"Good luck, Clark."
He turned to see Lois give him a thumbs up from her desk. He smiled, nodded, and stared at Perry White's office.
Moment of truth. Shoulders squared, Clark marched across the bullpen, gripping the flashdrive containing his Batman story. He'd spent a good chunk of the weekend refining it. While it would have been nice to have comments from Commissioner Gordon, and more direct answers from Bruce Wayne, he had plenty of information to make it a good, meaty story, and an indictment on the Bat's history of brutality and callousness.
Clark paused for a breath, anticipation surging, and knocked on Perry's door.
"Come in," the editor-in-chief barked from his desk.
"Morning, Chief." Clark entered the office.
"Morning." Perry lifted his head. "What is it?"
"I've been working on a really good story." Clark held out the flashdrive.
"Mm-hmm." Perry stared at it.
Several seconds passed. His boss still didn't take it. "Um . . . This is definitely front page stuff. It could get a lot of people talking."
"You think so? Well, I'll decide for myself."
Perry took the flashdrive and plugged it into his laptop. He stared intently at the screen.
Clark studied his boss, trying to gauge his reaction to the story. His face remained stiff, inscrutable.
Silence enveloped the office as Perry kept reading. Clark clasped his hands behind his back, shifted from one foot to the other. Stared at the framed Daily Planet front pages on the wall. Stared out the window at the Metropolis skyline, noting the skeletal steel structures of new skyscrapers going up to replace the ones destroyed during the battle with Zod.
Finally, Perry looked up from his laptop. Clark stood straighter, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"You really want me to run this?"
Shock hit Clark like a meteor to the face. His smile vanished. It took several seconds to regain the ability to speak. "Chief, you read it. The escalating level of violence. His history of brutality. Unfortunate people caught in the crossfire. And what about the Gotham City Police? They refuse to comment. They refuse to condemn the Batman's actions."
"You think this is something new? This has been going on for twenty years. And it's been going on in Gotham City, not Metropolis. You know, the city we cover."
"What about Isaac Rodriguez? What about what he had to say?"
"Yeah. An ex-cop with an ax to grind against his former superiors. And you really want me to run the names of the people he thinks might be Batman? Some of the richest and most successful people in this region? Can you say lawsuit, Kent?"
"Then I can interview them." Clark flung out his arms. "They can respond to Rodriguez's allegations."
"Yeah," Perry scoffed. "And if any of them are the Batman, they're really going to tell that to a reporter."
"But all the eyewitnesses. What about their testimonies?"
"Gangbangers, mob enforcers, and prostitutes. Those aren't exactly the most credible witnesses."
Clark's frustration flared. "So that's it? We're not going to do anything about it?"
"You give me absolute proof as to the Bat's identity, then I'll run it. Otherwise, this is a nothing story."
A harsh breath shot from Clark's nose. He shook his head. "This is wrong, Chief. The cover-ups. The total disregard of civil liberties. A vigilante given free reign over Gotham, terrorizing the population. It needs to stop, and this paper has a responsibility to do the right thing."
Perry's eyes formed angry slits. He rose from his seat. "First off, you do not lecture me on what this paper's responsibility is. You don't get to decide what the right thing is. That's my job. Just like it's my job to decide what news is worth printing. What's important, what will interest our readers. And a rehash of Batman's history is not interesting nor important. Nobody cares about Clark Kent taking on the Batman."
Lines etched across Clark's forehead. He clenched his teeth, holding back the anger, the insults, that built up in his mouth.
"We're done." Perry sat down. "Now go find me a story I can actually put in my paper."
With a parting glare, Clark spun on his heel and stormed out of the office. He had to restrain himself from slamming the door. Perry was pissed off enough. He'd be even more pissed if he shattered his glass door into a thousand splinters.
"So how did . . . it . . . go?" Lois's voice trailed off as he walked by her desk.
"Clark?"
"I need some air. I'll be back."
He took the stairs to the roof, changed into his blue suit and cape, and soared through the sky. He circled Metropolis, again and again, glancing more than once in the direction of Gotham City.
All the work I put in on that story. How could Perry dismiss it like that? Doesn't he care? Doesn't anyone care?
He clenched his fists, his speed picking up. So much for thinking he could make a difference in the world without being Superman.
A faint cry of pain caught his attention.
Superman stopped, staring in the direction of the sound. His enhanced hearing picked up the cry again, louder, along with the dull thumps of fists on flesh.
He flew toward the fight, descending, scanning the city streets below.
There! In an alley. Three young men – gangbangers judging by their clothes – rained fists and feet down on another young man. Superman angled himself toward the beating.
"You think you can steal from me and get away with it, you little shit?" One of the gang members, a beefy man with several gold chains, kicked the victim, who lay in a fetal position. "We gonna stomp your ass flat."
Superman landed behind the gangbangers. He grabbed one and flung him over his shoulder. He crashed on top of an overflowing garbage can. Both the gangbanger and can toppled onto the pavement. A quick scan with his X-ray vision showed the young thug had bruised ribs, but no serious injuries.
"Aw shit. It's Superman." Another gangbanger jumped back, hands up. "Yo, chill, Blue. It's all good."
Superman stared at the bruised and bloodied man lying on the ground. He narrowed his eyes. "You beat this man half to death. Trust me, it's not good."
"Awright, awright, man. Just don't kill me."
"I'm not going to kill y-"
"Back off, bitch!" The beefy gangbanger whipped out a pistol, a compact Sig Sauer M11.
It cracked twice. One round missed Superman. The second tapped his chin. Wind whipped between the two as Superman snatched the pistol, then crushed it into a metal blob. He shoved the gangbanger, who flew a foot off the ground and into the brick wall. The beefy man collapsed to the ground, moaning.
A strangled cry of pain came from the injured young man. Superman turned. He swallowed a breath, his eyes bulging.
No!
Blood seeped along the man's gut. But how . . .
The bullet. The one that ricocheted off his chin. It must have hit the battered young man.
Superman knelt beside him. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to get you help." He looked at the remaining gangbanger. "I'm going to get an ambulance. You keep pressure on his wound." He raised a finger, his face scrunching in a stern look. "Don't even think about leaving."
"Yeah, yeah, man. It's cool."
Superman flew off and found an ambulance six blocks away. He picked it up and flew it back to the scene. The gangbanger had not left, instead he had a dewrag pressed against the other man's stomach. The paramedics bandaged the wound, loaded the young man on a gurney, and wheeled him into the ambulance.
"Will he be okay?" asked Superman.
"Maybe," replied one paramedic. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's got a fighting chance thanks to you, Superman."
He said nothing, just grimaced, staring at the injured young man in the ambulance before the other paramedic slammed the rear doors shut. How could he have let this happen? Did he believe the other gang members would just give up because he tossed their friend into a garbage can? Did he really believe his mere presence could prevent someone with too much testosterone and too little sense from doing something foolish?
And the young man in the back of that ambulance paid for his hubris.
He waited for the Metropolis PD to show up and gave his statement to one of the officers before flying back to the Daily Planet. Perry had an assignment waiting for him. The city government had hired a new Waste Management Director.
Clark scowled. That was apparently more important than a crazed vigilante branding and putting people in the hospital.
XXXXX
Clark stood against the edge of the kitchen table, staring at the oven that contained the black pepper chicken, thinking about the incident in the alley when Lois entered the apartment.
"Good news." She swept in and kissed his cheek. "I called Metropolis General. The kid with the gunshot wound got out of surgery an hour ago. He's in ICU, and the doctors say he'll pull through."
"Good." Relief flooded Clark, but only for a few seconds. He lowered his head.
"What's wrong?" Lois grasped his arm. "He's going to be all right."
"What if it turned out differently?" said Clark. "What if that bullet hit him in the heart or severed his spinal cord? I was overconfident dealing with that gang. You told me once to never underestimate the stupidity or arrogance of criminals. I did today, and it almost cost someone their life."
"But it didn't. He's alive. If you hadn't been flying past that alley, he probably would have died. You did good."
Clark grunted. "I did good stopping Zod, but thousands of people still died. I did good bringing Baron Bedlam to the International Criminal Court, but Markovia descended into chaos with several different factions fighting one another. Those damn hearings on Capitol Hill make it sound like I'm going to flip out any minute and destroy the world, and you know Senator Finch is going to use what happened today to stoke that fire."
And I'm just sitting on my ass letting her get away with her bullcrap. He kept that comment to himself, not wanting another argument with Lois about testifying before Finch's committee.
"It seems like whenever I do good, there are consequences that follow."
"No." Lois chopped the air in front of her. "That's not true. There have been plenty of times you've saved people and there wasn't the sort of fallout like in Markovia, or like what happened in that alley today. There are no guarantees in life, but it doesn't mean you stop trying to help people."
"I'm not saying I'm going to quit being Superman. It's just . . ." Clark rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. Maybe I need to be more careful, maybe I need to think more before I act. It's not like that blue suit came with an instruction manual. I'm just trying to do the best I can." He grunted. "Same with being a reporter, not that that worked out today."
"I'm sorry." Lois gave him a sympathetic smile and ran a hand up and down his back. "Part of the business. Still, Perry was wrong. It was a damn good story. Maybe if you come at it from another angle."
"No." Clark shook his head. "I think that was my only shot with a Batman story. But I can't, in good conscience, sit around while he continues this one-man reign of terror."
Clark straightened and took a deep breath. "I tried stopping him as Clark Kent, now I'll have to do it as Superman."
TO BE CONTINUED