly and fell to the floor. Wyman backed himself into the corner. "What do you want?"
"I want a full confession for starters. You've been treating this prison more like a slave labor camp and that ends now."
"You…you can't get away with this!" Wyman hissed. He tried to swing his fist at her, but Superwoman simply slapped him aside. Wyman cradled his hand. "There are wheels within wheels you flying fool! You think you can just barge into anywhere and make things right? What gives you the right?"
She lifted him up by the neck. "I can backup what I preach." She dropped him to the floor as she heard the sirens of the state police. Snagging a pair of handcuffs off his desk, she clamped them down, binding his arms behind him. "And what I want is the truth and justice for all people, which clearly they aren't getting from you."
She leapt out the window as the police barged into the office. Wyman wailed as he was led away. His thoughts gave him some comfort as he marched down into the waiting paddy wagon. "This isn't over you meddler. You're on their radar now, and they'll cut you down to size soon enough!"
The end
Based on "Superman Goes to Prison" which was first published in Action Comics I#10 (March 1939) with credits to Jerry Siegel (script), Jos Shuster (pencils/inks), and Paul Lauretta (inks/letters)
Next time, "The Black Gold Oil Well"
They call me Bruce
Good you're still writing this great fanfic.
From Darci
Lots of changes from the original in this story, the most significant being the Governor out to get Superwoman rather than Police Chief Burke. Another was the ball being held by the governor rather than Mr. Duncan (that one really adds to the fun!) the only question I had was: who did Clara take to the Governor's Ball? She had two tickets. It wasn't Louis, since he arrived later and used his press pass to get in. Notice also that Louis doesn't remark on it, so it's not a surprise…
Good question! I'd say Clara simply gave the extra ticket to someone else, maybe a certain office boy?
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