“I just think he’s up to something,” Clark complained to his parents that night at dinner. “He’s rich, he doesn’t need to be hunting down car thieves in the middle of the night. And why is he hiding in a circus? I think he’s got a secret.”
“And you would be the expert on that,” Jonathon Kent remarked, passing Martha the potatoes.
“Clark, honey,” she said, “maybe he just doesn’t want to be noticed.”
“No,” he shook his head; “if you’d seen him at the Beanery you wouldn’t have thought so.” He picked at his plate. “All he could do was complain about how much money he had and how it was so much of a chore. You know he said he flunked out of five colleges?”
“Well,” Jonathon said, “some people are like that. Some people just don’t know how to handle money.”
Martha nodded with him. “I still don’t understand how I didn’t recognize him at the circus,” she wondered. “I’ve seen his picture in People and I…” she stopped when she noticed Clark staring at her. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Not you too,” Clark moaned.
“You’re mother’s magazines aside,” Jonathon said, “I think what’s really upsetting you is that he’s getting so much more attention from certain people than you are.”
“No, I just know he’s got something to hide,” Clark said quickly. “Why does he need to be jumping around buildings at night? And saving people. Saving Lana.”
“’Cause that’s your job,” Martha said and smiled at Jonathon.
”You’re not helping here,” Clark said.
There was a knocking at the door and Clark got up to see who it was. He peaked through the screen and was startled to see Lana standing outside. He opened it quickly and let her in. “Lana, what are you doing here? Come in.”
“Sorry for coming around so late,” she said, stepping inside. She looked nervous and flushed about something. Clark’s parents walked in from the kitchen, surprised to see her.
“Oh, hello, Lana,” Martha smiled at her.
“Don’t usually see you around here at this time,” Jonathon said.
Lana went red and mumbled, “Yeah, I’m sorry about this. Can I speak to Clark alone, please?” Clark’s parents looked at each other and then glanced at Clark. He spread his arms, just as confused as they were. “It won’t be long,” Lana promised.
“Sure, I guess so,” Martha said slowly. She and Jonathon walked back to the kitchen leaving the two of them alone.
“So,” Clark said, “what’s on your mind?”
“I need you to drive me out to the circus,” Lana said quickly. She grabbed his arm, tugging it. “Please, you’re the closet person to me with a car. I really need your help here."
“What? You need me to do this?”
“Nell got freaked and won’t let me drive anywhere by myself and I’d die if I had to ask her.”
“What do you need to do at the circus?” Clark asked, already guessing the answer.
“I need to see Bruce and…” Lana stammered, “thank him for saving me. I didn’t get to say anything to him.”
Clark could only close his eyes in disbelief. How many times had he saved Lana, he asked himself, and this rich snot shows up once and… He stopped, trying to regain his composure. He opened his eyes and tried to put on a good face. “I don’t know,” he said, “it’s kinda late.”
“Please,” she said, touching his arm lightly. “The circus won’t perform for another week and there’s no other way for me to see him.” She looked up at him pleadingly. Clark opened his mouth to say no, but somehow he couldn’t quite get it out. He wavered for a moment, and then gave in.
“Alright,” he sighed, “I’ll take you.”
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Clark nodded glumly and snagged the truck’s keys off the counter. He mumbled an explanation to his parents as Lana followed him back outside. “Seriously, Clark, you’re my hero,” Lana gushed.
“For how long?” Clark muttered as he climbed into the truck with her.
The drive to the circus grounds took them about twenty minutes and the entire time; Lana relayed to him every detail of what had happened to her the night before. He heard about how fast Bruce had moved, how quickly he’d beaten back the thug, how brave he’d been to take on a man with a knife. It was enough to make him want to drive into a tree to keep from getting there.
“Did you ever wonder why he might have been there?” Clark asked her finally. “What someone like him was doing in the middle of the night in an alley?”
“Hey,” Lana said, “he saved my life. I’m not going to ask him what he was doing there, I’m just thankful he was.”
“I guess so,” Clark muttered. He pulled up towards the back of the circus near a large row of campers and trailers. “Hey, what’s this?” he asked staring at a police car that was parked nearby.
“Maybe something happened?” Lana said and leaned her head out the window. “I don’t see anything wrong though.”
Clark parked the car and climbed out. He spotted a pair of police officers talking to another man by a large trailer. The man was had on a pair of dirty jeans and a stained undershirt. A crude bandage was stretched across his nose and he touched it gingerly as he talked. Clark could only pick up a bit of what they were saying, but the man was not happy, gesturing to the cops and yelling at them. The police didn’t seem that upset, calmly taking down notes and only speaking occasionally.
“Do you know where Bruce might be?” Lana asked, coming up behind him.
“I think I might know,” Clark said. He started down the line of trailers, looking for the escape artist and his daughter. If Bruce were living here, they’d be the ones to know. As they walked by the trailers, Clark was a little surprised to see so many of the performers in the same state as the man before. People loitered outside their trailers, covered in dirt and sweat, talking nervously to each other in small groups. They eyed the two teenagers warily, but no one stopped them. Finally, Clark spotted a familiar girl leaning back against a trailer. To confirm it, Clark yelled, “Gail?” to her. She looked up and frowned at him, trying to place him. Clark waved Lana on as he hurried towards her.
As they came near her, Clark could see that Gail was similarly filthy. Her short black hair was streaked with dirt and leaves and her clothes were a mess of mud. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice suspicious and obviously tired at the same time. The screen door opened and her father came out with two drinks.
“What’s this about?” he asked his daughter.
“Sorry to bother you, but you’re the escape artist, right?” Clark asked her father.
“Yes, yes I am. The name’s Bernard Mellivicent, what can I do for you?”
“We were just wondering-“ Clark started when Lana cut in.
“We were just wondering where Bruce Wayne was,” she said quickly. Gail blanched from where she was sitting and looked towards her father.
“And what would you want with Tom?” he asked Lana quietly. Gail stared at her father in astonishment.
“Hold on,” she said with force. “Do you mean to tell me you knew that Tom was Bruce Wayne?” she asked her father.
Bernard nodded. “Don’t you think that I’d know everything about the person I was going to train?”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged and started to say something when Bruce’s voice came from the trailer. “Because I asked him not to,” he said, stepping down from the doorway. Lana turned pink and took a step back behind Clark. Unlike the others, Bruce wasn’t filthy. He had on a clean pair of black jeans and dark blue, long sleeve shirt. His hair was wet though, so Clark guessed he’d just showered. Bruce stared at Lana, making her take another step back, and then he turned his gaze to Clark. It was startling, but Clark could almost feel his stare bore into him. “What do you want?” Bruce said finally.
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Lana took a deep breath and stepped forwards. Bruce looked at her again and she almost jumped back, but she steeled herself and spoke. “I just wanted… to thank you. For saving my life,” she explained in a rush. “I didn’t get to last night, and then I saw you in town, but you left before I could say anything.”
“Oh,” Bruce said simply. He pursed his lips for a second and then shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Lana blinked and gaped at him, her mouth partway open. Bernard and Gail looked at each other, wondering what was going on. There was an awkward silence that seemed to fill up the moment.
“Uh,” Clark said, “so what happened here? Why the police?”
Bernard looked pained and didn’t answer immediately. He handed a drink to Gail and sat down beside her. “One of our friends went missing. A young boy about your age, his name’s Richie Telebaum, he’s the manager’s son. He’s really more like family to us. Everyone in a circus is like family really.” Gail rested her head on his shoulder and Bernard gave her a weak smile. Bruce stood still and said nothing.
“He’s always been a troubled boy,” Bernard said slowly. “Always getting into fights with his father about something or another. Well, finally, they had a big one, and he ran out into the woods last night. His father figured he’d come home when he got hungry, but when he didn’t, we all decided to go looking for him.”
“He didn’t bother to tell anyone until almost six,” Gail said bitterly. “He and Ritchie have never really gotten along. They hate each other. I don’t think he’s really hoping for him to show up at all.”
“That’s terrible,” Lana said. Clark nodded in agreement.
“Yes,” Bernard said, “we’re all praying he comes back alive.”
“At least the police are going to start looking for him now,” Clark offered. Bernard nodded again and sipped at his drink. “I wish there was something we could do.”
“Sun’s starting to go down, you’d never find him in the dark,” Bernard shook his head. “All we can do is get some rest and try again at first light.”
“Speaking of sundown,” Bruce spoke up, “I’ve got to get going.” Gail stared incredulously at him, but her father didn’t seem to bat an eye. He sighed and looked down, taking another sip of his drink.
“Don’t you care that Richie is out there somewhere?” Gail demanded, getting up and walking towards him.
“Of course I do,” Bruce said. “But there’s nothing I can do for him now though. I’ll help search again at dawn, but before that, there’s something I have to take care of.”
“Is it really that much more important than this?” Bernard asked him.
“We can’t search in the dark. We’d wind up just as lost as he is.”
“I wasn’t talking about searching again,” he said. “We’re all upset right now, I was hoping we could spend a night together, be there for each other.”
There was silence for a moment as Bruce just stood there, looking at him. For a moment, he looked a little puzzled and then his face slipped back into that stern mask. “Why?” he shrugged coldly. Gail looked as startled as Lana now as Bruce stood there waiting.
Bernard seemed more disappointed than surprised with Bruce’s dismissal. He waved his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine, do whatever you think you have to. It’s all you’ve ever done before,” he sighed.
Bruce nodded and then started away. “Excuse me,” he said, walking past Clark and Lana. Lana stared as he went her mouth open trying to say something. Bruce hurried away though, going towards a small cluster of cars parked by the rear of the circus. As they watched, he got into a compact car with a rental plate and drove off towards town.
When his car disappeared from view, Lana spun around angrily, her hands on her hips. “Is he like that all the time?” she hissed at Gail.
“No,” Gail laughed sarcastically, “sometimes he’s even worse. I swear you’d get more compassion out of a hunk of rock.”
“Don’t mind my daughter,” Bernard remarked, “she had to learn the hard way that what you see on the outside is not what you get.” Gail made a face and looked away. “You see,” Bernard explained, “Bruce, or Tom, is many things, but a people person he’s not. It’s not that he doesn’t care about how people feel, it’s just that he doesn’t allow himself to feel anything, so he doesn’t know how to relate.”
“Does he do that often?” Clark asked, looking back down the road to town. “Leave at night, I mean, and not tell anyone where he’s going.”
“Practically every night we’re in town,” Gail said. “Even when we’re on the road, he barely sleeps. I guess he’s a night person.”
“Well, I hate to send you on your way,” Bernard said, rising to his feet, “but my old bones are not looking forward to spending another day in the woods, so I really want to lie down for the night. Goodnight and have a safe trip back.” Gail nodded and helped her dad into the trailer. Clark and Lana waved and started back to the car. Lana was shaking her head and fuming, still upset over what had happened. Clark stared again at the road and thought quickly.
“Lana,” Clark asked, “can I chip in that favor you owe me now?”
“Of course,” Lana said slowly. “But what do you want out here?”
“I’m gonna call Chloe, she’d love to have this story in her paper. If you could drive the car back, I’ll wait here for her and she can drive me home.”
Lana blinked and stared around her. “Are you sure?” she asked. “It’s getting pretty dark. Can’t you wait until morning?”
“You know Chloe,” Clark said lamely, hating himself for lying to her. “She loves to get the quotes right away.”
“Okay,” Lana said slowly as he handed her the keys. “I’ll tell your parents where you are,” she offered.
“Thanks, and tell them not to worry. I’ll probably be home in an hour or so,” he said. Lana waved and walked back to the truck. Clark watched her pull out and waved her off. When she was out of sight, he quickly glanced to make sure that no one was watching, and then he took off down the road, passing Lana in an instant. Running as fast as he was, there was no chance that she could’ve spotted him though. The only sign of his passing was a gust of wind and dirt against the car.
Clark’s gamble worked and in a few seconds he saw the taillights to Bruce’s car up ahead. Keeping a safe distance back and sticking to the shadows, Clark tailed the car down the country road. After a few minutes, the stupidity of what he was doing set in. What was he following Bruce’s car for anyway? He hadn’t done anything wrong, not yet at least, he told himself. He was probably just going back into town; if he was guilty of anything it was most likely boredom. Still, there was something about Bruce Wayne that he didn’t trust. Little nagging questions that kept floating through his mind. Nothing made sense about him, not his spoiled, rich boy act at the Beanery, and not the cold personality he’d greeted them with back at the circus. Somehow, he knew if he just followed Bruce for long enough, he’d find out what he wanted to know.
Bruce’s car turned off the main road and headed down another back road that lead to the old corn factory. Clark felt something icy in the bottom of his stomach as he followed him. When Bruce turned his lights out, Clark’s feeling got even worse. Bruce drove to the factory and then pulled into the parking lot. He circled the lot, looking for something, and then drove slowly behind the factory, to the loading ramps. Clark kept to the edge of the fields surrounding the factory and followed him.
Parked behind the factory were a large semi and a pair of men waiting by a black Mustang. They yelled into the semi and stepped out towards Bruce’s car. Clark crept closer so he could hear what they were saying.
“Hey, Johnny,” one yelled, waving a cell phone at the car “that’s not the car that we told you to bring! What, you forget and steal something else?” The other man laughed and leaned back against the parked car, arms folded. They both seemed relaxed until Bruce parked the car and stepped out.
“Who the hell are you?” the one with the cell phone demanded. Bruce ignored him and walked towards them slowly, his hands behind his back.
The other man warned him, “Stay back!” as he pulled out a gun. Clark’s eyes went wide from where he was hidden. Just what had Bruce walked into? First it looked like they were expecting him, and now they’re ready to kill him! He had to move fast and disarm him before he could- but then Bruce shocked Clark once again. He ducked and spun, pulling something out from behind him. He whipped his arm around and the thug dropped his gun and howled. A throwing star was imbedded in his palm, oozing blood. The other man stepped back, going pale. Bruce continued forward calmly. When he passed by the injured man, he only paused long enough to backhand him. The criminal fell over with a grunt, still clutching his injured hand. Bruce turned back to the first man and smiled.
“Its amazing the things you’ll find out if you lean on someone a little,” Bruce said. His voice was no longer bored or just cold, now it was a low, gravely thing that sent a chill up Clark’s spine. “I met your friend Johnny last night, and after a little persuasion, he told me where he was supposed to drive the stolen car to. I have to admit, it’s a nice operation you have here. You steal only a few cars from every town and then transport them to Metropolis or somewhere else to gut. No one pays that much attention to small towns, and since it didn’t happen in the city, the cops there won’t know to look for them.”
“Yeah, too bad you won’t tell anyone about it,” the man yelled back and went for his gun. In a move that even Clark had trouble seeing, Bruce sent another star flying inches past the man’s ear.
With three more stars between his fingers, Bruce waited. “Try it,” he said simply. “Please.” The man stared at him and dropped the gun. “Good call,” Bruce said and ran towards him. The man started, looking down at his gun, back up at Bruce, and then back down again. By the time he reached for the gun, it was already too late. Bruce kicked him in the stomach and then pivoted and kicked him again across the face. The man went flying, coming down face first on the pavement. Bruce walked over and prodded the man’s face with his foot, turning it over to the side so he could see him. Then he stepped firmly down on the man’s head and started speaking. Clark moved even closer out to listen in.
“I’m not letting you walk,” Bruce was saying, “you’re guilty and you’re going to jail, understand me? What I am offering you is that you can go to jail tonight, or you can go to the hospital first and then jail. So tell me what I want to know or else you end up in traction.”
“What other towns have you been hitting?” he asked him quietly. “Who’s in charge of this operation? And who does he work for?”
“Screw you,” the man muttered, his face scrunched together by Bruce’s boot.
Bruce shrugged and lifted his boot off the man’s face long enough to drive the heel of it into his right arm. The sound of the bone snapping was like lightening in Clark’s ears. The man shrieked once before Bruce put his foot back down on his face. “Don’t think I’ll get squeamish and call this off, I’m having too much fun,” Bruce said quietly.
“Stop it,” Clark called, stepping out from the shadows. Bruce’s head whipped up towards him, and Clark felt that powerful stare hit him again. “You can’t do this to him,” he yelled.
Bruce stepped away from the man towards Clark. “Just what are you doing here?” he asked him quietly. Behind him, the man started to pick himself up, cradling his arm gingerly.
“I followed you,” Clark said quickly, “but that’s not important.”
“’Followed me?’” Bruce repeated, staring at Clark. “I don’t think so.” He spun around and kicked the man across the jaw again. He collapsed in a head and this time didn’t move. Clark started towards him, when Bruce turned around and smiled one-sided at him. “I would’ve known if a car had been following me, I’ve been trained to notice that sort of thing. I think you knew where I was going,” he said quietly. He started to circle Clark, sizing him up.
Clark clenched his fists and waited, watching Bruce. “How would I have known that?” he asked him angrily.
“I figured that someone was acting as a spotter for these guys. None of them are local, so they needed someone to point out the better cars and where they’d be,” Bruce explained. “Didn’t figure you for it.” He stopped circling Clark, coming around in front of the semi. “It was a big mistake to get involved in something like this.”
“I’m not,” Clark, stated, “I got suspicious when you left the circus and followed you here. That’s all.”
“What, followed me on foot?” Bruce asked. “I would’ve seen a car.” Clark started to say something when he heard the unmistakable sound of gun cocking. From the open body of the semi, another man stepped out aiming an automatic weapon at the two. Bruce spun around, another star appearing in his hand, but he wasn’t fast enough and the man started to fire.
Clark sprinted forward, straining as the bullets rushed towards Bruce. Regardless of how he felt, he had to save him. Clark shoved him aside and threw himself in the way of the bullets. He felt the stream of hot metal hit his chest and flatten out on impact. It was like a strong punch every time. The man fired until his gun emptied, cursing loudly. Clark dropped to his knees, trying to breath again. From where he lay, Bruce sprang into action, dashing towards the semi. He was fast, clearing the twenty yards as the man dug another clip out of his jacket. Just as he was shoving it into place, Bruce reached him and in an amazing feat of acrobatics, flipped into the truck and knocked the man’s legs out from under him. Clark watched from the parking lot, trying to make his bruised chest unclench from around his lungs. Bruce snapped kicks and punches at the shooter like a kung fu master, but the man had apparently had a bit of martial arts training as well. He blocked and countered Bruce’s attacks with one of his own, which Bruce dodged quickly. As the two fought in the cab, Clark stumbled to his feet, staggering towards them. Then behind him, he heard the sound of a car engine rumble to life.
Clark turned to see the first man, the one whose hand Bruce had ventilated earlier, bent over the wheel of the Mustang. He gunned the engine again and tore off, the car aimed directly at Clark. For a second, Clark thought he was trying to get away, but he didn’t swerve. He kept coming, faster and faster. He’d tried to help these guys and this was the thanks he got, Clark thought. Seething, Clark braced himself and put his hands out. The Mustang hit him going at least sixty miles per hour. The front bumper curled around his hands into an oval shape. The pavement under his feet buckled and cracked, but held. The driver wasn’t so lucky. He went flying through the front window on impact and rolled several yards before coming to a stop. He moaned, but didn’t move.
Clark pushed the remains of the car away and caught his breath. Wiping motor oil and paint off his hands, he turned back to the semi to see Bruce dragging the unconscious shooter out of the semi. One of his cheeks was red and swollen and there was a slight cut across his left shoulder. Bruce stared at Clark, letting the shooter drop to the ground. He looked at the remains of the Mustang and the bullet holes in Clark’s shirt. “What the hell are you?” he asked finally, wiping his arm across his forehead.
Clark looked down at the unconscious man and around the parking lot, at the semi and the other two men on the ground. “What are you?” Clark countered finally. Bruce stared at him, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
“First, you’re going to help me clean this place up and then we’re going to have a talk,” he stated firmly. Clark blinked and then nodded. “I’ll tie them up; you better push the mustang into a tree or something. You can do that, right?” Bruce asked.
Clark nodded. “Yeah, I’m used to covering my tracks.”
“That makes two of us,” Bruce said.