Death in the City

Copyright: February 28, 2007

Country of first publication, United States of America.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made from this.

Nearly every Lois & Clark fan writer does a version of That Old Gang of Mine. Here's mine.

The banner read: 'The Daily Planet. 60 Years #1 in Metropolis.' Clark Kent watched the caterer and his assistants with barely concealed bemusement. The caterer, Jacques DuMond, of Jacques' Catering, caught sight of his assistants taking a break by the vending machines in the elevator lobby of the newsroom floor.

"Come on! Come on!" Jacques told them. "If we're going to turn this dreary little work place into a grand ballroom by Friday night, we can't sit around sipping lattes!"

"Uh, Lois, do you know where Perry and Jimmy took off to this morning?" Clark asked. His partner had just settled down at her desk, a cup of coffee in her hand.

"Perry said he had car trouble," Lois told him. "I guess he figures Jimmy's a mechanic now, too."

The elevator doors opened and Perry and Jimmy came out. They both looked disheveled and upset.

"Lois! Clark! In my office!" Perry yelled, crossing the floor to his office. Jimmy was following on his heels, fairly bouncing with excitement or an overdose of caffeine – sometimes it was hard to tell. Shrugging, Lois and Clark got up from their respective desks and followed the pair into Perry's office.

"What's up, Chief?" Lois asked as Perry moved to his desk.

"You're not going to believe what happened to us this morning!" Jimmy said. If he were any more excited, he'd have been bouncing off the walls. "We were almost killed, but I was able to save us."

"The boy's leaving out a few details," Perry said. "But bottom line is, we were carjacked."

"Are you all right?" Lois asked, worry written across her face.

"Yeah, we're fine. But they got away with that vintage Ford we were using to promote the celebration," he told them. It was known all around the Daily Planet that Perry had managed to borrow a 1934 vintage Ford Coupe in perfect condition.

"Let me tell you how I saved us! Picture this! We were locked in the garage..." Jimmy began.

"Jimmy! Go slap some cold water on your face," Perry ordered. Jimmy's expression turned stubborn. "Go. Now," Perry told him with a flick of his hand.

Deflated, Jimmy headed for the office door. "I'll tell you about it later," he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

"Did you get a good look at them?" Clark asked. He was worried about Perry, but this was also news.

"Sure. I gave the police a detailed description. And then they looked at me like I had three heads," Perry told them.

"Why?" Clark asked.

"'Cause I told them I'd been carjacked by Bonnie and Clyde," Perry said. He sounded like he didn't quite believe it himself.

"Chief, Bonnie and Clyde died over sixty years ago," the voice of reason said in the form of Lois Lane.

"I know that, Lois. My car was taken, not my senses," Perry told her with a touch of exasperation. "But these two were dead ringers for 'em. They did quite a job. Make-up, costumes, the whole shebang."

Lois paused, thinking. "Do you remember anything specific about the costumes?"

Perry sighed. "Lois, I'm not real big on fashion accessories. Especially when there's a gun pointed at me."

"It's just, well... there was this call on the police scanner last week," she said. "A man in a brown felt fedora and alligator spats held up a private gun collector."

"That's right," Clark confirmed. As Superman, he'd checked out the collector's story. "He got away with an arsenal of antique weapons. Tommy guns, Colt forty-five automatics..."

"There could be a connection," Lois suggested.

"See what you can dig up," Perry ordered. "That car was a piece of this paper's history. It belonged to one of our great publishers. And more important... it's not insured."

-o-o-o-

Sammy Davidson ran one of the less successful look-alike agencies in Metropolis. His office was in a run-down building on the outskirts of Suicide Slum. The office itself was small, and crowded with a single desk, several tall file cabinets and racks of clothes. The walls were covered by 8X10s of famous people. Sammy himself was seated behind his desk, a phone to his ear.

"That's right... he's a dead ringer for Elvis… Of course before he died," Sammy was saying to the person on the other end of the phone. He waved to Lois and Clark as they stepped closer to the desk. "Have a seat, folks. I'll be right with ya."

Lois looked around at the shabby office and the two worn vinyl covered chairs in front of the desk. She gingerly sat down, glowering at Clark. "This is the last one of these places you're going to drag me to. Somehow I don't think carjackers register with agents."

"Lois, who would know better than a look-a-like agency about famous impersonators?" Clark asked reasonably

"The name's Sammy," he introduced himself after hanging up the phone. "So, what can I do for you nice people?"

"I'm Clark Kent and this is my partner, Lois Lane. We're from..." Clark started.

"Vegas, right?" Sammy asked, cutting him off. Clark shook his head. "No? Wait. I know. Don't tell me. I never forget an act. I got it. Kutsher's, the Catskills."

"We're reporters from the Daily Planet," Clark explained.

"Sammy looked disappointed. "Reporters. Oh..." He turned to Lois. "A babe with a face like yours should be in show business."

Lois grinned, flattered. "Show business? Me?"

"Hey, I know talent when I see it," Sammy said, grinning back at her.

"Sammy, we were wondering if you represented any Bonnie and Clyde look-alikes," Clark asked, trying not to roll his eyes at Sammy's blatant attempt to flirt with Lois.

Sammy thought for a long moment. "Bonnie and Clyde... Nope. Sorry. But, it's funny that you mention them. I had a guy in here a couple of weeks ago looking for gangster costumes."

"Do you remember his name," Clark asked. "Or what he looked like?

"Sure. I keep a record of all my business transactions," Sammy told them, rummaging around in one of the drawers in his desk. "How do you think I got to where I am today? Uh... here he is. Emil Hamilton. Rented a whole rack of gangster costumes," Sammy said. "I don't usually let my costumes go out the door without one of my people inside 'em, but business has been slow lately."

-o-o-o-

It should have been an easy job. Run in, get the money, get out. Everybody knew John Dillinger, Clyde Barrow, and Bonnie Parker, right? In the old days, just walking in and being recognized was enough for everyone to do what they were supposed to. Not that Dillinger ever actually worked with Barrow or Parker in the old days. But now, Dillinger wasn't sure if everybody in Metropolis had amnesia or they were just stupid.

They'd chosen one of the branches of the Metropolis Savings and Loan. Savings and Loans were always good for quick cash. Barrow drove the coupe up to the front of the building and parked, leaving Parker at the wheel. Dillinger and Barrow walked into the bank and pulled their guns out from under their overcoats.

"This is a robbery," Dillinger announced. "Everybody down on the floor."

For a long moment the tellers, the bank customers, even the armed guard by the vault stood staring in blank incomprehension at him.

"Down on the floor!" Dillinger yelled, sending a round of shots into the ceiling. They all obediently dropped to the floor. Dillinger bobbed his head at Barrow as he went over to the teller cage. He peered in at one of the tellers, a young, pretty blonde one.

"You. Sister," Dillinger said, getting her attention. "Give us all your cash, and no funny business." He pushed several canvas bags toward her.

The teller climbed to her feet and started to fill the bags. Barrow kept his machine trained on the bank customers on the floor.

"Take a good look sister," Dillinger told her. He turned to the customers. "All of you! 'Cause this is the face you're gonna see smilin' back at you from your evening paper. This is the face of John H. Dillinger."

The teller just stared at him. The bank doors slammed open and Parker walked in, heels clicking on the marble floor.

"Hey! What's takin' so long?" she complained. "I'm gettin' wrinkles waitin' out there."

The teller and the customers looked up at the sound of a familiar 'whoosh.' Suddenly, Superman was standing in the doorway and a sigh of relief went though the room. He stepped closer to Barrow and Dillinger, cape fluttering behind him.

"Aren't you boys a little late for Halloween?" Superman asked in apparent bemusement.

"Look who's talkin'," Barrow said with a laugh, looking the newcomer up and down. "Who are you supposed to be? 'Little Boy Blue?'"

"Put down your guns," Superman ordered, no longer amused.

"Oh, my. Now he is one hunk of man," Parker murmured, loud enough for Barrow to hear. She smirked at him.

Barrow pulled the trigger on his machine gun, aiming directly at Superman, spraying him with a barrage of bullets. The bullets simply bounced off his chest.

"What is this... a cap gun?" Barrow yelled at Dillinger. What he'd seen was simply impossible. The bullets had simply ricocheted off the man in blue tights.

"You can't hit the broad side of a barn," Dillinger groused. He reached into the bag he'd brought with him and pulled out several sticks of explosives.

Superman took a step forward, but Barrow grabbed one of the customers, a middle aged man, and pulled him to his feet. Barrow put a gun to the man's back. "That's far enough pal," Barrow warned. "I ain't gonna miss from this close."

Superman froze.

Dillinger lit the fuse on the explosives and tossed it behind the teller's counter. Customers screamed and scrambled for cover as Barrow shoved his hostage away and ran for the door after Dillinger and Parker. Superman threw himself over the counter and onto the explosives as they went off. Smoke billowed from his body as he got to his feet. He started after the three gangsters, but stopped at the sound of a groan.

The bank guard was on the floor, clutching his chest. He was pale, skin clammy. Superman watched after the Ford coupe for a moment as the car disappeared into the midday traffic.

"I better get you to the hospital," Superman told the guard, scooping the man into his arms.

-o-o-o-

Lois watched and took notes as the police investigation team dusted the bank for prints, took photos, and statements. She caught sight of Clark ducking beneath the yellow police tape, flashing his press pass.

"Nice of you to show up, Clark," Lois snapped at him. "While you were putting money in the meter, the bank was robbed by someone posing as John Dillinger."

As she spoke, Clark spotted something on the floor. He bent down and picked the item off the floor.

"Oh, and Bonnie and Clyde put in an encore performance as well," Lois added. "What's that?" She'd noticed the small slip of brightly colored cardstock in his hand.

"A ticket stub from the Cineplex. It might be a clue," Clark told her.

"A clue? It's a movie ticket stub," Lois told him. "You know how many people came in here today? It could belong to anyone."

"It fell out of Dillinger's pocket."

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

"I... um... saw Superman on my way back here. He told me what happened."

She was suddenly mollified. "What does he make of all this?"

"Believe me, Lois, he's as baffled as I am," Clark told her.

Jimmy ran up as Lois and Clark left the bank, ducking back under the yellow tape. Jimmy had a camera slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, C.K., Lois!" Jimmy yelled as he approached them. "I got some information you're gonna' love. Turns out that vintage car the Chief borrowed once belonged to the real Clyde Barrow! That got me to thinking, so I called the cemeteries where they're buried."

"Jimmy..." Lois warned.

"I know it sounds weird but get this," Jimmy said. "Both cemetery directors said that a few years ago a scientist had their bodies dug up and took bone and hair samples. Pretty creepy, huh?"

"Did you get the scientist's name?" Clark asked.

"Hamilton."

"Professor Emil Hamilton?" Lois asked. She sounded like she didn't quite believe it.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" Jimmy asked, puzzled.

-o-o-o-

The building had seen better days, as had the neighborhood it was in. The sign above the entrance door read 'LC Storage.' The sign in the window read 'closed.'

The interior of the building was little better. The former office had been converted into a day room. Dillinger and Clyde sat at the battered table, dividing up their ill-gotten gains while Bonnie Parker sprawled on the broken down sofa, watching the old television.

"We got a pretty sweet future in this town, so long as we don't keep running into that clown in the blue tights," Dillinger commented.

"I'd be happy to keep him occupied any time you boys want to go out and knock over a few more banks," Parker told them with a grin. She swiveled her hips to accentuate her offer.

"That's enough!" Barrow warned. Parker pouted at him.

The inside door opened and Emil Hamilton walked in wearing a lab coat that was once white, but now sported indelible stains in multiple colors. "What have you done? You were to go nowhere without me!" Hamilton hissed at the three gangsters.

"What are you talkin' about, professor?" Dillinger asked innocently.

"I just heard a news report!" Hamilton told them. "Do you realize you could have ruined years of my work?"

"Pipe down," Barrow ordered.

"I will not pipe down!" Hamilton responded in a near screech. "This experiment is the most significant scientific breakthrough in modern history!"

"Oh look," Parker commented, glancing at the television. "This new fangled box even shows cartoons!"

Dillinger and Barrow turned back to their chore of counting the cash, ignoring Hamilton.

"I will not be ignored! I didn't give up seven years of my life to bring you back so you could rob banks!"

"Don't be mad, professor," Parker said, coming up to Hamilton. She smiled at him seductively. He backed away from her as his upper lip twitched. He started to sneeze repeatedly, eyes watering

"You can't keep us locked in here forever," Parker pleaded. "What is it that girl sings on the radio? 'Girls just wanna have fun.'"

"You must understand. I've brought you back to life to help civilization… not hurt it."

"We gotta do something, professor," Barrow said, waving at the television. "We're goin' nuts in here watchin' that contraption."

"I'm sorry, but you must wait until I've completed the genetic altering of your personalities before you can go back out into society," Hamilton explained. "Until that time, you have to live by my rules."

"The rules have changed, Professor," a cultured male voice informed them. Hamilton looked over to the open inner door to see a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard walk in. Behind him was another man, shorter, stockier, wearing a brown felt fedora and chewing on a cigar.

"No one makes the rules for Al Capone, but Al Capone," The second man remarked. "And now that I'm back... I'm taking over Metropolis."

The taller man chuckled and Hamilton's blood went cold. "I really don't care what you do to Metropolis, Mister Capone, so long as you and your friends do three little favors for me."

"Who do you want missing?" Dillinger asked. "And what do we get out of it, Mister…?"

"St. John," the tall man told them. "Nigel St. John. And what do you get out of it? My people continue funding Professor Hamilton's experiments."

"And who do you want dead?" Parker asked. She sidled up to St. John, ignoring Barrow's glower at her.

"No one important," he said. "Just two annoying journalists and one flying busybody."

"And just how do you expect us to do that?" Barrow asked. "Bullets bounce off the guy."

"Don't worry," St. John assured them. "I have a way around that little problem."

o-o-o-

The electronic headline scrolled past: 'MOB IMPOSTORS MOVE IN ON METROPOLIS.'

The reporters on the floor ignored the scrolling headline, just as they were studiously ignoring the caterer and his assistants as they worked to transform the newsroom into a ballroom.

"Mr. White, I know you have a paper to run, but I have a reputation to uphold," Jacques was saying, trailing Perry around the room. "Now I just need a decision!"

Perry turned on the little man in exasperation. "Look, Jacques. I don't really care what kind of napkins you put out. So long as the guests aren't wipin' their mouths on their sleeves!"

Clark watched the byplay between Perry and the caterer, smiling a little to himself as he retrieved his bag of chips from the vending machine. He spotted Lois entering the bullpen from research.

"Morning," she said, beckoning him to follow her over to their desks. "I got some information on Hamilton. He's a real science nerd, spends twenty-four hours a day working in his lab. No family, no friends. Used to work for LexLabs, before they were acquired by Wayne Technologies. Every penny he has goes to fund his experiments."

"I'm not surprised. DNA modification is very expensive," Clark told her. She gave him a puzzled look. "I found an article in the library. Hamilton believed he could restructure DNA and short circuit aggressive behavior. He hoped to eliminate all anti-social impulses in man."

"Did he ever talk about actually bringing criminals back to life?"

"Not directly," Clark admitted. "But he did say he thought they'd be the best people to experiment on. He even claimed he'd found a way to accelerate the maturation process of the embryos. The sidebar said his theories outraged the scientific community. That's probably why he dropped out of sight. If he is involved with these 'mobsters,' I wonder where his funding is coming from. I also wonder if he was involved in the Superman clone thing last year." He pitched his voice low so only she could hear him.

Jimmy ran over to them, waving a sheaf of papers in the air.

"Get a load of this," he announced. "It just came over on the fax." He handed the sheets to Lois.

"The cops got a good make on the bank robbers," Jimmy told them, translating the report. "The fingerprints aren't good matches with the real John Dillinger, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. More like what you get with identical twins. But get this, the other biometrics – skull, ears, palms – all match exactly. They can't explain it, but it's their opinion if these three aren't the real thing, then they're as close as anybody's gonna get."

"What are we dealing with here?" Lois asked. "Some kind of Jurassic Park for humans?"

Clark shrugged. "Let's see if we can get hold of Bobby Bigmouth. If Hamilton has created these – whatever they are – he's the person who'd know about it."

"Make sure you tell Perry about the fax," Lois ordered, leading Clark to the elevators.

-o-o-o-

Lois parked her jeep in the alley Bobby had designated for their meeting. The alley was in midtown, not all that far from her uncle's restaurant. She and Clark had stopped at Leonardo's for Bobby's payment.

"Mmmm. That ravioli smells great," Lois commented. They'd skipped lunch again and her stomach was starting to grumble at her. She started to reach for the take out bags Clark was holding on his lap. Clark pulled them out of her reach.

"Lois, it's for Bobby," he warned.

"He won't know."

"Oh yeah? Remember what happened that time you picked some of the cheese off his pizza?" he asked. "He got all pouty and wouldn't tell us anything."

"I still don't know how he knew that cheese was missing. I was very careful not to disturb the pepperoni," Lois said.

"Maybe he has his own superpowers," Clark suggested as his beeper went off. He checked the number. "It's the office. I better call in."

He got out of the jeep, putting the take-out bags on his seat. Lois watched him head to the drugstore on the corner to place his call. Then, she reached out and began to open one of the bags.

"Hey, hey, hey!" a familiar, nasal voice warned. Startled, Lois looked over her shoulder to see Bobby Bigmouth in the backseat of her car. He looked as he always did, rail thin, wearing a safari jacket with multiple pockets.

"Bobby?" Lois asked, trying to regain her composure. "How did you get back there?"

"Trade secret," he told her with a grin.

"And how dare you eavesdrop on my conversation."

He kept grinning at her. "I can't help it. I'm a professional snitch." He reached over and grabbed the bags off the front passenger seat. He sat back and peered inside. "What'd you bring me?"

"A wide variety of culinary delights," Lois said flatly. "As always."

Bobby chuckled. "Hey, do I detect an attitude? You know, I don't have to snitch for you. There's a reporter at The Star who'd give me my own chef if I started working for them."

The passenger door opened and Clark slid in, nodding to Bobby, who had just started chewing on a breadstick.

"That was Jimmy," Clark told them. "You're not going to believe this. Al Capone paid Perry a visit."

"What? How many more of these characters are out there?" Lois asked.

"I don't know," Clark said. "But Capone tried to bribe him. Apparently, the Mayor got the same offer and so did some union people." He turned to look back at Bobby. "Bobby, what do you know about all this? Who are these people?"

"From what I hear, they're an experiment gone bad," Bobby told them.

"Hamilton really did it?" Clark murmured in awe disbelief.

"Oh, and this regenerated Capone character? Not a big fan of the no smoking laws."

"What else?" Lois demanded.

"For this food?" Bobby told her. "That's all you get. You didn't even bring me dessert."

"Lois..." Clark said, shaking his head. He wasn't altogether fond of the games Lois played with Bobby.

She sighed and pulled one more takeout bag from beneath her seat. She handed it to Bobby.

He opened it and gave her a big grin. "Tortes!" he said happily, taking a bite of the pastry. He ignored the crumbs that were getting all over the jeep's backseat.

Lois watched him for a moment. "So talk."

Bobby wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Okay. There's this guy, runs an illegal gaming club down on Hobs Street – Georgie Hairdo. Capone's thugs have been leaning on him pretty hard."

"What's Capone's interest in the club?" Clark asked.

"He wants a piece of the action. Like the old days," Bobby explained. He held up a wilted looking pickle. "Anybody want the pickle?"

Lois took his offer, snatching the pickle out of his hand and taking a bite out of it.

"Look, there's something goin' down tonight at the club. That's all I know," Bobby told them as he opened the back door. "Except for one more thing. Word is on the street that whoever's put up the money for Capone's resurrection, well, he wants Superman out of the way and he's not real fond of you two. So, let the big guy know, okay. And watch yourselves."

Bobby closed the back door behind him and disappeared down the alley.

"So what do you think?" Clark asked after a moment.

"I think this pickle's awful," Lois told him, making a face. "I think we should visit that club, and finding out who's been financing Hamilton should be pretty high on our list as well."

"Not to mention warning Superman?" Clark suggested.

"Of course."

-o-o-o-

"Jimmy," Clark called as he and Lois came out of the elevator on to the newsroom floor. Clark noted the changes Jacques the caterer had already accomplished in the newsroom. With the plants and bunting, it looked like the caterer might actually have a chance at pulling it all together in time for Friday's party.

Jimmy looked up at the sound of his name. "Yeah, CK?"

"See what you can dig up on Professor Hamilton's finances," Clark ordered. "Especially large sums."

Jimmy handed him a file. "Already done. Chief ordered it after that bribe attempt. Basically, after Hamilton left LexLabs, someone started picking up the tab for his research. And get this, the reason he left LexLabs was a difference in opinion on the ethical use of human cloning. He didn't like where LexLabs was going with their research."

"But he's the one cloning mobsters," Lois pointed out. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

Jimmy shrugged. "That's what I found out."

"Anything on who's doing the financing?" Clark asked.

Jimmy shook his head. "Numbered Swiss accounts, Germany, Argentina, you name it. That money's been washed so much it's a wonder you can read the numbers."

"So, we know the money's coming from someone with international resources," Lois observed. "Someone who doesn't want to be associated with Hamilton's research. Someone who wants Superman out of the way."

"Superman?" Jimmy asked.

Clark nodded. "That's what Bobby told us. Somebody who's also not too fond of a certain pair of Daily Planet reporters."

"Uh, CK, the list of people who aren't fond of you and Lois is almost as long as the list of people who aren't fond of Superman," Jimmy pointed out. "In fact, it's pretty much the same list."

"But how many of them have the resources to fund Hamilton?" Lois asked.

"Not many," Jimmy admitted. "If it wasn't that Lex Luthor's dead, I'd say it smelled of something he'd be behind."

"But a lot of his top level people haven't been picked up," Lois reminded him. "Nigel St. John, for one."

"You don't think he's still in Metropolis, do you?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know if he is or not, but we all know a lot of people still don't believe how evil Luthor was and blame Superman for not saving him when he jumped," Lois reminded him. "I know St. John can't have been real happy when Luthor took his dive." She looked over at Clark. "We'd better get ready if we're going to check out that club tonight."

"Club?" Jimmy asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Georgie Hairdo's club over on Hobs Street," Clark explained. "Seems Capone is interested in getting a piece of that action."

"Hey guys, be careful," Jimmy warned. "Capone and his gang used to play for keeps."

"Aren't we always careful?" Lois asked. Jimmy and Clark just stared at her. "Well, Clark's careful enough for both of us," she amended. "We'll be fine. A quick look around, ask Georgie a few questions, leave. No brainer."

"In the meantime, Jimmy," Clark said, watching Lois head for the elevator. "See if there's anything out there explaining how Hamilton's clones can have the memories and personalities of the originals? Is it some sort of programming, or is there something else going on?"

"I'll see what I can find," Jimmy promised with a shrug. "I wasn't planning on going home tonight anyway."

Clark grinned at him. "Thanks, Jimmy," he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. Lois was standing at the elevators, tapping her foot as she waited for him. "I'm coming, I'm coming."