Action Comics 11
The Black Gold Oil Well
The crowd was decent sized, given the tragedy. A man had thrown himself from the nearest building, crashing headlong into a parked cab. As police tried to form a shield around the remains, Louis Lane managed to slip by and snag a small leather wallet that had landed in the gutter.
Backing away from the crowd, he ran towards a nearby payphone and called the city desk. "Lonnie, Lane. Make some room, just got a suicide, could be front page!"
Louis had no more finished turning in the story when Clara Kent burst into the office. "Chief, did you hear?"
"The jumper? Yeah, Lane beat you to it. Why, did you find something else?"
Clara, her eyes wet, looked away from Taylor's desk and stared at the city. "No, but what about Superwoman? Why wasn't she there?"
"Hey, she can't be everywhere, right?" Lane shrugged. "Besides, I got the man's wallet. I figure that might give us a clue."
Taylor rubbed his forehead and sighed at the same time, something he had mastered thanks to years of practice. "I assume you were given this as an anonymous source when the police come?"
Lane winked. "You know me chief. Come on Smallville, I can get you do the leg work if you want."
The pair left Taylor's office, leaving the editor to stew alone.
"So, what was that about Superwoman?" Lane placed the man's wallet on his desk.
"Nothing, I mean, if she had been there I'm sure she could have saved him." Clara stammered.
"I'm sure, but like I said in the office, she can't be everywhere at once." Lane was more accurate than he knew. Clara, officially assigned to cover a dock worker's strike, had been occupied as Superwoman saving a trapped sailor who had been knocked overboard in a container. The leaden box and the murky water prevented her from hearing or seeing the man falling across town until she was too late.
She was torn between rage and misery when Louis opened the wallet. "Slim pickings. ID, so we can tell his family before the story runs, three dollars and a dime." Shaking it, a he noticed a small folded wad of paper tumble out.
Clara picked it up and unfolded it. "It's an oil deed!"
"Oil? He was rich?"
"Hardly," she flipped the paper over to the second page, "according to this the well was bone dry and always has been. He must have lost his shirt over this deal."
"Poor guy…wait, 'always has been'?" Louis raised an eyebrow. "You mean there were previous owners?"
"Looks like," Clara separated a third page and flattened it out on the desk, "he had a list of names and dates going back before the war. No one owned it long it seems."
"Hmm, now this really could be a story! Anything in there on where he got the well in the first place?"
"The offices of Meek and Bronson, if this card is anything to go by." Clara held up a card that had been folded into the wad.
"Then I think we need to pay them a visit, after we return the wallet of course."
Misters Meek and Bronson were in no mood for an interview. Mr. Meek stood all of six feet five and was roughly as wide as your average gorilla. Mr. Bronson, by comparison, was a weaselly little fellow with a thin wisp of hair over his upper lip and wire rimmed glasses.
They both seemed friendly when Louis and Clara entered their offices, but when Louis mentioned the Black Gold Oil Well and its lack of profit, Meek picked up Lane and tossed him through the door. "Couple of bums, insinuatn' we're crooks, eh?"
"Indeed, this is very serious!" Bronson adjusted his glasses as Clara helped Louis up. "We never promise a profit, and if a client wishes to purchase a risky venture against our advice we can't be blamed, now can we?"
Clara helped Louis back to the cab, but she would return to the office…as Superwoman.
Later that night, after Meek and Bronson had left the for the day, Superwoman climbed into the office via the window. A quick glance over with her x-ray vision showed a safe hidden before a panel in the wall. Carefully sliding it open, she focused on the tumblers.
"Heh, could have a great career as a safecracker!" She laughed to herself as she easily spun the lock to the right points and popped it open. "Now let's see what you two are hiding!"
Taking the papers out, she flipped through them at breathtaking speed. "Ah-ha!" In her hands was nothing short of total proof of their crimes. "They sell worthless land, sometimes doctored with a bit of oil or gold, and sell it over and over under different names." A page slipped free and fluttered to the floor. She snatched it up. "And a list of all the customers they've been scamming? I think Superwoman needs to intervene a little more…"
Over the next two days Clara had been working on an idea. She took out all of her money and raised a bit more (selling the deed to the farm, plus x-ray vision helped her find a few gold deposits) and before long she was at the first address on the list.
She knocked on the door. A haggard looking woman, two children behind her, opened the door a way. "What do you want?"
"Mrs. Adams?"
"Yeah?"
"Did your husband buy an interest in the Black Gold Oil Well?"
The woman snarled. "Who wants to know?"
"Homer Ramsey. I have been charged by Mr. Ramsey to buy out your stake in the well."
The woman's eyes almost bugged out of her head. "You want to give me a thousand dollars for that worthless hunk of dirt?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Come in, come in!" The woman ushered her inside. After a few minutes of small talk, Clara signed the deed over to Homer Ramsey and gave a thousand dollars in cash to the older woman.
Leaving the neighborhood, Clara went over the plan in her mind. "I hope this works, else I'll be flat broke." Homer Ramsey wouldn't mind, since he only existed on paper. She figured it would be better if she acted as an agent. If someone demanded to see Mr. Ramsey she could think of something.
So it went throughout the day. She stopped off at every person on the list and after explaining Homer Ramsey's interest in oil, bought them out. Soon she was both out of money and had the entire oil well neatly under the ownership of one Mr. Homer Ramsey.
"Now there's just one thing left to do!"
It would have taken almost a day by train, but as Superwoman she ran the miles in a few minutes. She stopped when she saw the condition the well was in. "Good grief!"
Someone had made a go of erecting a derrick, but every piece of metal looked rusted, dust covered everything, and the bullet holes that peppered the other signs were no vote of confidence. "Maybe I bit off more than I can chew?"
Slipping a pair of overalls over her costume, in case anyone showed up, Superwoman concentrated at the ground. Layer after layer of rock stripped away, showing only more dirt. After a few fruitless minutes she finally found a small amount.
"Must be over two hundred feet down, no wonder they never found anything."
She stood directly over the vein and started to spin. Moving faster than any drill, she bored into the Earth until she stopped just short of the oil. "Now to set up the equipment and wait!"
"What…is…happening?" Bronson was nearly hysterical.
"I don't know!" Meek raged. "Somehow this…this Ramsey fella bought out all of our marks! No one's heard of him, no one's seen him, but he struck oil! In that useless hunk of dirt, he struck oil!"
Bronson took a depth breath. "Ok, calm, calm. Look, we can reason with this gentleman, I'm sure."
"And if we can't?"
"Then, Mister Meek, you do what you do best."
"Can I help you?" Clara stepped out of the trailer. Her hair was hidden under a hardhat, and the two paid no attention when she was at their office, but she wasn't taking a chance.
"Yes, is Mister Ramsey in?" Bronson fidgeted in the heat.
"He's out." She went to close the door when Meek pushed forward.
"Look, we're very interested in buying this outfit. You don't have a crew, and I bet this little bit of black gold won't be enough to pay for the derrick. Why don't you let us take it off your hands?"
"No." She slammed the door on his feet. The larger man said nothing but winced as he limped away.
"Alright, we tried it your way." Meek seethed. "Now we do it mine!"
The entire site was dark. Clara had stripped off her coveralls and stood tall as Superwoman. "Now we wait."
She had been waiting all day, but the thugs didn't show up until a few hours after sunset. She saw them creeping down the road. "Maybe they parked their car down the road. Are they going after the trailer or the oil?"
She was answered when a burning torch broke through her window. "Trailer it is!" She leaned against the wall and let the fire consume the old trailer. Using her x-ray vision and other super senses, she saw four men standing around the burning trailer.
"We wait. If anyone comes out, we'll bust 'em up good!" the nearest chuckled.
"That sounds like a cue!" Superwoman easily kicked the door off. The burning cheap wood struck one of the thugs. The man wailed as he tried to beat the flames away.
She calmly strolled out of the burning heap. The men gasped. "Well don't just stand there, get her!" the leader hollered as he stepped back.
The other two approached her carefully, knives in their hands. She didn't even blink as the blades broke off on her skin. She carefully swatted them aside.
The leader was left, his other men having fled. He drew a pistol from his pocket and pointed it directly at her. "Stay away!"
"That hasn't worked yet." She, moving faster than the eye could follow, snatched the gun away and crumpled it into a ball. "Now, who sent you?"
"Two swells, Meek and Bronson!" the leader immediately blurted. "They have an office in…"
"I know who they are." She tore a strip of metal away from the trailer. Blowing on it to cool it, she quickly wrapped it around the man. "And you are going to deliver a message for me."
It took four hours to cut the man free.
Meek and Bronson came to the office to find their valued employee forcibly stuck inside their wall and bound there with the crumpled remains of their office furniture. The words 'call Homer Ramsey' had been spelled out neatly with what used to be their desks. Meek sputtered incoherently while Bronson tried to come up with a plan.
"Ok, so this Ramsey guy isn't playing around. How do we call him?"
"I can help" Superwoman stepped in through the window. The leader of the thugs let out a shriek and passed out.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who doesn't like cheap crooks." She glared at them. "But I can appreciate good business. One million, from the both of you, and that oil well is all yours."
"What?" Bronson found the voice to scream. "Two million? Are you crazy?"
"Hold it," Meek tried to calm the smaller man. "What my partner is trying to say is that is rather steep. Maybe a payment plan or some other deal?"
"No deal. You saw the rig and you know I have oil there. Two million, take it or leave it."
"Is that what Mr. Ramsey wants?" Meek tried to calm Bronson down.
"Mister Ramsey and I are of the same mind. I'll be at the site if you want to take this serious."
It took some real practice and more than a little lying, but they got the cash.
The next night, a lone car pulled up before the derrick. Bronson hopped out first. "Where's Ramsey?"
Superwoman stepped into the light from the headlights. "He couldn't make it. Did you bring the money?"
"Do you have the deed?" Meek stepped out, a pistol tucked into his waistband.
"Ready to sign." She pulled a folded-up bundle of paper from her cape. She tossed it to Bronson, who eagerly poured over it.
"And the money, as promised. Meek pointed to the back seat, which was filled with suitcases. "In cash, as agreed."
She stared, something that unnerved Meek more than it should. After a few seconds, she looked at him. "Good, all accounted for, and that should be more than enough to pay back all your victims plus interest."
"Victims?" Bronson stopped mid-sign. "What are you babbling about?"
"All the poor people you swindled with your phony promises of oil." Superwoman turned and started walked towards the derrick.
"Who do you-" Meek stared towards her, but Bronson held up the deed.
"Say whatever you want. We own this plot now and the money's ours!" Bronson smugly tucked the deed into his coat pocket.
"No, the plot is yours, and that's all." Superwoman's eyes turned solid red as twin beams of pure heat issued out and stuck the derrick at the base. Within seconds the entire rig was engulfed in flames.
"What are you doing?" Meek drew his gun.
"I gave you the land, but not the oil. Read your contract." She had actually siphoned out all the oil a few hours before and made sure her little stunt wouldn't endanger any other rigs by storing the crude in a large tanker she made with some spare iron.
Meek slammed the pistol butt over her skull. His arm shook with the impact and the oak handle crumbled away in his hand. "What are you?"
"Someone who hates greedy crooks." She walked past them and climbed under the car. Seconds later she stood up, the auto in her hand. "Enjoy the walk back to town gentlemen."
With that she leaped off into the night, leaving both men to star in horror at the raging inferno before them.
The headlines the next day were split between the fire and the arrest of Meeks and Bronson. It seemed while the two were hitchhiking back to town, an anonymous tip to the police and district attorney's office led officers to the offices of Meek and Bronson and all the records of their misdeeds. Fire crews were able to contain the blaze within the hour, helped by a sudden cold front and another anonymous tip.
Buried within the Daily Star was another article, this one detailing how all the victims of the Black Gold Oil Well suddenly found their money returned with interest. Clara unfolded the day's edition and leaned back in her chair as the newsroom bustled.
The end
Based on "the Black Gold Oil Well" which was first published in Action Comics I#11 (April 1939) with credits to Jerry Sigel (script) and Joe Shuster/Paul Cassidy (pencils/inks)
Check us out next time for "the War on Reckless Drivers!"
From They Call Me Bruce
Love it. Keep 'em coming
Thanks! Intend to.
From Darci
This is one time when the Earth-25 introduces a flaw in the adaptation of the original story. In the original, Superman posed as Tom Daly to get thrown into the Coreytown prison. Here, unless Superwoman posed a man (and how long could that last?) how could she get thrown into a men's prison? The only way I can figure it out is for Superwoman to go to Louis Lane and arrange a partnership to expose the wrongdoing. Louis could pose as Tom Daly and Superwoman could be his and Walter Crane's guardian angel. Ah, there is another way! You'd have to gender flip Walter to be Wallis (or Walden or Vanda), then Superwoman could be sent to a women's prison.
The other big change from the original was Clark bought a car to crash into Superintendent Wyman's car. Clara stole a truck to crash, so just too bad for the truck owner I guess. Were you thinking Superwoman doesn't have as much savings as Superman? There is that problem with women earning less for the same work (back in the 1940's it might have been 60 cents compared to a dollar for a man).
Whew, lot of stuff. The start at the end, I figured if she couldn't find Wyman's car she could still get pinched for theft. As far as savings go, when you've x-ray eyes and can squeeze diamonds out of coal, you don't tend to worry about petty cash.
As for the first, yeah, in hindsight probably should have changed that. Would have saved myself from trouble. Thanks for the kind words and all the help!
Be on the lookout for the following tales
Sensation Comics#13-The Return of Diana Prince!
Detective Comics#12-Robin, the Boy Wonder!
