Chapter Five
"We're going to have to get you some new clothes," Lois declared two days after Perry White had teamed them up.
"What?"
"A couple of suits to start and a few shirts," Lois had continued, her nose wrinkling in disapproval as her eyes scanned the length of his body.
"Again, what?"
"Smallville, we're not working for the Farmer's Monthly here. If you're going to be working at the DP, you better start looking the part. Blue jeans and your red jacket-blue jacket combo, make you stick out like a giant turd in a small bale of hay."
It took Clark a few moments to recover from that particular barb before he'd managed a sarcastic, "How do you even get interviews, Lois? I mean, your charm, wow, it just pours right out."
"Come on," she'd said, grabbing his arm and pulling him along, completely undaunted by his hurt pride. "We're going shopping."
Clark had always found suits and ties a little constricting--never enough give across the back, the arms were too short, or the leg of the pants were too tight across the thighs--but he was now getting used to wearing them on a daily basis after Lois had practically forced him into buying two, heavily discounted (thanks to her connections) suits from a warehouse outlet in the garment district of Metropolis.
Clark couldn't deny that the impact within the basement of the DP had been immediate; suddenly everyone (okay, not everyone, but a number of female staff) wanted to make his acquaintance, enquiring whether Lois was treating him okay and offering to give him tips on the business over drinks at a local bar or dinner after work.
He'd begged them all off, not enjoying the new and intrusive attention. He didn't think Lois enjoyed it either, she never said anything out right, but he'd catch her from time to time, scowling at yet another offer of coffee or lunch, from over the top of her computer.
Maybe he'd talk to his Mom later, get her input on how he could blend into the background a little bit more than his closely fitting work suits allowed.
-8-
Never satisfied with sitting at her desk and Googling the Internet for a quick answer--Lois preferred to do her legwork the old fashioned way.
Her source in Metropolis' local government offices had dropped a few hints that a single construction company had managed to win a number of major contracts for new building projects around the city.
Lois didn't waste any time checking who'd won those recent, and potentially very lucrative, government contracts.
In compliance with State and Federal regulations, city officials were required to process all contractual acquisitions through a sealed bidding process.
Sealed bids were deemed the fairest procurement method since no opportunity was then offered to a prospective contractor to appear more efficient than another, and no bias could be inferred or leverage attained for an unfair advantage.
Lois found it interesting to note that the G and L Construction Company had managed to win nearly sixty percent of the tenders for new building projects; and while such a wild series of coincidences seemed unlikely, that alone didn't prove corruption. Which was why she was currently hanging out among the poorly lit, crime riddled streets of Suicide Slum.
If one area of the city was ripe for redevelopment it was here. Every city councilman and Mayor from the 1980's onwards had all been elected to office running on the promise that they'd clean up the neighbourhood, invest in new housing, businesses and schools, and yet every year those promises remained unfulfilled and Suicide Slum remained as grim as its name suggested.
"Hey, Lane. Over here," a voice whispered tightly out to her from the darkness.
Lois turned towards the sound, peering into the darkened shadows until she caught sight of a partially hidden silhouette. "Smith?"
A dark head acknowledged her query with a nod in the affirmative.
"Why does it always have to be here?" Lois complained to herself, moving toward the man she'd come here to meet. "Couldn't we do this in a bar, up town somewhere?" she said, raising her voice slightly.
"You know how this works, Lane," Smith said grimly, his face still cloaked in darkness. "I can't take that chance."
She nodded. Smith was an obvious pseudonym. Lois had no idea what this financial accountant for the city council's real name was, but she respected that he was putting his job on line in the name of truth.
"Okay, I'm here. Let's talk."
The only contact they'd shared to date had been through brief phone calls and emails sent through anonymous servers. This was their first meeting.
Lois moved closer to the darkly dressed man. "How did G and L Construction manage to win four out of seven city contracts in the last two years?"
Smith remained in shadow, but cast his head around the narrow street, as if checking that they were alone.
Lois followed his cautious gaze.
Seemingly satisfied he took a step toward her, before pursing his lips together responding briefly with, "They own the city, Miss Lane. That's how."
"What are you talking about? G and L are a Mom and Pop company out of Chicago. They've been expanding across the Mid-West over the last decade."
Lois had done her homework; G and L's first contract in Metropolis was in the wake of the clean up after Dark Thursday, so she was taken aback by Smith's statement. Accusations like that needed more meat on the bone, if they were to be taken seriously.
"Yes," Smith agreed. "It's a good cover story they have, but I believe it's a lie."
"You believe?" Lois scoffed. "I hope you didn't drag me out here on a whim, pal. You said you knew what was going on."
"Maybe this will help you to understand," Smith said, reaching into the folds of his overcoat.
He rooted around an inside pocket for a few seconds before bringing his right hand free of the material, his fist slightly raised, before bringing it down in a quick, vicious arc.
Lois's brain processed the sliver of light against the raised metal before she had a chance to name what it was, twisting her face and upper body away before the brass knuckles, Smith had managed to slide on in the darkness, impacted her face.
She took the shattering blow to her right shoulder, and its powerful momentum sent her spinning around before her legs buckled beneath her, hitting the pavement, injured shoulder first, with a loud cry of pain.
She tasted her own blood as she bit her lip in the fall, but she didn't give herself a moment to berate her situation, or the wisdom of having a first meeting with a brand new source, in the worst crime spot in the city.
She could reflect on her woes later, after she'd kicked this son-of-a-bitch's ass.
Lois' fighting instincts took over, and turning onto her back she kicked out at her attacker, delivering a glancing blow to his thigh that only made him stumble back slightly before he rushed her again, his right foot aiming a martial-arts like kick to her already injured shoulder.
She swung her a long legs out again, this time in a sweeping motion, hoping to knock Smith off his feet, but he was faster. He skipped over her outstretched legs easily; his movements cat-like and graceful, Lois couldn't help noting. In one move he had avoided her defence and delivered another crunching blow to her injured shoulder with the heel of his boot.
The force of the blow jarred her back and neck, hard against the concrete, and falling back, Lois kicked out wildly, staggering him slightly, when she connected with his knee.
Barely slowed by her success, Smith raised his boot high again, this time aiming his quick feet at her head. Lois closed her eyes and tried to roll away, knowing she wouldn't be able to completely avoid the face rearranging that was coming.
Smith's heavily booted foot never made the contact she was expecting.
Instead, she heard a whooshing sound followed by a thud that seemed to momentarily shake the ground around her. The small quake was followed by the sound of something dull crashing heavily against a dumpster, followed by a male groan and then silence.
Opening her eyes slowly, Lois looked around cautiously.
The back of a long pair of legs, encased in dark fitting suit pants, filled her line of vision. Between the powerful looking thighs she spied Smith, or whatever his name was, sprawled out, flat on his back, next to a dumpster across the street. He looked unconscious.
The powerful figure, that appeared to have come to her rescue, turned towards her, crouched down swiftly and began scanning her for injuries.
"Lois? Lois, are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"Clark?" she squeaked out, her voice equal parts awe and disbelief. "What are you--?"
"Lois, you're bleeding," Clark hissed, cutting off her half formed question with the tender touch of his forefinger to the corner of her bottom lip.
The reminder of her cut lip made it sting, along with the growing realisation that her right shoulder was throbbing in pain and her arm felt numb.
Ignoring the pain and the weird shiver that ran up her spine at Clark's gentle caress, Lois grabbed onto his wrist with her good arm, and used it as an anchor to help her get to her feet.
As Clark gently pulled her up, she hissed out an agonised, "Shit!" No longer able to ignore the pain she was in, as it ramped itself up to what felt like limb-shredding proportions.
"Lois?"
She let go of his hand and doubled over, holding onto her right arm at the elbow. The pain was like a series of hammer blows that spread out in ever increasing circles from just below her neck to the tips of her fingers.
"I've got you."
She couldn't focus on what Clark was saying next to her, the pain was so bad. And then the world, as she knew it, began to sway and dip.
… to be continued …