(Kent farm, Smallville)
Clark placed a few odds-and-ends into the box. He wanted as much space as possible around his desk before the final exams next month. As he tossed aside the clutter, he found an old photo: dated 2001, his freshman year.
It was a picture of him and Pete, at a Metropolis Sharks game. He carefully set the photo atop his desk. There were so many conflicting emotions inside him; he didn't know whether to be upset, angry or just disappointed.
He resented the way Pete had tried to leverage his friendship to bail him out of his street-racing problem. But, he couldn't really blame Pete, either. Pete, through no fault of his own, had the burden of his alien secret placed upon him. Aside from his red meteor mishap, Pete didn't wilfully betray that secret.
He had assumed that Pete's loyalty was good enough, and he took that faith (and his friendship) for granted. He didn't work hard at all to earn Pete's loyalty, so it was no real surprise that Pete had found a dangerous outlet for his frustrations over their fading friendship.
"Clark, dinner's ready," Martha called from the barn entrance.
"In a minute, Mom," Clark replied. Pete deserved more consideration than I gave him. To the end, he protected my secret. His thoughts drifted to that freshman year, when he and Pete were the outsiders. Times were much simpler then. Next year, he was planning to join the football team. His father would surely be against it, but there would be time to deal with that problem later.
He checked the computer clock on-screen. Half an hour had passed. I still have to edit my volleyball story, he gasped.
An SUV pulled into the driveway. "Clark? Are you here?" It was Lana. Chloe was also there.
"Chloe, I was just finishing the final edit on my article," Clark explained.
"I think we have a bigger story," Chloe replied. Clark looked surprised.
"You know Miss Bertinelli?" Lana began. "Well, Lex came by the Talon ... and once she introduced herself, he became all defensive."
"Why?" Clark was still puzzled. Miss Bertinelli was just a student teacher.
"Lex says that Miss Bertinelli is the only surviving daughter of the Bertinelli crime family of Gotham," Chloe interjected. "They died in a hail of bullets about 15 years ago. All except our new volleyball coach!"
"That's odd," Clark observed. "She does drive a Lamborghini, but I heard through the grapevine that her family was loaded."
"Yeah!" Chloe added. "— and apparently with dirty money! She's a trust fund baby, and according to Lana, Lex says she's living off the avails of Gotham's underworld wars. My profile on her just got juicier."
Clark held back her arm. "Whoa, hold on there. You're thinking of doing an expose on a student teacher? You don't know for sure if she's still has ties to the mob, or if she even is the same Helena Bertinelli who watched her family die."
"So what are we going to do then?" Chloe wondered. "Maybe Miss Bertinelli is a scout, exploring new turf for the Gotham mob?"
"All we're doing is speculating," Clark stated. "We need to nail down the facts first." He dialled his phone. "Hello, I'd like to speak to Lex Luthor, please. He's left for the day? Thanks."
Clark put on his jacket. "Lex left LuthorCorp., so he must be heading for the estate. I'll ask him about Miss Bertinelli."
"Lana and I will head over to the Ledger's public archives," Chloe offered, "and dig up more about Gotham's underworld and if there's any precedent for a midwestern mob expansion."
Clark got into his truck and turned on the ignition. He had planned to finish his sports article, eat dinner and lounge in front of the television.
Not tonight, he thought. The Gotham mob seemed to be on the move, and Smallville might be its first stop.
(Luthor estate, Smallville)
Lex peered outside his office window, and sighed. He fiddled with the phone receiver impatiently. He had been placed on hold. Again.
"Yes, hello!" Lex answered. "Bruce, I'm glad you took my call. It's impossible to get a hold of you! We need to talk about this Helena Bertinelli. What do you mean, it's out of your control? She's here on some teaching assignment from Gotham U. Surely you have leverage with the college board of regents?! I believe in second chances as much as the next person, but she's mob royalty. Her father was a don in La Cosa Nostra, and she's living off tainted money. Metropolis is not going to be the dumping ground for Gotham's social ills! Wait. Bruce? Another call? Do not put me on hold again. Bruce!"
Lex slammed the receiver, as Clark entered the office.
"Problems?" Clark said.
"Few people would dare to put a Luthor on hold – for any reason," Lex explained. "Unfortunately, Bruce Wayne is one of those anointed few who have both the clout and the ability to leave me hanging by the phone." He poured himself a glass of scotch. "I'd offer you a drink, but sadly I'm out of root beer today."
"I'm fine, Lex," Clark replied. "Actually, I'm here about –"
"— Helena Bertinelli," Lex completed his sentence. "The mob princess who moonlights as an impeccably dressed student teacher. Lana warned me about her. It's as well that she should." He paced nervously around the ornate estate office.
"In Metropolis," Lex continued, "we believe ourselves to be insulated from the uglier sides of urban life: the homelessness, the muggings, the slayings. But, we have them. Gotham City has the rundown Gotham Heights district, while we have our Suicide Slums. Our city is just able to hide it better. We're probably – oh, about 10-15 years away from becoming just like Gotham."
Clark was shocked at Lex' candour. "You don't believe that, do you? How could Metropolis get that bad?"
"It might surprise you, Clark," Lex smirked, "that Metropolis is well on its way. The Roman Empire didn't fall in a day. It took centuries of neglect, corruption and bad government to destroy it. By the time the barbarians were at the gates of Rome, it was too late."
Clark spotted the Gotham Post on Lex's desk. The headline seemed to prove Lex's point: Slaying in East Town: Murder of union boss linked to Zucco mob.
"You were trying to learn more about Miss Bertinelli from Bruce Wayne?" Clark guessed.
Lex finished his drink and set his tumbler on the bar. He remained tight-lipped. "He's aware of the situation."
"And?" Clark waited for Lex to elaborate.
"Bruce will do everything in his power to salvage the hopes of his fellow Gotham citizens," Lex answered, "but, regretfully, he has a bunker mentality when his city's less desirable criminal exports show up outside his city." Bruce had told him that Helena had no direct connection to the current Gotham mafia, or to their New York bosses. Lex found that hard to believe, but Bruce explained that she went underground soon after her family was slain.
That didn't explain the sizable trust fund Helena used to purchase expensive cars, clothes and accessories. For a supposed victim of organized crime, she had all the assets of a mob heiress.
"Bruce has become increasingly aloof of late," Lex admitted. "It's clear that he has other priorities on his mind. I don't think we can count on further assistance from Wayne Manor on this matter. He believes your new teacher deserves a clean break."
Clark paced around the room. Miss Bertinelli didn't seem like a ruthless mobster. How could she, he thought, when she's coaching the senior girls' volleyball team? He couldn't reconcile that image with the one Chloe, Lana and Lex painted: daughter of a cold-blooded mobster who ordered the executions of dozens of Tony Zucco's dons in one day.
"Well, maybe she wants to move on with her life," Clark suggested. "Maybe she needed to get away from Gotham's mob wars and start with a clean slate?"
"I'd like to believe that," Lex replied, "but the impression I got from her is that she's quite content to splurge on material goods with her father's ill-gotten fortune. She would be naïve or foolish to think that her trust fund wasn't financed by the family's criminal activities. I'd advise you to go back to class tomorrow as if nothing was wrong." He patted Clark on the shoulder, and glanced at the Gotham Post headline. "Just be careful. Gotham mobsters aren't your typical street toughs. If they're crossed, they will seek retribution. Without mercy."
Clark drove away from the estate. Dusk was approaching. There wasn't much he could do now, except go home and prepare for class with history teacher/mob heiress Miss Bertinelli. He hoped Chloe and Lana had better luck at the Ledger's archives.
(Archives Room -- Smallville Ledger, Smallville)
"We're only open until 8 p.m. today," the paper's archivist cautioned.
"Okay," Chloe acknowledged. "We won't be here for much longer." She skimmed through old microfilm copies of the Ledger from 20 years ago. She stopped at a front-page photo of a mob killing in Gotham. Dozen of bodies in coroner's bags were lined up in a bloodstained room.
"Is that the All Saints' Day massacre?" Lana blurted. Chloe grimaced, horrified at the macabre photo.
Mr. Bertinelli, the family patriarch, had arranged a meeting in the textiles district with Tony Zucco's senior dons. The pretext was to form a strategy for eliminating The Jazzman Syndicate's growing influence. What Zucco and his bosses didn't know was that Bertinelli had cast his lot with The Jazzman: a shadowy figure who had cobbled together an odd union between the Anglo and Irish gangs and the emerging mobsters from the former Soviet bloc. Fifteen of Zucco's dons, enforcers and associates were executed in the ambush, under orders from the senior Bertinelli. At the time, it was the largest mass murder in Gotham City.
Lana flipped through some older issues of the Ledger. "It says here that Helena Bertinelli was kidnapped when she was four by some unknown rivals of the family. And to think that two years later, her entire family would be murdered! It seems Miss Bertinelli was caught up in that violent world through no choice of her own, other than by blood."
Some of the lights had been dimmed because the archivist was preparing to close for the day. A squeak in the hallway caught Lana's attention – but it was only the janitor, who was pushing a wheeled soap bucket and mopping the floor outside.
Chloe began to put in another roll of microfilm in the viewer machine, but she hesitated. She muffled a yawn and checked her watch. "Five to eight? There are, like, a dozen more microfilm rolls for 1983. I think we can call it a day. The archives aren't going anywhere."
Lana packed her bag. "Yeah, and I still have French homework. I'll be conjugating verbs until bedtime! I brought a zip file of my game photos, in case you wanted to have a look at home."
Chloe spun around, sensing that someone was watching them. No one else was around, except the janitor. His soap bucket continued to squeak along the slippery floor. They turned off the room lights and sidestepped the 'Caution When Wet' sign.
"Good night," Lana told the janitor. Chloe turned around to look at the janitor, who didn't say a word. When they turned their backs again, she felt someone watching her. Something about that janitor bothered her, but she reasoned that she was probably tired and antsy.
Maybe I'm just paranoid tonight, Chloe thought. All this talk of gangsters is getting to me.
The janitor said nothing, and continued to push his squeaky soap bucket down the hallway. He wasn't interested in their homework, but he was interested in anything that had to do with Tony Zucco. This janitor also had a part-time job – as an informant for one of the Zucco family's Metropolis dons.
Chloe should have trusted her instincts.