Read Last Son of Krypton for Free Online

waved at her.
    "Hey, Clarkie, what's popping?" came the voice from the same direction as another swat to his shoulder. "Well well well, willya look at who's prancing down the hall dressed to stop a convoy. Heavy lunch hour, Clark?"
    "Oh, Lois? Guess so." Lombard seemed to smell the lady approaching at three o'clock out of a cloud like a World WarI ace. "Weren't you showing that new girl Janet how to write film, Steve?"
    "She'll be all right in the editing room. She's a fast learner. Hel-loooo, Lois."
    "How's it hanging, Grizzly?" Lois stepped in the hallway door. "What're we doing for lunch, Clark?"
    "Oh, I thought maybe Patty and Brew or—"
    "Yeah, Clarkie." Lombard tried hard to look as genial as a hibernating polar bear. "What're we doing for lunch? Taking a Lear jet to Paris for hors d'oeuvres? Morocco for beef curry? Dessert in New Orleans?"
    "Get off it, Grizzly. You know the last time Clark had a comeback for a one-liner he fell of his moa."
    "Lois! Isn't anyone on my side?" Clark's exclamation was only in his words. He seemed never to rise above a conversational tone or a walking speed.
    Steve Lombard was another matter. Lois had long ago stopped feeling guilty about the amusement she felt when she watched the two men together. She realized that there was no point in feeling guilty because Steve seemed, under it all, quite as incompetent as Clark at human interaction.
    Like now, for example, she allowed a creamy grin as Steve waved a hand, talking and trying to distract her and Clark, as he used the other hand to slip the corner of Clark's jacket—it apparently never occurred to Clark to take off the jacket indoors—into the roller from which the two-alarm story was emerging. What would happen next, Lois thought, was that as Steve tried to turn the crank, pulling Clark's jacket into the machine and making him look stupid, a fire bell would ring and Clark would jump away in time, or a light fixture would fall on Steve's head, or the big boss Mr.Edge would walk in and yell at Steve for horsing around or—
    As Steve leaned back to yank at the handle and mangle Clark's suit, the crank picked that moment to fall off in Steve's hand and leverage left the quarterback sprawled on the floor in a pile of discarded wire copy. Unflappable, Clark Kent ripped off the current message, about a swarm of hang gliders seen approaching from the outskirts of the city, and dropped it on Steve's face.
    "Gotta go eat, Steve. Would you have somebody check out this story while I'm gone?"
    "Nuts!" The sportscaster flew to his feet and down the hall ahead of Clark and Lois. He bumped into a cute young copy girl on her way to the newsroom and snarled, "Who're you?"
    "Laila. Laila Herstol, I—"
    "Shouldn't be working on your lunch hour. My treat."
    "Really? Sure, Mr. Lombard."
    "Look at him, Clark. One after the other. You think he collects scalps, or puts notches in his shoulder pads or something?"
    "Don't know, Lois, but someday he's liable to injure himself."
    What no one had noticed was that the crank of the Associated Press ticker had not broken. It had melted. Clark would cover up the fact the first chance he got.
    Patty and Brew was a quickie lunch spot half a step over McDonald's and Burger King in exclusiveness. Both male and female heads turned Lois's way as the pair walked the block to the restaurant. There was no denying the lady's striking appearance, and it went well with her brisk, almost manly stride. She had been on the talk show circuit for years plugging one book or another, and then there was the perennial gossip about her and Superman. Hardly anyone who looked noticed she was with a man, much less that the man was Kent. She was the show on this block.
    That was, until a faint whooshing sound came from the sky. Pedestrians froze, and traffic slowed, as people craned their necks looking for a red-and-blue streak. But what they heard was the distant beating of police helicopters and what they saw were half a dozen of what