[Cabana Lounge, the Radisson Metropolis West]

Lex coughed. Rupert Thorne puffed his fine Cuban cigar, savouring the aroma.

"I realize this is 'your turf', Mr. Luthor. Your father built this town. I respect that. Creators, founders ... I think of myself as a creator, too."

Lex smirked. "Oh yes, your strip clubs, illegal casinos and brothels have done wonders for Gotham City's image."

"A man with humour – I like that." He snapped his finger. A lithe blonde waitress in a crop top and velvet skirt brought Mr. Thorne his martini.

"Lex, may I introduce Misty. She's going to be movie star someday."

Lex shuddered. I'd rather not ask what sort of movie she'd be 'starring' in. Poor girl. This city will eat her alive.

"Ohmigod, you're Lex Luthor!" Misty squealed. She handed him wine list. "Care for a drink?"

"A glass of your house wine will be fine," Lex replied. He looked around at the lounge patrons. A group of labourers, a pair of firefighters, three suits (likely from out of town) ... the riff-raff of suburbia. He glanced at the main entrance.

One of Thorne's "associates" – Mackenzie – pointed at him. "You da man, Luthor." He made a joke to another associate, who thought it was funny.

Lex wasn't laughing. What the hell am I doing here, with Gotham City's most notorious mob boss?!

"I predict that you will surpass your father, Lex. That's why I called this meeting." He opened a copy of the Smallville Ledger. 'KANSAS GOVERNOR HOLDEN WILL NOT SEEK NEW TERM: THE RACE BEGINS"

"Interesting news," Lex appeared to be indifferent.

Thorne chortled. "I know you better than that. Your papers recently applauded the hydro workers' work-to-rule campaign. You've put money into the electoral war chests of some prominent pro-labour state assemblymen. Sounds to me like you're courting potential allies."

"That's right," Lex was becoming nervous, "I'm an industrialist. I lobby government officials all the time. It's easier for me when those elected to public office – share my views."

Misty brought over a platter of hot wings. "Why, thank you, babe," Thorne drooled. "If you're looking for some weekend – how do I put this – companionship, I have an outfit just off the interstate. We have new hostesses this week."

"I think I'll pass. Look, Mr. Thorne, no one's fooling anyone here. You're a man of considerable influence in the labour movement. A man of power. So am I. The union bosses and their people can muster hundreds of thousands to work for one cause. I want that dedication, that support ..." Lex leaned towards Thorne. "I want to command their loyalty."

"You want? Everyone wants something." He sucked down a hot wing. "Life, as you know, ain't a free ride. Gotham's been fun. The mayor's office is in disarray. But I think I've maximized my earning potential there."

"Yeah, right." Lex sipped his wine. "I've read the Gotham Times. Commissioner Gordon's winning the war on organized crime, Bruce Wayne has mobilized his allies in Congress to push through a rock-solid anti- racketeering bill. Pretty soon, District Attorney Harvey Dent will be breathing down your neck ... seizing your assets ... shutting down your bordellos ..." He finished off his glass. "The way I see it, you need my help more than I need yours. You're right. Metropolis is Luthor territory. I call the shots here."

"A big shot, eh." Thorne called over Mackenzie, who promptly put on a pair of shiny brass knuckles.

"You won't harm me," Lex barely flinched. "I have something you need. Let's see ... you want me to ease your entry into Metropolis. Legitimize your outfit, smooth over permits for your strip clubs, preferential leases for your properties. And no questions asked."

Thorne clapped his hands loudly. "You do that, Mr. Luthor, and you'll have an army of workers to do your canvassing, recruiting, fundraising ... in the event you do seek out, say, a spot in the state assembly? The governor's office? The Senate?"

"We understand each other perfectly." Lex placed a $100 bill on the table. "A round for your boys. On me."

He went over to Thorne again. "Don't even think of screwing me over. If you think Mr. Wayne gave you a hard time in Gotham, you can expect far worse here if you choose to make me an enemy. Stick to your end of the deal ... and we're both happy."

Mackenzie rubbed his brass knuckles, but Lex brushed past him. "You should put your toys away. You might hurt yourself."

He took a deep breath outside the hotel. I need to take a long, hot shower.

I feel dirty.

[Metropolis City Hall]

"Councillor von Hutton, let me get this straight. You oppose the redevelopment proposal?"

"Yes, Clark, I do. I'm not going to give Luthor Corp. a blank cheque to turn city-owned property into a playground for his boarding school buddies and business partners!"

von Hutton was a swing vote in the Council. As a 20-year veteran of municipal politics, she could persuade many councillors to see things her way.

"Polls suggest that two-thirds of the city's residents support the proposed Olympic bid," Clark continued, "but you still insist that it's bad for Metropolis? Why is that?"

"We have highways littered with potholes, a transit system stretched to the limits and a weakening social support network. We have better things to do with the taxpayers' money that entertain IOC delegates."

An aide tapped her door and peeked from behind the door. "Excuse me. Ms. Von Hutton? Council is ready to vote on the budget."

The councillor extended her hand. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut this interview short, Mr. Kent. You're ... a friend of Lex Luthor, I hear."

"Well, yes. He wants to revitalize the city. I know his approach ruffles feathers in city hall, but he only wants what's best for Metropolis."

von Hutton's eyebrow arched warily. "Are you a reporter or actually his press agent? If I were you, I'd take Lex's grandiose vision with a grain of salt. I knew Lionel Luthor. He rarely showed interest in the well-being of the ordinary resident. If he did, it was because he was pursuing his own agenda. Lex and his investors stand to reap a fortune if the city wins the Olympics. Do you honestly think their profits will trickle down to those kids in the housing projects, to the single moms in the women's shelter? You can show yourself out."

Clark shook his head. She doesn't know Lex. He's not like Lionel.

When he stepped outside, a line of screaming Metro P.D. cruisers raced down the road. His cellphone rang.

"Clark!" It was Perry White. "There's a gang shootout going down a few blocks from you. I can't seem to get in touch with Chloe. Get over there and find out what's going on!! The corner of 5th and Liberty Drive. Sonny's Bar and Grill."

As he approached the intersection, he heard gunshots. He wriggled through the crowd of on-lookers.

"Sorry, sir, please stay behind the yellow tape," an officer ordered. Clark showed his press ID and pulled out his notebook. "I'm with the Daily Planet. I was told there was a gang shooting."

"One of the local hoods – the Street Posse – they double-crossed one of Thorne's associates on a drug shipment. They wiped the posse out. All of them!"

"They?"

The officer interrupted. "Units 2 and 3 on pursuit. Two perps at large." A police chopper zoomed overhead. "What was your question, Mr. Kent?"

Clark was already gone. He raced past five city blocks, across a parking lot and over two bridges.

I've overtaken them ... I hope. He soon spotted one of the Posse (he had the signature green bandana) limping towards him with a leg wound.

"He's crazy!" The street tough was hysterical. "He shot my leg! Dammit, my leg!!"

An immaculately dressed man sprinted towards them. He glared at Clark. "Step aside, sir. All I want is this little worm. I'll finish my business and be on my way." Clark saw a gloved hand reach for a gun. Sirens screeched in the distance. They'll never get here in time. Police roadblocks sealed the north end of the now-deserted avenue. We're trapped. The street tough was whimpering like a lost puppy. "Ya gotta help me, man. He'll kill me!"

"Drop your weapon." Clark demanded. "You're one of Rupert Thorne's men, aren't you?"

"You're in the wrong place," the gangster aimed, "at the wrong time." Clark heard a 'click!'

He saw three bullets exit the gun's nozzle. The street tough would surely die. Clark shielded him with his back. His blazer was splattered with bullet holes. Clark got up and stared at the astonished gangster. "Bad move."

Three more shots were fired. Clark's shirt was now ripped with bullet holes. He grabbed the gunman and tossed him across the street, into a dumpster. Clark jumped on top of it. "What the hell are you?! Please, don't kill me!!" the gangster begged.

A dozen police cars surrounded the alleyway. The police chopper flooded the lane with a spotlight. Down the avenue, officers were already hauling the street thug into a P.D. van.

"Nice work!" a detective slapped Clark's shoulder, "Although I don't know how you managed to get here before we did!"

"I – uh – took some sidestreets. Shortcuts." I hope no one else saw what just happened, Clark feared.

A block away, Chloe Sullivan's jaw dropped. Her camera kept snapping photos automatically. A diligent reporter, she had overheard radio reports about a shooting at the corner of 5th and Liberty. The sirens led her to this apparent showdown. She had gasped as the gunman fired the shots – point- blank – that would kill her old friend, Clark. There was no escape.

But the shots didn't kill him. Clark seemed to absorb the three shots. He got up – not a trickle of blood. Another three shots and he still moved forward. The street was a wide avenue. Clark tossed the man across six lanes like a throw pillow.

She had believed that Rupert Thorne's entry into the Metropolis underworld would be her career-making story. After what she just witnessed, the world of racketeering, drugs and prostitution paled in comparison. The Wall of Weird. All these years, under my nose. Clark Kent, you had a secret. And you didn't tell me. Or anyone. You know something ... about the meteor, about its dangers. Its powers. The inexplicable absences, the spur-of-the- moment excuses. You lied to me. You've been lying to me for years! What are you hiding?

Clark lives in a one-bedroom studio in the east end. She hailed a cab. I'll see you there, old friend. I'll be waiting for an explanation. And it had better be damn good.