"259, 301 . . .Ah, here we go: Suite #303." Chloe ran a last minute check. "Okay, I've got my notes, an extra pencil, and . . .wait a sec. My keys!" She rifled through her bag. Don't be in the trunk. Damn, that'd be the fourth time this month. If I have to call Clark again . . .
A voice from behind interrupted her thoughts. "You don't need keys to get in there, the door's unlocked."
Chloe jerked around startled. "Huh?"
He was young; an intern by the looks of it. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot. Either he was seriously sleep deprived or his contacts had been left in way too long.
"The keys in your hand, they won't work anyways."
She looked down. A familiar ring of keys dangled from her index finger. "Right." Embarrassed, Chloe shoved them back in her purse.
He pushed the sleeves of his lab coat above his elbows and reached for the handle. Insomnia boy forced a smile as he scurried through the doorway. "If you'll excuse me, Ms. . . ."
"Chloe, I mean, Sullivan. Chloe Sullivan." I should join Spastics Anonymous.
"Right, Ms. Sullivan."
She stood outside, not sure whether to charge in, or wait for the dust to settle. Curiosity overcame her uncertainty, and she stepped inside the door. Chloe surveyed the scene. There were at least two rooms. In the first sat an older woman, mid-forties. She was typing furiously. The name plate said, "Grace Kingsley." Kingsley? She looked more like a Lee than a Kingsley. Kingsley must be her married name. Not that it's any of my business . . .
Grace looked up from her typing. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to see Dr. Kane? We had an appointment at 3:00."
"Sure, let me check the roster." She knew how to type. Chloe could give her that. She studied her fingernails. They were uneven and two had broken off. The price paid for helping around the house, not to mention file diving at the Torch. She had to hand it to Grace. Her nails were long and decorated with tiny rhinestones. Only a secretary.
"Oh yes, here you are." She pointed at a spot on the screen. "Chloe Sullivan. Well, have a seat. Mr. Sparks will be out in just minute."
So Sparks is his name; No doubt a devoted coffee-pouring, paper-pushing expert by now. The door to his office was open, and she could hear pieces of the conversation as it wafted out.
"Test R7-50 is ready for commencement as scheduled. We should be underway within the hour, sir."
"Good. Keep me posted on your progress."
"Anything else?"
"No, that'll be all. You know where to contact me if there is any . . . problem."
Chloe shuddered. It was innocent enough, but there was something sinister there. It lurked just under the surface and she couldn't pin it down. This, whatever it was, had nothing to do with coffee.
"Hello? Is this the Kent residence?"
"Whis isth the Ent's." The voice sounded vaguely familiar.
"Hey, this is Pete, uh, is everything all right?"
"Hey Pete, ith's me!"
Pete was ecstatic. "Hey Clark, you sounded different, I didn't recognize you. That's not peanut butter you're eating, is it?"
"Yeah, how'd you guess?"
"C'mon Clark. This is Pete we're talking about. I know everything. And that is gross."
"What? It's good." He threw an empty jar in the trash and headed for a box of cereal. There was a moment of silence; Pete could hear cupboard doors being opened and closed and the faint rustling of plastic wrapping.
"Hey Clark, not to change the subject or anything, but did Lana ever do that France thing?"
"Yeah, Pete, she left last week. I thought you knew already."
"With all that's been going on, I figured she put it off. Who's running the Talon and all?"
Clark scratched the back of his collar. "Nobody now. She signed over the papers to Lex last week."
"Is he going to sell it?"
"Don't know. Some weird guy's interested though. Wants to turn it into a burrito hut I guess. Bob's Tiki Tacos, or something." Clark imagined Pete's look of disgust.
"I'm going to miss the coffee," Clark sighed as he glanced at the tangled phone cord. It would.
"You and Chloe need to stop it with the coffee. That stuff's bad for your health. I'm serious man, it's not normal to be hyped like that."
"Only Chloe can blame it on the coffee. Caffeine doesn't have an effect on me."
Silence.
"C'mon Pete, who's side are you on?"
"Clark, I'd love to tell you this is about sides. Truth is, it's about cold hard facts." He laughed. "When have I ever seen you normal on java?"
Clark caved. "Okay, so maybe it affects me a little. Speaking of Chloe, she left town today."
"Out of town?"
"Yeah, she left for Metropolis several hours ago; said she had an important interview."
"Did she say with who? With all this trial business going on and Chloe being the key witness..."
"She didn't say, but this isn't exactly her first interview in Metropolis Pete."
"I know, just keep an eye on her Clark, ok?"
"I have been." It was easier said than done.
"Oh, dinner's ready. I should go." Pete could hear pots clanging in the background. "Hey, it was good talking to you."
"Yeah, talk to you later, Pete."
Clark hung up the phone and sat down. With a heavy heart, he set aside his second jar of peanut butter. Only one left. I'll have to save this for later.
She glanced at his shoes; Black Armani, no tassels. He had good taste in shoes, at least. She couldn't say much for the rest of him. The tweed jacket and limey tie were killing her. Overlooking the visual disturbance, Chloe tried to focus on the facts. Nobody got interviews with Thaddeus Kane. Not even the high and mighty Daily Planet reporters.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Sullivan, what was your question again?" He removed his glasses and began to clean them with his tie. A man of his age and position wasn't often blessed with such company and it was . . . distracting to say the least.
"Uh, I haven't asked one yet." She tried to hide her confusion. Is this guy for real?
"Yes, of course. Well, let's have her then."
Chloe pulled out her notepad. "Your lab owns and operates the largest Scanning Electron Microscope in the Midwest. I understand you're also formulating a new form of computerized tomography?" How lame.
He took it in stride. "Yes, that's correct. We call it the CT Five, capable of scanning individual neurons, giving us the ability to picture and isolate different functions of the brain like never before."
Whoa, that went way over my head. Just write it down, Chloe. You can look it up later. She pressed him with another generic question. "I understand your lab is the largest, most profitable, analytical laboratory in Metropolis. How do you feel this affects small business?" Small business? Come on, Sullivan. You can do better than that. He took it in stride.
"It's a simple matter of supply and demand, Ms. Sullivan. I believe that corporations seek out top quality work and appreciate our speed and precision at a level small businesses can only dream of. Also . . ." The red call waiting button began to blink. Annoyed, he punched it down. "Make it short, I have company."
A voice crackled over the intercom. "You have a call on line one." It continued in the wake of silence. "A Lee Jamison from the Daily Planet?"
Chloe sat waiting.
"He wants to confirm the indictment of a former employee, some computer junkie named J.C. Boyd."
Kane turned away from Chloe and grimaced out the window. He could vaguely see the outlines of a globe far below. When would the Daily Planet learn to leave well enough alone? "I'm in the middle of a very important meeting, Grace. Take a message and tell him I'll get back to him later."
There was silence and Dr. Kane swiveled his chair again to face Chloe. "Sorry for the . . . interruption. Go on."
"Would you mind if I asked you a few personal questions?"
"Normally, I would say no." He said nothing further, but sat staring intently.
She smiled nervously. "Right. Okay . . . let's see here."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Chloe barreled forward. "So, how did you get interested in what you're doing now?"
"I don't know if it was as much as being interested, as much as what I've always wanted to do. The challenge of it all, you know." There was an underlying tone to his voice. Is he patronizing me? Maybe it's time to sound the retreat and mix up a new batch of questions. This interview is turning into splat surprise.
"Hmmm." She wrote furiously none the less. Anything was better than nothing. She looked up briefly to ask the next question.
"Did you see yourself as founder and CEO for the largest analytical laboratory in the State?"
He thought for a minute before responding. "I think everyone has fantasies at some point of being someone else's hero."
There was another long pause. Chloe looked up from her notepad, pen poised in mid-air. So he thinks he's somebody's hero? What a braincase.
"Do you have any dreams for the future? An innocent question should reciprocate with an equally innocent response, right?
"Dreams, Ms. Sullivan, everybody has dreams. What I have is a vision: To see beyond my years, to venture farther than has ever been imagined, to bring this modern age into an epiphany of existence. What I have in store . . . well, that should be saved for another little chat. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Sullivan?"
Dumbfounded, she nodded her head obediently. Was she right in coming? There was a sudden and irresistible urge to run out the door. Instead, she smiled and continued on. It was the professional thing to do. "I agree completely, Dr. Kane." She turned a new leaf in her notepad. If you can do this Chloe, you can do anything.