The Assassin     The Assassin

 by mobiusklein

 

 

  

 The assassin crouched in the grass smiled as he smoked a cigarette and
looked at the strange man sitting across from him. Sitting in his
speedboat, he had taken his rifle and aimed the crossfire hairs at the
forehead of his target, one Alexander Joseph Luthor, who was opening the
Hong Kong branch of Lexcorp and speaking in front of a crowd of employees
and members of the press. Waiting until the drumming started, he pressed
the trigger only to have a blur of red and blue get in the way of his
bullet. While the superhero seemed distracted by his concern for the
intended victim, he had fled in his speedboat, dropping the weapon into
the water and losing the police after ditching the boat on an isolated
beach. He had thought he had gotten away with it until the man who had
blocked the bullet stood in front of him and demanded that they talk. He
agreed but only if he was allowed to smoke. 

 "I'm curious why you stopped me. I know that you are his enemy," he said,
offering a cigarette to the other man. 

 Clark put up a hand and shook his head. While it wouldn't hurt him to
smoke, he didn't particularly like the habit, either. "Why don't you tell
me why you kill people?" 

 The assassin sighed, "Because I'm paid by bad people to kill other bad
people. Who's to say who's doing more good?" He lit the cigarette and took
a puff. 

 "Tell me . . . who hired you to kill Lex Luthor?" 

 "Clark Kent." 

 "That's impossible." 

 The assassin raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's the name I was given." 

 Clark opened his mouth to protest but decided it was useless and
furthermore, too revealing. This man was no ordinary thug but someone who
seemed to have his wits about him. If so, perhaps he could lead him to the
one who put a hit on Lex's life. Clark pulled out a picture of himself in
his regular clothes. "Is this the man?" 

 The man looked at the picture and said, "I wouldn't know." 

 "Why? Was the hit ordered over the phone or was he wearing a mask?" 

 The assassin took another drag from his cigarette and studied the man in
front of him. "What do you plan to do after I tell you?" 

 "There have been a dozen attempts on Lex Luthor's life the past three
months. I've managed to stop all of them but I'm afraid that whoever's
trying to kill him is going to eventually succeed." 

 The man smiled before blowing out a few perfect smoke rings. "You know, I
think I'd really like to have you as my enemy." 

 Clark had to smile as he realized just how odd his relationship with Lex
looked to someone who was used to things being a bit more straightforward.
"If you lead me to the person who contracted the hit, I'll ignore your
attempt on his life though I'm compelled to tell you that you need to quit
this job of yours and I won't stop the police from finding you by other
means." 

 "Fair enough," said the man, taking one last drag on his cigarette and
stubbing it on a nearby rock, before stepping on it to put it out. "I have
an agent who arranges things for me. He's the one who talked to your
`Clark Kent.'" The man pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and punched
in a number. After a short conversation, he clicked off. "I've told him to
meet me at the usual place. However . . ." 

 "However?" 

 "Is there anyway you could wear street clothes? What you're wearing isn't
exactly . . ." 

 "I'm sorry I left my other clothes at home." 

 The assassin sighed.  Three months ago 

 "I did not try to hire anybody to kill Lex Luthor," said Clark as he sat
in the interrogation room of the Metropolis police station. 

 "Then why did the hit man pick you out from a lineup?" said Officer
Sawyer. 

 "I don't know." 

 "How did he know your name?" 

 "I don't know. Maybe he reads the Daily Planet. My picture is on top of
the column," said Clark. "Why would I want to kill Lex Luthor?" 

 "You are noted for writing several columns criticizing Lexcorp. Stands to
reason that after a while, you might want to take more direct action
considering that time and time again, Lex Luthor has escaped prosecution
for what you perceive as his various crimes." 

 "I disagree with Mr. Luthor on many issues. It doesn't mean I want him
dead. After all, what would I have to write about if he were gone?" 

 The police officer did not find that remark amusing. "Are you willing to
take a polygraph test?" 

 "Yes, I am."  

 Present 

 "You meet your agent in a church?" said Clark as he sat next to the
assassin in a church pew. The church was white inside, lit by dozen of
candles and populated by several doves. 

 "I find it peaceful here and not too many people come here. Who expects a
killer to talk business in a house of God?" 

 "Doesn't it bother you?" 

 "Doing what I do? Maybe God approves of what I'm doing." 

 "I hope you seriously don't believe that." 

 The hitman shrugged. "I know of a man who was head of a triad. The path
he laid out before him was stained with blood. He was so ruthless that he
even had family members rubbed out. Nobody cried when he died." He saw the
disapproval in Superman's face. "I wasn't the one who killed him. I'm not
the only assassin in this city. Here's a question for you?" 

 "All right." 

 "What's so wrong with killing bad guys?" 

 Clark looked away. "Some bad guys weren't always so bad and some good
guys weren't always good. Don't you regret ever becoming a hitman?" 

 The man looked thoughtful. "I don't think there's a man alive who hasn't
regretted his decisions. I often think that God himself often regrets
having created man. Do you ever regret being a superhero?" 

 "I'd be lying if I said I didn't." 

 "So being the good guy is overrated?"	Two months ago 

 "Mr. Luthor . . ." said Clark as he entered Lex Luthor's office. 

 "Mr. Kent." 

 "You probably know that I've been taken into questioning about the
attempts on your life. You've got to believe me that no matter how things
have been between us, I'd never . . ." 

 "Yes, I know," said Lex, who seemed rather distracted and a little
anxious. I wouldn't allow you inside the building, never mind my office if
you were." 

 "Do you have any idea who could possibly be impersonating me and trying
to kill you?" 

 "I've already talked to the police about all possible suspects. I was
wondering if you could shed some light on this." 

 "I'm sorry I haven't found anything." 

 Lex suddenly smiled. "I suppose it wouldn't bother you much if whoever it
was actually succeeded." 

 "I take offense at that. Despite everything . . ." 

 "You should leave town." 

 "What? I thought you said . . ." 

 "Whoever is trying to shoot me seems to be targeting you as well. If you
had a really good alibi then maybe he wouldn't impersonate you." 

 "Lex . . ." The name felt strange in his mouth. "I figured that he was
using me because I just happen to have a history he could spin into
motive. But I can't leave . . . I don't plan to leave." 

 "After all, who would write down the sins of Lex Luthor for the history
books if it isn't the almighty Clark Kent? Is that it? Don't worry about
that. Your partner will gladly take up the slack." 

 "I want it to stop and it's only going to stop when the perpetrator's
found. I can't just sit somewhere and wait for the police to find him." 

 "If it's a matter of money, you know I can take care of it . . ." 

 He really does want me to leave, Clark thought. "I better be going," he
said as he got up from his chair. 

 "Take my advice for once . . . Clark." 

 Clark hesitated as he stood facing the door. "His impersonation of me is
the only lead the police have. It might be the only shot you got at
getting him." Then he walked out of the room.  Present 

 Clark was in his hotel room, looking in the mirror. The agent had
confirmed that the client looked just like Clark Kent, paying not in money
but in high-grade diamonds like the man in Metropolis had. 

 Whoever is paying all these assassins must have access to resources far
beyond the man on the street. He had wondered if Lex was paying assassins
to target himself. But no . . . he himself knew that there was only a few
feet between Lex and those bullets before he stood between them and their
target. If he hadn't been there, Lex would've been killed. There was no
sense in that and he had heard and seen Lex's involuntary reactions, the
increase in heart rate and his pupils dilate. Whatever was being planned
was not being planned by Lex. 

 He had interviewed many of the people in Lex's past in the guise of his
alter ego. Victoria had laughed as she stood in the New York gallery where
she had found work as a salesperson after she had been financially ruined.
Lucas was in Amsterdam and pointed out that he had signed papers
relinquishing his share of the Luthor empire in exchange for a very
generous stipend that would be curtailed the second Lex died. He even
found Helen, who had survived her unplanned parachute jump in the middle
of nowhere and was hiding under an assumed name. While many of them had
issues with Lex, none had the resources and none of them even remotely
looked like the man ordering the hit. He had even gotten Chloe to help him
on this case even though she was busy being chief editor of the Metropolis
Journal. Still, it hadn't gotten him any closer to who was trying to kill
Lex. 

 There was a possibility that he hadn't wanted to consider. A few days
before the first assassination attempt, he had destroyed another of Lex's
secret laboratories. He was sure that he had managed to fly away from the
cloud of debris that had risen from the wreckage but . . . He hadn't known
exactly what had been in that laboratory but considering that Lex did
considerable experiments with different kinds of Kryptonite and each type
had different effect on him . . . He couldn't help but wonder . . . 

 Was there something at the laboratory connected to all the attempts on
Lex's life? An unpleasant thought came to mind. Was it something that had
affected him? He knew about his frightening loss of control when under the
influence of red Kryptonite and seen what the green and the black had done
to the people of his hometown. Could it be that somehow he was arranging
the hits without being able to remember it? It would explain why the
client looked just like him and as for the diamonds, he knew that he could
squeeze coal into those precious gems. 

 But no . . . he thought. Lex wouldn't ask me to simply leave town if I
was the one and I haven't noticed anybody tailing me from his corporation.
No . . . I don't want him dead. I've hated him, hurt him and cursed him
but I never . . . He looked out at the scenery and leaned his head against
the window. He needed to talk to him as . . . Superman.  Early the next
morning, he flew to Lex's penthouse that he was renting in Hong Kong.
"Luthor?" he said, appalled that Lex was walking around on the roof
without his usual security guards. The only kind of safeguard that he
could see was that blasted ring. "What are you doing, walking around by
yourself?' 

 Lex turned around and saw him. "You've got to leave now." 

 "What?" 

 "I know that trust is a word that has no meaning between us but I'm
telling you that . . ." 

 Clark felt a stabbing, burning pain as he felt something tear into his
back and gasped. There was only one substance that could do this to him.
He looked up to say something to Lex when he saw that someone had actually
shot off Lex's ring finger. Lex was grabbing his hand and yelling in pain.


 Someone looking very much like Clark was walking towards Lex. He was
dressed in a black leather jacket and matching pants. "I'm sorry about
that last shot but it was necessary so I could talk to you freely. I know
that you're capable of growing yourself a replacement." 

 "What is it that you want? Have you finally come to kill me?" Lex said. 

 "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it to Hong Kong." 

 "Who is he, Lex?" said Clark. 

 The man turned to Clark and said, "You know how sometimes in evolution,
the superior causes the inferior to be extinct. I'd say this is the
situation for you, Kal-El." 

 "I suggest you explain yourself," said Lex, trying to distract the
doppleganger by moving so that the man's back was to Clark while Clark
tried to pull the bullets out of his body. 

 "I remember when I was in the tank developing, how you'd come by every
single day and tell me of all the things that you wished for, all the
things you wanted me to help you do. Someone to help you knock Superman
off his pedestal, someone to pull the rug out from under Clark Kent's
feet." 

 "I don't remember asking to be assassinated or have my finger shot off!" 

 The man scowled, "I'm trying to give you everything you could ever want.
Your worst pest framed for your attempted murder and completely
discredited, your nemesis eliminated and someone with all his powers at
your disposal. Isn't that why you made me?" 

 "That lab . . . I destroyed," said Clark. "Is that where he came from?"
Lex had always been interested in cloning but he had . . . cloned him? 

 "This is not what I wanted to happen . . . Are you listening to me?" 

 The man disappeared for a second before coming back with a long thin
piece of rope that he instantaneously wrapped around Clark's wrists and
ankles. 

 "What are you doing?" said Lex. "I told you to stop." 

 The man looked at him and said, "After I'm done, you'll thank me." He
threw Clark over his shoulder. Clark tried to struggle against his bonds
and his captor but it was useless. "I'm going to give the sharks a nice
little snack." 

 "Stop!" yelled Lex as his creation flew off with his nemesis.	Five years
later 

 The killer held the rifle in his lap. It was a product of one of Lex
Luthor's secret laboratories. It could fire a single bullet from two miles
away into a target the size of a grapefruit. All that power, he thought,
in such a small package. He held the strangely green bullets in his hand
and loaded them into the rifle. 

 He looked through the scope and saw his target. He was tall, beautiful
and was standing behind Lex. For a second, he thought that he reminded him
of that superhero he had met the day he had tried to kill his present
client. Of course, that was impossible because his client had told him
Superman had been killed by the man he was targeting today. 

 He sighed and thought about the conversation he had with him about being
an assassin. It's ironic that this is the only way that justice can be
served for your murder, he thought ruefully. He said a little prayer for
the soul of the man who could fly before pulling the trigger. 

 The End   
 If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to mobiusklein

 Also, why not join  Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?
 
 Back

 Level Three Records Room