"Hello."

"Is it done?"

"'The Adoration of the Magi'?"

"How did it turn out?"

"You had him paint 'The Adoration of the Magi' on my wall."

"You said you liked the implication of the picture."

"When did I say that? And what the hell did I mean?"

"When we were at the gallery. In Florence. Remember? Five years ago, I spent the summer? We went to that gallery, you were talking about how unlikely it was that Jesus was revered or even known when he was a kid, but that artists could make up any past they liked; you thought that was funny. Come on. You remember."

"I think so. Which gallery?"

"We were in Florence. There were a lot of them. I think it was the one with the soft-drink name."

"The Uffizi?"

"Hee."

"You still think that's funny?"

"It's called the Uffizi! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

"You're a little old for that kind of humor."

"Just because I can almost vote, doesn't mean I can't have fun. You're welcome, by the way."

"Thank you."

"I would've gotten you the original, but not even the Luthor charm would work on those guys."

"About this particular version—"

"What?"

"To be honest, I'm afraid to ask this next question."

"Any similarity in appearance between you and the baby Jesus is purely intentional."

"I think my ego's been stroked enough."

"Damn. It was supposed to mock, not stroke. I'll have to go yell at the guy."

"The virgin Mary looks a lot like Mom."

"Well, Dad always said she looked like a Renaissance painting."

"She did."

"I don't really remember."

Silence. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Thank you for taking Victor away."

"She wanted me to say hello."

"Grr."

"I'll pass the sentiment along."

"She has no taste, by the way."

"She's got exceptional taste in men."

"No comment. She came back from that shopping spree with my maid—"

"Do you ever bother to learn their names?"

"What for? They're here for all of two weeks, then they sleep with Dad, and then they're fired. It's easier to just call them 'the maid' and save brain space. Anyway, she came back yammering about this 'chahming' boutique she found out on the Avenue, and you know what she was so proud of finding? A leopard-print jacket. She looks like a fifty-dollar hooker."

"She looked all right to me."

"That's because you have no fashion sense. If we ever let you go in a shopping mall without Jean-Paul, you'd come back with stretch jeans and a pleather biker vest again."

"That was a Halloween costume."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Hmph. How are Frank and Sarah doing?"

"As well as anyone can expect. Amy's staying at Metro General for a little while; we shipped Jeff off to Gotham Institute. They're better at treating long-term emotional… whatever it is that he has."

"I hope it helps."

"If it doesn't, we'll just put a lo-jack on him. Besides, GI is good at what they do. Remember Bruce's thing?"

"Right. Maybe they'll room together."

"They'd have fun talking shit about you. But I think Bruce has enough money to get outpatient care, even with his issues. Anyway, I'm glad you like the painting."

"I said 'thank you,' I never said anything about liking it."

"You're funny. What's going on?"

"Not much. I'm fighting off a competitor who wants to reduce Smallville to a wasteland."

"But you got there first! No fair."

"That's what I said. Plus, he annoys me."

"Uh-oh. One of those cheerful folksy back-stabbers that glom onto you and Dad."

"What is it about us that attracts them?"

"Not sure. Maybe it's your cheerful folksiness."

"Don't ever call me folksy again, Lilly. I know where you live."

"Yeah, yeah, tough guy. So who is it?"

"Bob Rickman."

"Don't know him. Wait. No. He was that guy who took Dad to lunch last month."

"With a memory like that, you should be able to remember the names of your maids."

"I only remember because Dad was supposed to go to Tokyo instead, and it got cancelled for some reason. He kept likening 'Bob' to bad sushi at dinner that night."

"So Bob's not getting along too well with Dad, either."

"Nope. So should I expect Bob to appear at one of my gym meets?"

"I don't think this has anything to do with us. He wants to set up a pesticide plant."

"Well, at least Nell's not selling any land to him. I hope."

"Oh, he's not after any of that property—"

"Hee. So to speak."

"Lilly."

"Sorry."

"He wants to buy the Kent farm."

"Aww. His optimism is kind of cute."

"I take it you haven't actually met the man."

"Good point. So, tell Clark's dad to be careful, and not have any pens handy when Bob comes calling."

"Good idea. I'll talk to you later."

"Call me if the Kents decide to sell."

"I think Hell will freeze over, first."

"At least we can go ice-skating when we die. See you."

"Bye."

*

"Buy ice skates."

"You're kidding me."

"Mr. Kent signed the contract this afternoon."

"You're kidding me."

"You already said that."

"What the hell did Bob say to him?"

"I suspect blackmail."

"Pft."

"They've got to have something that can be used."

"Riiight. Speaking of which, your lapdog called here looking for you. Said he had the 'test results' in."

"Yeah, he called earlier. Should be interesting."

"God, Lex. You're such a freak. What could Clark possibly be hiding?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have Roger come down here next week."

"Whatever. One of these days, far into the future, you're going to let this go, right?"

"Don't count on it."

"Okay. Whatever. So, what's going to happen with the Kents?"

"Well, Clark was just here; he wants me to see if there's any way out of it."

"Is there?"

"I called Gil just now. It looks pretty watertight, but there's always some angle. We hire enough lawyers, we'll get them out of it."

"You're hilarious."

"What?"

"The way you're willing to throw yourself in with these people. It never occurred to you that Mr. Kent signed the contract, and now has a case of contract-signer's remorse and wants out. Did it?"

"I know the Kents."

"You like the Kents. Not the same thing. But at least it's in keeping with your personality."

"Which personality is that?"

"Don't get all snotty with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I'm just trying to help a friend."

"Good luck."

"With the lawyers, or with getting the Kents to like me?"

"You do know what I was talking about."

"Bye."

*

"Mph."

"Hey. Lilly. Wake up. I need you to find Toby."

"What?"

"Toby, Dr. Weshersen. His phone's been disconnected—I can only assume because he forgot to pay the phone bill again."

"No—no. Hold up. Dammit, Lex, I'm asleep. Can't this wait until morning?"

"I've got a fugitive bleeding on my carpets, so no. It can't. Where is he?"

"He's somewhere in the city, last I heard. His phone's not working? And who's the fugitive? It's not Clark, is it?"

"I'll answer any and all questions later. Find Toby and send him here. Preferably in Dad's helicopter or the plane. The faster, the better."

"Fine. Later."

"I'm going to call back in two minutes and make sure you haven't fallen asleep."

"Okay, okay! God."

*

"Hello?"

"So, I want details."

"It's four o'clock in the morning."

"And you're still up, and I'm still up, so I want details. Who's the fugitive?"

"Some guy named Kyle Radley. Friend of Clark's. Got arrested for assault, but the circumstances are such that it's a little—there are a few questions we're still working out."

"Well, you work away there, busy beaver. Can I ask why Clark came to you for help?"

"No. Clark's got his reporter friend Chloe digging around, so we should have some answers tomorrow."

"Chloe—isn't that the plant manager's kid?"

"Yeah. She edits the school newspaper."

"Okay, there are no adults in Smallville. There're just homicidal kids, and their overindulgent parents."

"And the occasional businessman."

"Shady businessman."

"Are you calling me shady?"

"Of course you're shady. You can't help yourself."

"I'm a victim of genetics."

"Toby give you any guff about his car?"

"Of course. He wouldn't be Toby if he didn't."

"You did replace it, though."

"You can't really replace a Mustang."

"Word."

"What?"

"Okay, Lex? Next time you're channel surfing, give some thought to stopping on MTV for a little while, as opposed to C-SPAN."

"C-SPAN's hip."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

"'Night. Sorry about waking you up."

"If you want me to forgive you, stop mentioning it."

"Forgive and forget?"

"Forget, and then forgive by default."

"Sleep tight."

*

"Hello?"

"So you had him killed?"

"No, I didn't have him killed. He committed suicide."

"Oh, I see. 'No witnesses have come forward yet, but investigators have determined that the fatal injury was self-inflicted.'"

"Where did you get that?"

"Smallville Ledger."

"And where did you get that?"

"I have a subscription. At a very reasonable price, might I add."

"I'd imagine the courier would be the real cost issue."

"You're avoiding. Bob didn't kill himself."

"As far as I know, he did."

"Lex. What's going on down there?"

"Nothing…"

"Nothing what?"

Sigh. "Nothing that you'd believe."

"Ah. Another homicidal teenager?"

"No. I think we've used up our quota for the year. That fugitive…"

"The one who prompted you to call me at one o'clock in the morning?"

"That very one. He was an old business partner with Bob. Apparently, they had some kind of ability to convince people to do whatever they wanted, just by shaking their hand."

"Good thing you've got that thing about handshakes."

Silence.

"Oh, God. What did he make you do?"

"According to Clark? I tried to kill him."

"Bob?"

"Clark."

"Wow. But you didn't."

"No. Fortunately, Clark knocked me out somehow before I could. And then… Bob killed himself. Or maybe Kyle made him kill himself. It's all… a little blurry, to be honest."

"You tried to kill Clark."

"I don't remember. But they found my fingerprints on the gun, and the shop's got bullet holes all over it."

"What kind of gun?"

"Not a pistol, some sort of machine gun?"

"What happened to the fugitive—Kyle?"

"No one knows. He's gone, that's for sure."

"So, he had this power, too? The convincing power?"

"Yeah. Chloe thinks it eventually drove him into hibernation, out here. In the wilderness."

"Sounds like you."

"At least I don't make sculptures of dead wood and twisted metal to symbolize my existential angst."

"No, you just play head games with your friends and plot world domination."

"We all need hobbies, Lilly."

"So Clark's okay?"

"He's fine. Miraculously unharmed."

"No kidding. Maybe there's something to this whole 'secrets' theory."

"You get on board now?"

"Well, a machine gun's pretty good at hitting its target."

"I know."

"Okay. So—let me get this straight. You tried to kill Clark. You didn't succeed, but you also don't remember anything about trying to kill him."

"Well, Clark hit me pretty hard. Besides, it's not something I really want to remember too clearly."

"I'd imagine. Clark freaked out at all?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to him today."

"You should go over. Bring him flowers or something."

"Shut up."

"Chocolates?"

"Shut up."

"Maybe a big stuffed teddy bear… Hello? Hello? Heh."