Only three after nine and she'd already hit a dead end. Not exactly a dead end. She did find out, while specifically asking for a Ford Taurus, that they had three. When she was given her choice of black, white, or brick, she further specified that she preferred something in the beige family, she found out they only had one and that it was rented. But it still amounted to a dead end. Even if the tan sedan she was looking for only had one possible driver, she had no way of finding out who that driver was. She wasn't stupid enough to think that they would just give that information away.
Short of actually going to the office and rifling through their confidential files, she had no... "No." She shook herself. Or... maybe.
Her door flew open and Diana sped in. "Hi."
She quickly shut off her monitor and sat back in her chair. Gotta start locking that door again. "Well, hey there. I thought you'd be stuck in... uh..." She was wearing that... flag again.
"Oh, everything's fine in DC, except what the hell kind of a name is Angle Man?" She threw her hands up and perched on the side of the desk. "Not your problem. Anyway, sorry I'm late."
I'm not. At least this had allowed her to sleep until eight when she got Diana's call, rather than already two hours into breathing deep in the eastward-facing camel position or whatever this would involve. "It's fine. In fact, we really don't need to..."
"Oh, I've been looking forward to it. I'm a little tense, anyway."
"Oh, good." Then again, now she had it ahead of her rather than already over with. She'd much rather spend the next few hours planning exactly how she could get into the filing cabinets at Thrifty Rentals and get a name on that tan...
"Lois?" Diana was snapping her fingers in front of her face.
"Huh?"
"What's the matter."
"Just distracted."
"Well, we can't have that." Diana stood up straight, leading her around the desk. "We need your mind clear and focused. So just let it out now. What's distracting you?"
Lois faced her. And, by God, the woman was enormous. It was almost enough to cow her into telling her what she knew of her life's story... and about Thrifty. But she wasn't exactly sure what the sedan meant. So far, she hadn't been approached. She couldn't even say there was anything harmful about it. Knowing the lot of them, they'd start spouting off about Luthor and surveillance again when she'd just rather keep all possible distance from that man.
"You know, it's... the outfit," Lois finished, gesturing to it. "It's a little... intimidating." That wasn't untrue. Looking at Diana, she felt slightly dumpy... and really, really short.
"You know, I didn't even think to change." Diana looked down. "You're right. A little shiny." She held up a hand. "Two seconds."
"No problem." Lois didn't even have a chance to go back to her desk when Diana sort of... spun like a tornado, then stopped, wearing stretch pants and a tight top. "So... literally two seconds?"
"Oh, sorry if that was jarring. It just saves time and..."
"No. It's fine." And a little impressive. She wondered if Diana could show Clark that trick.
"Anyway..." Diana took a deep breath. "You're right. I feel much more comfortable."
"Yeah. Me, too," Lois lied, looking down at her oversized Daily Planet sweatshirt and baggy pants, then... up at Diana, breathing deep and looking ridiculously perfect. She didn't feel less imperfect after an hour of trying to be one with the universe while standing on one foot with the other crossed over her knee. She flailed the arms that were supposed to be bound together.
"Just relax," Diana whispered, holding the eagle pose flawlessly, "and concentrate..."
******************************
Clark could hardly concentrate. His ears were still ringing from this morning. Sometimes his senses were a little raw upon waking and Bart blowing a whistle directly in his ear hadn't helped. If he was sorry, he didn't show it. It was a morning full of speeding after him through deserted streets and fields and parts of Colorado and Missouri. There were stops, of course, not to rest, but whenever Bart spied something large he wanted Clark to lift... over and over. From large boulders to fallen trees to one abandoned car by a creek.
"Come on, Clark. Don't tell me this is hard. If you weren't such a weakling now, I'd have you throw that into the next state."
Clark could think of a few things he wanted to throw into the next state... like Bart's whistle, Bart's constant supply of donuts he wouldn't share, then Bart. As much as this was for his own good and he should be grateful his friends were helping, Bart seemed to take a nearly inappropriate level of enjoyment from being in charge.
Well, he'd get that whistle tomorrow. If he could just catch Bart. Considering he couldn't even do that at full speed, it was all hopeless.
He shouldn't say that. He was just tired. He shook his head and tried to focus on pouring his coffee. It was probably his sixth cup and, though he knew caffeine had no affect on him, he couldn't stay away from it. Maybe he was mentally addicted. Or maybe caffeine was addictive whether it actually perked you up or not. Whatever it was, he'd indulge himself. He'd have little enough free time to top off the very tiny amount of sleep he'd had last night.
And why should that bother him? He didn't really need sleep, did he? Maybe another mental addiction. But a necessary one. He'd often thought of sleep as the brain's way of taking out the garbage. The better it was, the less he remembered his dreams, which he thought was a good thing. If he only had a little, strange and stupid little scenes flitted through his mind.
Last night, his mother was wearing giant rubber fly-fishing suspenders and wading through orange goo, fishing out books and shaking the goo off.
"Here's one, Sweetie." She opened the book. "No McTavish is ever lavish," she read. "Is that it?"
"Eyelid Thursday jacket," he heard himself say, sitting miserably in a floating bathtub. It made no sense. But neither of them seemed to have a problem with it. His mother seemed to understand completely as she shrugged and tore the book, which seemed to make a squealing sound, off the hook, throwing it back into the goo.
She pulled up another one. "Here we are, Poopsie. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary over... Yeah. That's all I got."
"Tiger hose."
She nodded. "You're probably right, my little loviekins." She tore this one off, which screamed even louder. "I'm nobody. Who are you?"
That last one was Emily Dickinson. He knew that much, though, in the dream, his only response had been "Jeronimo pickles."
That was the problem with most dreams. They were just regurgitations and nonsense. This one brought on by beating his brain for what tiny bit of poetry he knew, too many cheese fries, and... He couldn't really explain his mom fly fishing. And, here he was, dwelling on a useless dream when he should be... What was he doing again?
He looked down, saw a puddle of coffee at his feet and a full cup and an empty pot in his hands. "Great." Maybe he should get a mop before anyone...
"Whoa! CK! Flood alert."
He turned to Jimmy, putting all mop fantasies away. He forced a chuckle and skirted the puddle, putting the cup and pot down. "Guess I poured too fast."
"Fast?" Rachel stepped up next to him. "You were standing there for like five minutes."
"I almost timed you," Jimmy agreed before turning to Rachel. "Didn't I, Babe?"
"Not in public," she hissed before stalking away to her desk.
"Fine, you bottle-blond harpy," he said loudly.
She tossed him a smile before sitting.
Jimmy shook his head. "Women, right?" He moved forward and put an arm around Clark's shoulders. "CK, let me give you a friendly piece of advice I've just learned. Girls are insane. If you're nice to them, they treat you like CRAP!"
The last word seemed nearly amplified. Clark shook his head, trying to dial down the hearing. But it wouldn't shut off.
"Apparently, the only way to gain there respect is to act like... like..."
It went beyond Jimmy's voice. There was so much noise and he couldn't make it stop. It was like yelps and barking, like... "Dogs," he said aloud, tensing up and pulling back.
"Dated reference, but okay."
He turned to Jimmy. "Doesn't make sense."
"Hey, I know it's not all women, but apparently, Rachel's extra complicated. You know, when it's just us, she's totally cool, but..."
Usually, when his hearing acted up, he heard everything around him. Was he somehow zeroing in on a pound without knowing it? He focused past Jimmy's voice again. Why was he hearing nothing but dogs? "Excuse me a second," he said, stepping past Jimmy. He turned to the eastern wall. Dogs. The west. Dogs again... "I don't get it."
"Every fucking dog in the city."
"Do you hear that?"
Jimmy looked around. "I hear... Is the dog catcher driving by or something?"
"Not that. The..."
"This thing doesn't work. You idiots set it to some kinda dog frequency."
It was a rough voice. He looked around. No one was looking up at the voice. Everybody seemed intent on their monitors. Except Jimmy, who was staring at him. "CK? Are you..."
"Shhh!" Clark closed his eyes. Apparently Jimmy could hear the dogs, too. He wished he couldn't. Because he had a feeling the rough voice was right and something was setting off every dog in the city. But who? And why?
"Well, fix it!" He heard the voice again, still with the dogs. It echoed around him. "How am I supposed to even tell if the guy hears me?"
Who was the guy? If he was the guy, then he could. He kind of wished he couldn't. What exactly was he intercepting, here?
"CK? Hello?"
"Then lower it, for f*ck's sake."
"Shhh!" That damn barking, he couldn't hear over the... There was a loud whine and he covered his ears. Then all went quiet. "It stopped," he said aloud. A few more yelps, but the barking seemed to die down.
Jimmy was squinting at him. "What stopped?"
"Okay. Trying again. Testing, 1,2,3... Superman?"
His eyes widened. Apparently, he was the guy.
"My watch," Clark said quickly... and maybe a little too loudly over the voice that was echoing around him.
"Calling Superman..."
"My watch stopped," he said, trying to sound less like someone who was hearing voices. He looked down at it to keep his eyes from darting about.
"This is an important message for Superman. Jeez! This is dumb."
"Must have run out of batteries," he said, nearly robotically, just to get it out. "I should... Get it fixed."
"No. This is fucking bananas. How do I even know if the big blue ass hears me?"
Clark glowered at his supposedly broken watch. He'd had an inkling this wasn't a friendly announcement.
"Boss, we'll know he hears if he shows. Just get the message out." A new voice. Faint, but there.
"What the hell are you doing? Get away from the mic and don't call me that."
"Just keep... message... repeat... shows up at...”
"Shows up at... where?" Clark said under his breath, eyes still on his watch.
"Hey, CK. You seem a little distracted."
"This is fucking ridiculous.
Yes, it was. He had to get out of here. He glanced up at Jimmy. "You know, I should just go on lunch now."
"Jeez! Fine. This is a message for Superman..."
"Just get the message... watch fixed and..."
"Superman, your presence is required at John Byrne Elementary School."
"Get some schoo... lunch while I'm at it."
Jimmy shrugged. "Okay."
"Hear that, hero?"
His ears twitched at the voice around him. From the way Jimmy was still staring, he suspected the rest of him was a little twitchy as well. "Bye." He moved quickly to the door, giving up on trying to come off sane. He could make his excuses to Jimmy later. Too much coffee or...
"Repeat. John Byrne Elementary. Or else... boom! If you get me." There was a hoarse laugh.
He moved faster, grimly pushing through crowds also taking an early lunch, making his way to the alleyway. The words "elementary" and "boom" echoing in his mind along with the laughter. What kind of sick bastard...
"I should perhaps add that there is not much time to lose, if you get me."
Clark hastily stuffed his suit behind a dumpster. He got him. And he'd get him, whoever he was.
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Chapter Seven
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