I'd made sure that Clark's own close friends wouldn't be at the funeral. He'd see all his parents' friends, many of which would be sanctimonious about the suicide, but none of his own. As for me, I'd be present but nowhere near him, which he'd take as uncertainty and deference to his parents' feelings about me. I'd be able to gauge his dependence by seeing how often he turned to look for me. Charity was discreetly in the crowd, murmuring to anybody who asked that she had known Martha Kent in Metropolis and occasionally giving Clark a little dose of meteor. Of course, she couldn't get too close, but she was carrying a large enough piece that even fron a distance, it affected him, though just making him feel unwell rather than overwhelming him. Only once, after a particularly long blast, did he look for me. On the whole, I was disappointed.
At the requisite lunch afterwards in the church basement, then, I made a point of being useful, helping to unfold chairs, being charming as I helped old ladies with walkers, generally acting like the helpful family friend and factotum. I even submitted graciously to the individuals who found it a refreshing novelty to call out "orders," telling me that something or another needed to be done. I didn't even take notes of names; I'd learned about the difference between petty victories and large ones and it also amused me that none of them had any idea what I was doing.
When the final cleanup was done, everybody was thanked, and the usual awkward moments passed, Clark was looking as drained as if he were near a meteor. I went over to him and asked if there was anything else he needed me to do.
"No, thanks, Lex. I really appreciate..." his voice trailed away.
"You've had a long day," I said, sympathetically. I knew that he was holding up with the reserves of his strength, and another kind word would drain him more than anything else could. "Let's get you back."
I drove him back to the farm and he made coffee. For such an insipid creature, he makes strong brews. When he poured himself a mug, wrapping his hands around it for warmth, I watched him, and just as he took a swallow, said, "We need to talk about your future, Clark."
He coughed, and as I hit him on the back, I continued, "I think it would be best if you come back to Metropolis with me. That way, we can decide what to do about the farm, about a job for you, about where you'll live."
"There's not much to do about the farm," he said, looking down. "It's not worth even the value of the mortgage."
"Negative equity?"
"That's what they called it."
"That's not a problem. How much is it?"
"I wasn't asking you for money, Lex." There wasn't the usual indignation in his voice.
I smiled. "I was offering. That's different." I got up to stand behind him for a moment as I topped off my mug. "It would give me great pleasure to help you, Clark, you know that."
"But I don't even know if I want...maybe I should let it go..."
"What do you want, Clark?" I sat down again, pulling my chair closer, making eye contact which he found difficult to break. "That's the secret, to know what you want. From there, getting it is easy."
"I don't know. I want..."
We both raised our heads at the sound of cars tearing up to the house. I stood up, dramatically, letting the chair fall to the ground behind me. Car doors slammed outside, voices shouted, and a shotgun blast shattered the window nearest us. At the sound of heavy thuds against the door, the sound of wood ripping, I pushed my way past Clark and opened the door myself.
While Clark stared, I was surrounded by men, all pointing guns at me.
"Stay back, Clark," I commanded, quietly, and opened my box. As he tried to move closer, he was overwhelmed and doubled over. Though I turned away, I could feel his eyes fixed on me, piteously and helplessly, as I continued, "Gentlemen, he's not involved. I'll go with you as long as you leave him out of it." One of them prodded me with his gun as another jammed his against my chin. Ignoring them, I turned to Clark. "Just in case...Clark, goodbye." They led me out, two staying behind and keeping their guns trained on him until the first car had speeded away. The pouches hidden under their leather jackets kept him well-immobilized, and from their account, there were tears in his eyes.
*******************
Mercy snorted as I recounted the scene. "And he fell for it?"
"Subtlety was always wasted on him. He was tearing down the highway like a madman, I hear. He's on his way now, after I told him I got them to let me go."
A few minutes later, Clark indeed appeared. I stood up to greet him and turned to Mercy. "You can leave us now."
She planted her feet firmly and I raised an eyebrow. "Are you disobeying an order?"
"Are you giving me a dumb-ass order?" Clark was gaping at this interplay.
"Mercy, I gave them what they wanted, they aren't coming back, and if they were, they'd have to get through-"
"A bunch of paid guards who would look the other way for ten bucks."
"Mercy," I repeated, sternly, staring her down.
"You're the boss," she said, and sauntered out.
"Nominally," I muttered as she closed the door behind her.
Clark smiled uncertainly. "Who were those people?"
"Real live Mafia. The...LuthorCorp had been competing with some of their areas. I'd started cleaning things up, but not quite fast enough. They didn't know that I had no interest in...retaining old business interests that I'd...inherited. And one can hardly publicize that a business is now severing illegal activities." I chuckled. "They probably imagined that I am the biggest pushover in business, when they started making demands, I told them which I had already met and outlined my detailed plans for the rest. In fact, they were inadvertantly quite helpful, there were several areas where I wasn't aware of certain activities."
"I can't imagine anybody thinking you're a pushover."
"Mercy does."
His smile was more certain.
"Thanks for coming to check on me, Clark. I appreciate it." I sighed ruefully. "Almost like old days. You save my neck one week, I save yours the next, or at least try to." I clenched the edge of my desk and saw him glance down as my knuckles whitened. "Clark, what happened between us? Things weren't meant to be...the way they turned."
At the requisite lunch afterwards in the church basement, then, I made a point of being useful, helping to unfold chairs, being charming as I helped old ladies with walkers, generally acting like the helpful family friend and factotum. I even submitted graciously to the individuals who found it a refreshing novelty to call out "orders," telling me that something or another needed to be done. I didn't even take notes of names; I'd learned about the difference between petty victories and large ones and it also amused me that none of them had any idea what I was doing.
When the final cleanup was done, everybody was thanked, and the usual awkward moments passed, Clark was looking as drained as if he were near a meteor. I went over to him and asked if there was anything else he needed me to do.
"No, thanks, Lex. I really appreciate..." his voice trailed away.
"You've had a long day," I said, sympathetically. I knew that he was holding up with the reserves of his strength, and another kind word would drain him more than anything else could. "Let's get you back."
I drove him back to the farm and he made coffee. For such an insipid creature, he makes strong brews. When he poured himself a mug, wrapping his hands around it for warmth, I watched him, and just as he took a swallow, said, "We need to talk about your future, Clark."
He coughed, and as I hit him on the back, I continued, "I think it would be best if you come back to Metropolis with me. That way, we can decide what to do about the farm, about a job for you, about where you'll live."
"There's not much to do about the farm," he said, looking down. "It's not worth even the value of the mortgage."
"Negative equity?"
"That's what they called it."
"That's not a problem. How much is it?"
"I wasn't asking you for money, Lex." There wasn't the usual indignation in his voice.
I smiled. "I was offering. That's different." I got up to stand behind him for a moment as I topped off my mug. "It would give me great pleasure to help you, Clark, you know that."
"But I don't even know if I want...maybe I should let it go..."
"What do you want, Clark?" I sat down again, pulling my chair closer, making eye contact which he found difficult to break. "That's the secret, to know what you want. From there, getting it is easy."
"I don't know. I want..."
We both raised our heads at the sound of cars tearing up to the house. I stood up, dramatically, letting the chair fall to the ground behind me. Car doors slammed outside, voices shouted, and a shotgun blast shattered the window nearest us. At the sound of heavy thuds against the door, the sound of wood ripping, I pushed my way past Clark and opened the door myself.
While Clark stared, I was surrounded by men, all pointing guns at me.
"Stay back, Clark," I commanded, quietly, and opened my box. As he tried to move closer, he was overwhelmed and doubled over. Though I turned away, I could feel his eyes fixed on me, piteously and helplessly, as I continued, "Gentlemen, he's not involved. I'll go with you as long as you leave him out of it." One of them prodded me with his gun as another jammed his against my chin. Ignoring them, I turned to Clark. "Just in case...Clark, goodbye." They led me out, two staying behind and keeping their guns trained on him until the first car had speeded away. The pouches hidden under their leather jackets kept him well-immobilized, and from their account, there were tears in his eyes.
*******************
Mercy snorted as I recounted the scene. "And he fell for it?"
"Subtlety was always wasted on him. He was tearing down the highway like a madman, I hear. He's on his way now, after I told him I got them to let me go."
A few minutes later, Clark indeed appeared. I stood up to greet him and turned to Mercy. "You can leave us now."
She planted her feet firmly and I raised an eyebrow. "Are you disobeying an order?"
"Are you giving me a dumb-ass order?" Clark was gaping at this interplay.
"Mercy, I gave them what they wanted, they aren't coming back, and if they were, they'd have to get through-"
"A bunch of paid guards who would look the other way for ten bucks."
"Mercy," I repeated, sternly, staring her down.
"You're the boss," she said, and sauntered out.
"Nominally," I muttered as she closed the door behind her.
Clark smiled uncertainly. "Who were those people?"
"Real live Mafia. The...LuthorCorp had been competing with some of their areas. I'd started cleaning things up, but not quite fast enough. They didn't know that I had no interest in...retaining old business interests that I'd...inherited. And one can hardly publicize that a business is now severing illegal activities." I chuckled. "They probably imagined that I am the biggest pushover in business, when they started making demands, I told them which I had already met and outlined my detailed plans for the rest. In fact, they were inadvertantly quite helpful, there were several areas where I wasn't aware of certain activities."
"I can't imagine anybody thinking you're a pushover."
"Mercy does."
His smile was more certain.
"Thanks for coming to check on me, Clark. I appreciate it." I sighed ruefully. "Almost like old days. You save my neck one week, I save yours the next, or at least try to." I clenched the edge of my desk and saw him glance down as my knuckles whitened. "Clark, what happened between us? Things weren't meant to be...the way they turned."