DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Usual Suspects" or any characters therein.


East Side Slums, July 30, 2010. Leroy read and re-read the latest Lane-Kent and Kent front page byline in the Daily Planet about the rising death toll from lethally-dosed heroin until his fury got the better of him and he wadded the page into a tight little ball and hurled it across the room.

Damn Parker…Damn Parker and his friends in the Middle East and their defective product!!! They must have known it was laced and that's why they were looking for a buyer so quickly—DAMN HIM!!!!!

No, he reasoned, it isn't entirely his fault; if I hadn't sent him over there and given him the go ahead, he never would have bought it. I should have known it was too good to be true—$5,000 less than the original asking price?!? I'm getting greedy and sloppy in my old age…

He turned to study the paperwork before him; at least four crates had been opened and mixed in with what heroin reserves they already had, making the new product indistinguishable from the old. Leroy had the foresight enough to have the unopened crates burned, opting to cut his losses rather then actively thin out his herd of clientele—After all, a dead user is no good to me, my company, and our bottom line.


Daily Planet, August 4, 2010. As the new month dawned, Lois, Clark and Jimmy had little to show for the hours they'd put into the Kirk Fraser investigation save for a tree graph littered with numerous question marks and a lot of interviews with Kirk's neighbors that all told the same story: he kept to himself and never seemed to get out of the apartment much. Even the record of his brief incarceration shed little light on the man whose Kryptonite stash crippled Superman and nearly threatened to burn down the entirety of the Slums.

There had also been five more deaths related to the bad heroin in the intervening time; the youngest of the victims being sixteen year old Mary Elizabeth Isham. It deeply saddened both reporters to see someone cut down so young, and having to question her grieving parents tugged at their hearts; the interview also produced no new clues in the case, as the parents had been oblivious to their daughter's drug use. Superman could only sit on the sidelines and watch helplessly as the body count piled up, while Clark Kent used his journalistic voice as best he could to reach out to the masses to try and keep unsuspecting users out of the morgue.

Prior to leaving for Connecticut for the birth of Jenny's baby, Jim was able to compile a small list of known criminals who went by the nickname of Uncle, or some derivative thereof; very few were still alive and living in Metropolis, and none appeared to be affiliated with the drug trade in any way, shape or form. Frustrated by yet another dead end, Clark snatched up his phone and dialed Al's number once again.

"Henrickson."

"Hey Al, it's Clark."

"Oh no. So, where do I need to pick you up this time? Please tell me it isn't somewhere in Gotham or something…I can only do so much you know!" the grizzled, middle-aged Lieutenant quipped semi-jokingly into the phone.

Clark let out a hearty laugh that echoed throughout the bullpen. "No, no, I'm not stranded anywhere, just stuck on a story and I thought I'd call and see if you could help shed any light on the subject."

"Sure, sure, whatever you need; you know, if it's not one thing with you, it's always another," he chuckled. "So what seems to be the problem?"

"Lois and I are looking into these heroin deaths and how they're connected to last month's fire in the Slums. The common thread appears to be the dead man, Kirk Fraser, but we don't think he's the one directing the incoming drug traffic. It's apparent that there's something a lot larger going on, only we've hit a wall in our search for Kirk's mysterious uncle that his P.O. told us about. Don Porter doesn't know who he was, our search into the decedent's family turned up nothing useful, and so I was wondering if you or anyone in your department might know anything that could help us."


Al sat back in his wooden chair and contemplated the question a moment. He knew of a man who'd gone by the name 'Uncle Sherman' several years ago; he'd been the mastermind behind several jewelry store heists, one of them fatal, but was caught and convicted and Al knew for a fact that the man was still in Schuster Prison with fifteen years left on his sentence. A quick scan of Metropolis' Top Most Wanted on the computer turned up no one with the obvious alias of Uncle either. He leaned forward into his chair. "You know what, let me do a little more digging around in the archives and I'll get back to you, ok?"

"Thanks Al, I appr—…"

He cut him off. "You appreciate it, I know, I know! And when I have some more vacation time coming to me, I'd appreciate a free flight to Cancun."

"That's always the first power they exploit," Clark grumbled in a low teasing voice as he hung up the phone and Al had a good laugh at his friend's expense.


Daily Planet, August 9, 2010, 10:47 am. Jimmy sat perched on the edge of Clark's desk after the morning meeting, showing off pictures of his new nephew, born the previous Thursday.

"They named him Owen, Owen Brian Colby, and he was born at 6:13 in the morning. He was smaller then Haley though, at 7 pounds 11 ounces, but the doctors said that that was still healthy." He flipped through the stack to another photo. "Ha ha ha, this one is just too funny. He's a couple hours old here and he was being passed around from family member to family member, not making a peep the whole time; finally, it's Chloe's turn to hold him, and little Owen just starts BAWLING the minute he's placed in her arms…I mean, it was ear-splitting! As soon as he made it back to Jenny, he just went all quiet. It pissed Chloe off something awful but it was just too funny…"

"Just wait until it's your own little one doing the screaming and see if it's so funny then," Clark said, recalling the nights when Haley would wake up screeching as if to simultaneously test her super-powered lungs and her father's patience. The headaches he'd gotten from trying to soothe his little girl were just a memory now but it was moments like those that made him wish his biological parents had given him the formula for Kryptonian aspirin.

Lois nodded as she looked up from the photographs, smirking. "And you've got double the trouble coming your way too. Good luck with that."

Just then the elevator doors opened and a courier with a large box caught their attention as he strode purposefully through the chaos of the bullpen and straight toward Lois. All three followed the brown-uniformed man's progress until he reached her desk, plopping the package on top of her filing cabinet with a dramatic thud.

"Sign here please, Ma'am."

Lois looked up at him quizzically and took the electronic pen and notepad from him. There wasn't anything assuming about him—he appeared to be about Jimmy's height with jet black hair sticking out from under the cap pulled low over his brow—but it was the way his eyes kept shifting around, meticulously taking in his surroundings, that put her on high alert. With a quirked eyebrow she casually glanced over at Clark and saw that he was equally suspicious.

Stalling, she pointed to the screen on the notepad. "Right here?"

"No Ma'am, right here," he intoned drolly, pointing to the correct line. No sooner had she crossed her last T then he scooped it right back up from her, making his way with swift, purposeful steps back to the elevator.

"Hey, what happened to Harry?" Clark called out, rising from his seat to follow after him.

Without missing a beat, the courier replied, "He's taking a sick day." The elevator doors opened up before him and a flood of people came out, leaving the courier free to step in and ride down alone back to the lobby.

"Not very friendly, was he?" Jim asked, getting up to examine the package. Turning to Clark, he added, "And who's Harry?"

"That's the point, Jim," Lois remarked, also standing up and moving toward the box on her filing cabinet. "There is no Harry. Clark was testing him."

"Oh."

Clark was about to respond when Perry White burst out of his office, shouting "STOP! Don't touch that! Leave it right there!" All commotion in the bullpen ceased and all eyes followed the Editor-in-Chief as he hustled over to the reporters' desks. "And you people call yourselves investigative journalists…doesn't anybody check their memos around here?!? New security measures were implemented four months ago—we no longer allow couriers on the floor! All packages have to be signed in at the front desk and checked by Daily Planet security personnel before being delivered; your courier obviously never went through the check-in." He gesticulated wildly at the box as he continued, "For all we know this could be a bomb."

The room collectively inhaled in fear, and Clark could hear more than a few people quietly making their way to the stairwell before the all out rush.

As if reading their minds, the Chief cried out, "No need to panic people, no need to panic! Now, I want all of you to file out and down the stairs in an orderly fashion, none of this stampeding like elephants business. I'll call security and…"

While Perry spoke, Lois and Jim watched as Clark lowered his glasses to the bridge of his nose, surreptitiously x-raying the contents of the package. They exhaled in relief when they saw him push the glasses back up again, then take a step forward to open the up box…


Perry watched in horror as the more sensible half of his reporting duo stepped forward to lift the cover off the box. "KENT, NO!!!" he screamed, ducking for cover with the phone still in his hand while everyone else in the room followed suit. To his surprise they were all still alive a moment later and the young man was rummaging through papers and file folders with great interest.

"WHAT IN THE SAM HILL DID I JUST SAY ABOUT CALLING IN SECURITY?!?!" the Chief shouted, straightening up again, his face red with anger. "And how did you know that that wasn't a bomb!??! We all could've been KILLED!"

"I, uh…that is…I…" Clark stuttered.

Olsen quickly rushed in to his friend's defense. "It wasn't ticking, right Clark? Lois and I didn't hear it ticking either. So you see, Chief, it couldn't have been a bomb; no timing device. Isn't that right?" The photographer turned to Lois for confirmation and she eagerly nodded her head in agreement.

"He's right, Chief. No timer, no bomb."


Lois prayed that Perry's disinterest in all things technological would help them pass thE flimsy lie off as a truth. She continued to vigorously nod her head while eying her Editor-in-Chief to see if he was about to call their bluff when he mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite catch; then, turning to all three of them with a critical eye, he said, "Ok…but don't you EVER think about pulling such a BONEHEADED move in my bullpen again, Kent, you hear me?!?!"

She watched her husband out of the corner of her eye; it was all Clark could do to nod in ready agreement at his boss while getting chewed out in the middle of the floor. "Alright then." Turning to the rest of his employees, Perry added, "Show's over everyone, now get back to work! And Barbara, get me a refill!" He stormed back to his office and slammed the door shut, drawing the shades tight behind him for some privacy and, for what Lois could only assume, was a chance to recover from his 'near-brush' with death.

Smacking her husband on the arm as he proceeded to empty out the contents of the box, she hissed, "What did you think you were doing?! And in front of the whole bullpen, no less! Really, Clark? Really?!"

He stopped and gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry…I was just trying to save security the trouble."

Jim stepped forward and put a hand on each of their backs. "Hey, you two? Uh, how about we take this into the conference room and uh, spread out?" And discuss this a little more privately, he added with a glance.

Lois agreed and picked up what files she could as well as the box cover before following the boys to the conference room. The caravan had trudged halfway across the bullpen when Ralph called her back.

"Hey Lois, you dropped something!" He leaned over in his desk chair to pick the plain white envelope up off the ground and hand it back to her, his phone glued to his ear the entire time.

"Thanks." She studied it closely, wondering briefly which of the folders it might have fallen out of, before plopping it on top of her pile and pinning it under her thumb.

Clark heaved the box onto the tabletop with a thud and the doors were no sooner shut behind them then he immersed himself fully into the mounds of data. "Well somebody out there likes us," he mused aloud as he thumbed through a file. "Anything and everything we've ever wanted to know about a man named Uncle involved in the drug trade of the East Side Slums—the only things missing are his name and address."

His wife let loose a genuine laugh. "Like it would ever be that simple." She tore open the end of the envelope Ralph had handed to her and read the letter inside. "Guys, hold up a sec and listen to this; I think this was taped to the inside of the lid. 'Dear Mr. Kent and Mrs. Lane-Kent, It has recently come to my attention that you have been researching an 'Uncle' with ties to the East Side; included in this package are any and all copies of information in my possession pertaining to said suspect. The investigation into this individual was officially closed in January of 2007; however, you will find several files and notes dated as recently as March of this year. Be aware that this suspect is an extremely dangerous individual who poses a threat to every one of Metropolis' citizens and that this threat level grows with each passing day whether City officials wish to acknowledge it or not. Here's to hoping that you get further in your search than I have been able to these last thirteen years. Sincerely, Anonymous'." Lois thought that over a bit before opening her sarcastic mouth, "You're not that anonymous, you Dope; half these documents have the FBI seal on them and you printed this letter on official FBI letterhead! For crying out loud why not just beat us over the head with your badge number?!!"

"Maybe whoever sent it did that on purpose, to throw us off the scent," Jim posited, looking from Lois to Clark hopefully.

"I doubt it; this is a seal that not many would dare attempt to replicate. More likely than not whoever sent us this information wants to help us in our search without being directly involved…probably something to do with Bureau policy and protocol," the tall Midwestern reporter said thoughtfully.

"You know…" Jim tried again, studying the bottom of the page in his hands interestedly, "There is a way to find out who sent this to us. These sheets were printed off late last night—see the time and date stamp right here? So all we need to do is get Chloe to hack into their database and see who accessed…"

"Jim, are you crazy?!?" Lois cried out emphatically, throwing her hands up in the air. "Do you want your kids to be born behind bars?! Hacking into a federal database is a criminal offense! Even I wouldn't attempt such a thing if I had the skills, and we all know I'm the least law-abiding person here!"

A curious look crossed Clark's face. "I think there might be another way… Let me go make a quick phone call and run an errand and I'll be right back, ok? Oh, and order lunch for me too, will you?" He strode out of there in a hurry, his long legs carrying him across the bullpen in a flash.

Jim pulled the last of the file folders from the box as Lois reached behind her for some legal pads and pens. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"Beats me, but I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."


11:53 am. "Special Agent Jack Yeoh," Clark announced as he strode back into the conference room a little over an hour later, touching the edge of his glasses to make sure they were properly covering his face.

"Come again?" Lois asked, looking up abruptly at the interruption.

"Our 'anonymous informant' is Special Agent Jack Yeoh of the Narcotics Division at the FBI's field office here in Metropolis. He's also the 'courier' who delivered this to us earlier."

"And you know this how?" Jim sat watching his friends' banter back and forth curiously.

"I got in touch with Clarissa and asked for a favor; she then legally back-tracked who had accessed the files in the last twenty-four hours and gave me his name—along with a copy of his ID photo—when I met her on the roof of her building a short while ago. It's him, no doubt about it."

A rap at the door alerted them to the arrival of lunch, and Jim hustled over to take the plastic bag out of the man's hands and pay him. "Ok, so what are we supposed to do with this information now?" he asked as he turned his attention back to the room.

"I don't know. I mean, Clarissa says he's one of the good guys…"

"She said that about Spencer Chase too, and we all know how that turned out," Lois spat bitterly, as all thoughts of the traitorous agent made her blood boil.

"Well, I'm taking her at her word this time," her husband answered, taking a bite of the turkey wrap Jim had passed his way. "Anyhow, the way she explained it was that Al's poking around in the MPD database on our behalf probably sent up a red flag on Yeoh's desk, and he was able to backtrack it to us and our investigation, hence how we ended up with this box. Apparently, Yeoh was heavily involved in the investigation until it was officially closed in '07." Clark cracked open his soda and took a long sip before continuing. "So, what have you guys been able to learn while I've been gone?"

"A little of this, a little of that," she replied as she set her soda down on the table. "Right now we're just trying to make heads and tails of everything. There's nothing concrete, yet, but at least it's all information pertaining to the Uncle that we're searching for and not just one of twenty random men who run around this City calling themselves Uncle or something equally ridiculous. The FBI suspects he's been involved in at least a half dozen drug-related murders over the last decade, and that doesn't even include the Buffalo Warehouse Massacre back in '06, which they believe he masterminded."

"What's the Buffalo Warehouse Massacre?" Clark asked as he swallowed a bite of his wrap. Lois and Jim eyed one another wearily, and he knew by their silence and body language that this was not a subject they were comfortable broaching with him.

"I wrote about it—the Massacre, I mean," Lois began softly, putting her veggie burger down on its wrapper. "It was what ended the drug war in the Slums. You see, after you left…" she said as delicately as she could, watching the guilt and pain flash through his azure eyes as she spoke, "After you left, a man named Hector Caro, a drug lord from Gotham, moved to Metropolis. He established as his base the old Buffalo Furniture Warehouse building just on the border of the Slums and Downtown. Of course, nobody knew that that was where he was at the time, that information came out later…anyhow, he initiated a turf war of sorts that dragged on for four years. Authorities were never sure just who Caro was fighting, but whoever it was ended everything one night in April of '06. They came out with guns blazing, Clark; there were no survivors. The warehouse looked like a brick version of Swiss cheese and police found something like forty or forty-five bodies inside—the only body they didn't find was that of Hector Caro; all they found of him was a finger. It was all so bloody and awful…" She shut her eyes tight at the memory, having investigated the area under police escort the following day so she could report on it; it was one of the few stories she'd covered in her very varied career that still made her cringe all these years later. "According to these records, the FBI thinks this Uncle guy was behind it."

Jim watched his friend out of the corner of his eye while he continued to shove more of his turkey wrap into his mouth. "Oh," Clark said slowly, letting his wife's words sink in. He looked wistfully out the window just then, and his companions knew just how hard he was wishing he'd never left.


4:43 pm. "It's like this Uncle guy thinks he's Keyser Soze," Jim said quietly, as he read through yet another list of the man's probable exploits within the drug trade. It was the only thing he and his friends had done for the rest of the day, and they already had one legal pad full of notes.

"What's that, Jim?" Clark asked, eyebrows raised behind his thick glasses as he sat picking through a file of his own.

The photographer looked over at the two of them, putting his paperwork down. "Have you ever guys seen the movie 'The Usual Suspects'?"

"Of course!" Lois piped up. Her husband smiled knowingly; it was one of her favorite films. Dropping her voice, she quoted, "'The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist'." She even mimicked Kevin Spacey blowing at the imaginary puff of smoke.

"Right, well it's like this Uncle guy is pulling a Keyser Soze. Look here, there are at least six FBI sketches from people who claim to have seen him and worked for him, only none of those sketches look like any of the others! Not only that, but the few people that do step forward claiming to have worked with or seen Uncle have had a tendency to disappear or die under mysterious circumstances. It's as though Uncle's a ghost!"

"He may very well be, Jim," Clark muttered under his breath as he re-doubled his efforts. "He may very well be…"