(Luthor Commerce Square development, Metropolis financial district)

Lex arrived at the construction site in his sleek, silver Mercedes-Benz E500. Despite his protests, Tony Zucco insisted that two of his associates would escort him from the Luthor estate. They had followed him from Smallville in a plain, black sedan. He stepped out of his car and put on his sunglasses.

The Luthor Commerce Square development would be back on schedule. Zucco delivered on his word. The Labourers' Brotherhood worked double shifts, as Zucco pulled additional workers from other projects. Lex beamed as one of the workers, busily rattling the ground with his jackhammer, stopped his work and tipped his construction hat to greet him.

Louie, the large associate who was fascinated with Blackberry devices, sprinted back to the sedan. "Uh, Mr. Luthor? Mr. Zucco says ya gotta wear one of these hats. Stuff's flyin' all over the place, y'know."

Lex placed the construction helmet on his head. (He had already sacrificed fashion sense when he put on a pair of worn, steel-toed construction boots.) "The steel-toed boots don't quite go with Hugo Boss, but it's safety first, right?" He noticed that both Louie and the other associates had gun holsters beneath their blazers. "I appreciate the protection, but it wasn't necessary."

"The boss insisted," Louie mumbled as he chomped on a candy bar. "The Talon thing really got under his collar." A worker started up a noisy sander, which startled him. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... it's like a war zone out here!"

Lex smirked. He found it amusing that a gangster in Zucco's mob would be rattled by construction machinery. They stepped around a pile of metal pipes and a random stack of plywood to reach the white trailer, which served as the site's main office.

Zucco stepped out from the office. "Louie, would ya stop fillin' your face and get Mr. Luthor a coffee? Guests come first, remember?"

"Right away, boss," Louie blurted. "How would you like it, Mr. Luthor? They got a fine hazelnut coffee at the catering truck. How about a Boston Cream -- you know, for munching?"

Lex had grown accustomed to some of Zucco's associates, and there were times when he almost forgot that they were the foot soldiers in Gotham City's relentless mob wars. "The coffee sounds great. But, I'll stick to the bran muffin." He leaned closer to Louie. "I'll need to watch what I eat if I'm going to keep this development on-track." Louie gave him the thumbs-up sign and raced towards the catering truck.

Zucco pulled his own chair from behind the desk and offered it to Lex. "Here, you can have my chair, Lex. It's got that back support -- ergonomics and such." Lex tried to study Tony Zucco's expression. He seemed to be going out of his way to be friendly to him. Either Zucco considered him as a friend, or the mob boss was bracing him for bad news. The recent news reports confirmed that the gunmen were members of The Jazzman Syndicate. As a man who valued loyalty above all, Zucco would consider an assault against a Luthor-connected establishment as an attack directed at him.

Louie returned with a cup of hazelnut coffee and a bran muffin. He even brought a little package of margarine. "The knife, Louie," Zucco groaned. "Mr. Luthor can't put the margarine on the muffin without one."

Louie slapped his forehead in dismay. "Knife, knife. Right."

"That's fine, Louie," Lex replied. He sipped the coffee and savoured its warmth and aroma. "It's all good." Zucco indicated with his eyes that Louie should leave the office immediately, and Louie quickly exited and scrambled down the trailer's steps.

"The contractors are on the way," Zucco reassured Lex, anticipating that the visit was about the Talon attack. "We'll have all the windows and the door replaced. End of the week, tops."

"That wasn't necessary," Lex stated. He didn't want to feel obligated to Zucco any more than he needed to.

"Hey, I look out for friends," Zucco replied. He went over to the spring water dispenser and poured himself a cup. "If the Jazzman thinks he can do what he did last night -- he's in for a rude awakening. I swear on my grandfather's grave, he'll pay!" Suddenly, he became enraged and tossed the paper cup at the trailer's window. "No one treats a friend of mine like that. No one!"

"Calm down, Tony," Lex said. He felt uncomfortable that they were now on a first-name basis. He always wanted to be the dominant party in any partnership, and he wasn't certain that was the case with Zucco. "The FBI have taken custody of the assailants. They can't harm you -- or me -- any more."

Zucco raised his hands in apology for his outburst. "These goons of the Syndicate ... they've got no class. And no honour! They think they can piss on my name, with no response from me! They'll learn soon enough." Zucco uttered that last sentence with such finality that it made Lex shiver. Did Tony say what I think he said?

"Metropolis is not Gotham City, as I've told you," Lex declared curtly. "There is no place for that sort of mob violence. I won't tolerate it in Smallvile -- and I will not condone it in Metropolis. Ever." Lex considered that now was the best time to apply pressure on Zucco to keep his end of the bargain. "Helena Bertinelli was in the Talon at the time of the shooting. Is that fact going to be an issue?"

Zucco peered out of the trailer's window. "She wasn't hurt, was she?" Lex sensed from Zucco's tone that he wasn't concerned about her safety; he only wanted to confirm that she was alive.

"A girl from Smallville High and another bystander were shot," Lex explained. "The girl is in a coma. If you take your fight to The Jazzman in this city, you'll turn the whole county -- if not the state -- against you. That will reflect on me, and that is unacceptable! It would be a breach of our agreement. I would have to do what I need to do to protect my reputation. We know who would prevail in such a contest ... and we both don't want that to happen!" Lex hoped that his firmness would demonstrate to Zucco that Luthors carry out their threats.

Zucco grinned at Lex's tenacity. "That's why I like you so much, Lex! You don't take crap. There's no need for any hostilities here. I said I'm taking care of the Syndicate, and I meant it! Don't worry -- none of it will get back to you, or me. This is what The Jazzman lacks: finesse. There are ways, Mr. Luthor, of taking care of business without lifting a finger."

"What are you saying?" Lex demanded. "You're not going to do a thing about the Talon shootings? The Jazzman humiliated me in Smallville. Everyone in town is ready to blame me along with the Syndicate for the increase in violence! Surely, you're going to send him a message that he can't do that!"

Zucco raised a finger to silence his protests. "You didn't 'listen' to what I just said. I said I'll take care of business. You're aware of the Passion of the Christ?"

"Jesus Christ's arrest, condemnation and crucifixion," Lex stated. "One of the central themes of Western civilization. I'm not about to take a theology lesson from someone who's likely beyond God's good graces. What's your point, Tony?"

Tony walked over to a nearby sink and washed his hands. "See what I'm doing? Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, knew that if 'he' didn't allow Christ's crucifixion that he might instigate a riot directed at the Roman authorities. He had no evidence to convict Our Lord, yet the people demanded his death. So he washed his hands of the affair. He released a rebel instead, and let the rabble themselves crucify Christ."

He placed his hands in his blazer pockets. "My point, Mr. Luthor, is that you can condemn a man without doing a thing. Finesse, as I explained. The six o'clock news will be interesting today. You've got my word on that."

Lex thought about the cryptic warning, but he figured that it was best that he didn't know. Without warning, he heard the 'click' of a pistol being cocked behind his head.

"One other thing, Lex," Zucco sneered. "Our relationship is based on mutual respect. I don't question your motives, you don't question mine. I don't ask about your beef with Lionel, you don't ask about Franco Bertinelli. You take pride in being a man who believes in nothing; I am a man of beliefs. A man of faith. That's how I was raised! Question my faith in my presence again -- and I swear, by heaven, I'll put a bullet in your head."

Lex realized that he was no longer in control of the situation, and he considered that he might have underestimated his own ability to manage Zucco. The mob boss was right: this partnership would never work if it weren't one between equals. To trust Gotham's underworld kingpin was unthinkable, but it was necessary. The issue was mutual survival: they needed each other to make this project work.

Lex took hold of his panic, and concentrated on what he would say next. "I never meant to disparage your beliefs, Mr. Zucco. A man of conviction is someone to be respected in this world. If I had caused you any offense, then I apologize. It was never my intent to mock your faith."

Zucco lowered his pistol and holstered in beneath his jacket. "Thank you. It means a lot that you apologized. A man who lacks humility can't be trusted. I see that I can trust you." He extended his hand in friendship, oblivious to the irony that he had threatened Lex's life a minute ago.

Let the dance continue, Lex smirked. He realized that he would need a thick skin if he were to achieve the greatness that he desired. "Then our arrangement stands," Lex shook Zucco's hand, without any expression. "As partners on an equal footing."

"I've got to review the tower's electrical wiring schematics," Zucco stated. "Get Louie to escort you back to Smallville. Sit tight, Lex. Watch the news tonight, and you'll know that I'm a man of my word. Good day to you."

Louie, munching on a sloppy Boston Cream donut, caught up with Lex at the site's parking lot. "Mr. Luthor ... the boys and me are sorry about that girl who got hurt at the Talon. She ain't got nothin' to do with The Jazzman's beef with us. Don't worry. The boss says he'll take care of business, and he will!"

As Lex drove away from Metropolis -- closely followed by his mob escort -- he shuddered at his near-death encounter with Zucco. In his quest to test Zucco's sensitivity about the Bertinellis, Lex had accidentally insulted his honour (as defined by the mob). If it's loyalty that he values most, Lex grinned, then it is the use of loyalty which will -- one day -- give me the leverage to dictate the terms of their "arrangement". A Luthor is subordinate to none; Tony Zucco will learn that someday.

(Smallville Medical Center)

Clark entered the intensive care wing. Jonathan, Martha and Lana waited in the pastel-coloured lounge.

"How's Lauren doing?" Clark inquired. He didn't look at his father because he was still irritated that he was going forward with the school board petition.

"The doctors say there's nothing more they can do," Lana replied tearfully. "There was just too much internal bleeding. Her parents are talking to the surgeons now."

Jonathan warily approached his son. "Uh, Clark?"

Clark glared at him. "I'm not going to sign that stupid petition. I'm just as mad as you are that the Gotham mob is using our town as their shooting gallery, but you're condemning the wrong person! I'm prepared to be the only person sitting behind her table at the board meeting, if necessary."

"Fair enough," Jonathan replied. It pained him that the mob violence had divided his family. "I just wanted to let you know … I got a call earlier at the house. From Pete Ross."

"Pete?" Clark blurted. "What did he say? How's he doing?"

"He's fine," Jonathan answered. "Wichita seems to suit him. He was asking about you actually. He heard about the Talon shootings, and he wanted to check if everyone was alright."

"Oh," Clark felt bad about missing Pete's phone call. "I wish I could have talked to him. He must have been worried." All of us took him for granted, Clark thought. He deserved to be treated more fairly. "Did he say when he's going to visit? Maybe we could catch up, perhaps invite him over for dinner?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Before I could extend any sort of invitation, he said he was busy. Then he hung up. We owe him a lot more than just a dinner plate."

Martha patted her husband's shoulder. "Don't be so harsh with yourself, Jonathan. We made choices in the past that we regret. We can't predict the future. What matters is what we do to help others, here and now." She was cautious not to elaborate, since Lana was still nearby.

Jonathan abruptly stood up. "But the problem is that others now have to live with the consequences of our mistakes. I need to step outside for some air. Excuse me."

"Dad, I didn't mean to be hard on you earlier …" Clark began, but Jonathan had already walked through the sliding exit doors. With the mob violence, Lana's classmate on death's door, and the unresolved issues with the Rosses, he felt constricted and helpless. His super abilities, it seemed, were useless when they mattered most. "Excuse me," Clark muttered. "I need to get a coffee or something."

Minutes later, he paced around the medical center. An orderly wheeled a gurney towards an elevator. In another room, a mother comforted her little boy. I'm no hero, Clark thought. All of my abilities, and I can't even prevent a bullet from hurting an innocent girl. He wondered how these doctors and nurses coped with all of the suffering and death. He hoped that he would someday find the inner strength to face such turmoil.

He peeked in another room. It was the medical center's chapel: a blue pastel room with a dozen pews, two stained-glass windows and a plain iron cross on the far wall. He thought it was empty, but in one pew he spotted a dark-haired woman kneeling in front of the altar. She clutched rosary beads in her hand, fervently uttering a prayer:

"… To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve!
To thee do we send up our sighs; mourning and weeping in this valley of tears! …"

"I didn't mean to interrupt, miss ..." Clark coughed. Then he realized that the woman was Miss Bertinelli, dressed in a smart, but plain, black pantsuit. She ignored Clark to complete her prayer: "…Oh clement, oh loving, oh sweet Virgin Mary. Amen."

"That's a beautiful prayer, Miss Bertinelli," Clark offered.

"It's Hail Holy Queen," Helena stated, holding up her rosary. "A Catholic thing, but I guess you wouldn't know about all that in these parts. I wanted to do something, so I came here to pray for Lauren's recovery."

Clark's mournful expression indicated that Lauren wasn't doing well at all. "The doctors said there was too much bleeding. She's hanging on by a thread. How are you holding up?"

"The teachers' union gave me the heads-up about the PTA's petition, and they've offered representation," Helena revealed. "The board has – politely – asked me not to come into class until we've resolved this situation. I don't care what happens to me – if Lauren pulls through, that's all that matters. It wasn't her fault. I should have been the one in the ICU." She seemed oddly serene, despite the chaos which surrounded her.

"You don't mean that," Clark offered.

"Well, this poor banished child of Eve's got a lot to answer for," Helena remarked. "I'm no saint, and I'll admit that. But I'm no mobster. If anyone hates the Gotham mob for what they've done, it's me! They killed my parents, and I will never forgive them for that!" She mumbled under her breath: And I'm going to do something about it. What she didn't count on was Clark's enhanced hearing.

Before Clark could process what he overheard, a blue siren wailed on all floors. "Code Blue. ICU. Code Blue. ICU."

Clark and Helena ran out of the chapel, and towards the intensive care wing. When they arrived, Jonathan and Martha were embracing each other in sorrow. Lana tried in vain to comfort Mrs. Morris, Lauren's mother. Mr. Morris, who was still in his three-piece suit, ran his hand helplessly through his hair.

In the ICU, a surgeon frantically applied CPR on Lauren. The heart rate monitor continued to screech: flatline. In moments, the surgeon left the ICU and removed his hairnet. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Morris. She fought as hard as she could, but the trauma was too much. I'm sorry." Mrs. Morris shrieked in despair, while Jonathan and Martha tried to comfort them.

In anger, Helena flung her rosary onto the floor. She wanted to cry, but she was long past sorrow. She wanted to stop the suffering, and the cause of that suffering was Tony Zucco – the moment he arrived in Metropolis to pollute the city with his extortion and racketeering schemes. Full of remorse, she quickly scooped up her rosary. "Forgive me, Blessed Mother." She gently kissed the rosary's crucifix.

"You didn't mean it," Clark observed. "Everybody's on edge because of what happened at the Talon."

"I shouldn't have been angry at God," Helena noted. "He didn't kill Lauren Morris: Zucco's war with the Syndicate did. Zucco will answer for it -- somehow." Reluctantly, she placed the rosary beads in Clark's palm and folded his hands around them. "Keep them safe, Clark Kent. They were blessed in Rome. I'll be in need of extra prayers." She was about to leave, when Lana noticed her from afar. She left the Morris family and stormed towards her.

She glared at Clark. "What is she doing here?"

With a determined gaze, Helena brushed past Lana and left for the parking lot. She wasn't about to explain or justify herself to the townspeople who wanted to condemn her. Soon, they heard the growl of Helena's Lamborghini as it scorched away from the medical center.

"She was praying for Lauren's well-being in the chapel," Clark snarled. "If you want to blame her for being a Bertinelli, there's no stopping you. If you're angry because the mob is tearing this town apart, then I'm right there with you. But if you think that justifies destroying Miss Bertinelli's teaching career, then you and the rest of this town are mistaken!"

"So you're not going to sign the petition?" Lana was stunned. "You'd rather side with a mob heiress than our own neighbours?"

"I hate what the mob's doing to our town," Clark insisted, "but I'm not going to let all the fear-mongering ruin a good person's name! If we allow that to happen … then the mob has already won. Tony Zucco and Lex Luthor are business partners: does that mean you're siding with Zucco by default?"

"Of course not," Lana declared. She hesitated. The Talon had been targeted because of its Luthor association, and Lex's alliance with Zucco.

"The Jazzman seems to think otherwise," Clark snapped, and he left before Lana could respond.

Clark used his super speed to race home. He stopped in the darkness outside the Kent farm. He wanted to believe that he was right about Helena Bertinelli, but she seemed livid at the medical center. She appeared to be a person torn between peace and despair. He could sympathize with his teacher's plight: he stood alone against the town over the PTA petition.

Why did Miss Bertinelli give me her rosary beads, Clark wondered. It puzzled him.

She's going to put up a fight at that board meeting, he concluded, and so will I. I have friends of influence, too. If the PTA was going to leverage Lex Luthor's clout to force through this petition, then he intended to even the odds.

In his loft, he dialed his phone: "Hello? Alfred? It's Clark Kent. Yeah, Lauren passed away tonight. It's so unfair! I don't know what to do, but I have to do something …"