Truth Comes Down |
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I. Secrets in Steel First, the panic of finding a way to save the plant, then the dance, then the storm, then my father. Then I spooked the boy by killing a man in his presence, a man I had lied about. The only bright spot in the last several days, I couldn't even remember. Clark came by and put me to bed last night after I passed out from stress, exhaustion, and alcohol. At least, he was willing to be in the same room with me. Today's email from him was hurried, containing more spelling errors than usual. Storm brought fences down, cows escaping, how about tomorrow? I emailed back: go get the rogue cows, big meeting in Metropolis tomorrow, I'll call... The sound of the approaching engine brought me back to the present. A flicker of light in the darkness. They were on the grounds now. The sound grew louder, the dimmed headlights nearer. The tow truck turned around in front of the garage and backed the cradle in. The car was too badly damaged to simply tow. Two men got out of the truck. The driver nodded to me. Silently, they released the bolts, and slid the car onto my garage floor. Then, the driver came over to me. "Any trouble, Tom?" "No, Mr. Luthor, sir." "Thank you," I said, holding out the bag. He grinned as he took it. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor." "Good night, Tom," I said, walking away from him, and into the garage. I waited until they drove off the grounds, then closed the door. The darkness was absolute. I had even disconnected the rechargers. My hand fumbled for the toggle. I found it, and squinted in the sudden brightness. I grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the counter, and put them on. Then, I walked into the brightest circle of light, and took a long, hard look at the mangled wreck that had been Roger Nixon's car. None of the doors would open, so I went in through a window. I pocketed the car registration and proof of insurance. There were some CDs, but they were all commercially burnt. A suit bag in the back seat contained a jacket, a tie, and two shirts. Nothing here. I climbed out. Opening the trunk required a crowbar. A spare and jack, flares, a first aid kit. Also a carry-on bag, containing underclothes, a shaving kit, a cell phone battery, a detective novel, and four energy bars. A bag yielded a tape recorder and a wireless receiver. Roger had planted bugs. And taped what he heard. There was every chance he had been spying on me, as well as on Clark. I would have to have Roger's house checked. There was a video camera bag, containing batteries and two blank hi-8 tapes. The camera was not in the car. It was probably still out in the woods. That meant there was also at least one more tape. I was going to have to send Tom out to find them. Fortunately, I knew where to look, having been a party to the taking of statements. Jonathan had been quite forthcoming in his recounting of recent events. He and Roger met when they got caught in the storm, and were buried in the crypt by a falling house. Said house later tipped over in the wind, allowing their escape. There was a certain uneasiness when the sheriff asked why Roger wanted Jonathan dead. My spurious hypothesis that the man's mind had snapped, owing to the lack of oxygen and the perceived certainty of imminent death, was quickly, and I think gratefully, accepted by those present, and the discussion had moved on to new business. All the time, my mind held on to the image of Roger's car, the location and importance of which, I alone knew. This car, which Tom had somehow gotten out of the tree, and which was now opening up to my probing hands. The secret compartment was easy to find, as the panel no longer fit properly into the twisted frame. I pulled out a notebook, three audio tapes, a videotape, and a scorched fragment of bright red fabric. The metal octagon was not there. Damn. I took the contents of the secret compartment upstairs to the vault. Roger had considered them worth Jonathan's life. But now, luck, and a little initiative, had placed them in my hands. The temptation to spend the rest of the night examining Roger's evidence was intense, but I couldn't afford to do it. I didn't even open the notebook, out of fear that I wouldn't be able to make myself close it. I needed to see a board about a buyout in the morning, and it was a long drive to Metropolis. I had to make the buyout a fait accompli while my father was still doped up in intensive care, while the board still assumed that my father would hand the reins of LuthorCorp over to me as soon as he was lucid, while the board members were still willing to do anything to stay on my good side. I was too excited to sleep, and needed a couple of drinks to calm down. Tomorrow, I would get the plant. It was the beginning of LexCorp. And that wouldn't even be the high point of my day. Tomorrow night, I would get all of Clark Kent's secrets. |