The Death and Life of Superman (51 page)

Miles away, the thick metal grate of what appeared to be nothing more than a highway drainage system suddenly exploded outward, coming to rest over twenty feet away. The source of that explosive force was the red-gloved fist of a young man who stalked out of the big drainpipe and into the bright moonlit night.

From the soles of his black boots to the top of his dark, tousled hair, the figure stood about five-feet-two. His slim, tightly muscled form was clothed in tight red pants and a blue pullover shirt with a high black mock-turtleneck collar. Across the front of his shirt was a bright red and yellow pentagonal Superman S-shield. He looked to be in his midteens.

As he stood taking in the cool night air, the young Newsboys came clambering out of the pipe behind him.

“Dat’s some knuckle sam’wich ya got dere, pal.” Scrapper tipped his cap back as he paced out the distance the grate had flown. “Ya got real moxie!”

“Solid, man. Real solid.” Flip gave their new friend an appreciative thumbs-up.

Big Words walked around and around the grate, scratching his head. “This is most perplexing. The grating is virtually undamaged, yet a blow of such magnitude should have rendered it an amorphously twisted wreck.”

“Aw, geez, Big Words, lay off the extra syllables for once, will you? This is no time for a science lesson.” Gabby was wound tight with excitement. “We’re stayin’ up late, an’ witnessin’ a thrillin’ dash for freedom, an’ . . . an’ geez, ain’t it great?!”

“It’s great all right. It’s probably the most important thing we’ve ever done.” Tommy looked longingly at the open sky. “I wish we could go with you, friend, but it’ll be better for you if we head back underground and confuse the trail. Westfield will send his goons after you, you know. Here.” Tommy pulled a dark leather jacket from his backpack and handed it to the stranger. “Maybe this’ll help some . . . until you can find some other clothes to help you blend in.”

“Yeah?” The young man shrugged into the jacket. “Thanks—nice fit. But I don’t know that I’m all that interested in blending in.”

“Geez, I guess this is like good-bye—at least for now. Not that you need it or anything, but good luck, Superboy!”

“Hey!” The young man whirled around, almost knocking Gabby over. “Don’t ever call me Super
boy!
Got that?” He waited for Gabby’s stuttered agreement, then leapt high into the air and headed southeast, toward the lights of Metropolis.

21

The early morning sun
was glimmering off the granite face of Superman’s memorial statue when the stolen taxi roared across the plaza. A young punk with a cheap handgun leaned out of the front passenger side window as they sped past the tomb, popping off a few shots at the statue.

“Woo! Die, Superman, die! Yee-hah!” Despite the early hour, the young man was wearing a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses.

The crewcut driver just grinned. “Ain’t ya heard. Specs? The man’s already dead.”

“Well, then, we got us nothing to worry about, do we?” Specs popped off another shot. “Drive on, Crew! The day is young!”

Crew made a sharp left, sending the cab down a sloping embankment and onto a paved jogging path. Less than sixty feet ahead of them, a trim young woman was running along the path.

“All right! Jogger—twenty-five points!” Crew put his foot to the floor.

The young woman looked back over her shoulder in horror as the cab bore down upon her. To her right, the embankment grew too steep to climb; to her left was the park lake. She was about to make a mad dive and take her chances with the water when a red and blue blur shot down from the sky, scooping her up in one hand.

Superboy landed on the jogging path, holding the young woman up over his head, balancing her in one hand as a waiter might carry a fully loaded tray. Planting his feet firmly, he thrust out his other hand at the speeding cab.

The taxi slammed into Superboy hard, its front end folding around him like an accordion. His boots cut a deep furrow into the pavement as the impact drove him down the path, but he lost neither his balance nor his hold on the young woman he held aloft.

Weak groans came from within the wrecked cab, but the Boy of Steel paid them no mind. He set the jogger gently back down on her feet, and she gaped at him in amazement. He was no taller than she was. “You—you saved my life!”

Superboy beamed at her. “Hey, that’s my job, gorgeous! And you’re way too beautiful to let die!”

“But—but who are you?!”

“Let’s see, shall we?” He came a step closer to her and yanked open his leather jacket. “I’ve got a big red ‘S’ on my chest, and I can fly faster than a speeding bullet. What else?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the crumpled taxi. “Too bad there weren’t any locomotives to take on, but at least I proved that I’m more powerful than a runaway cab.”

He favored the woman with a knowing smile and let his jacket fall closed. “Now, who do you
think
I am?”

He strolled over to the cab, almost swaggering, and sank his fingertips into one of the crumpled doors. He paused to wink at the jogger. Then, without any discernible effort, he ripped away the door. The jogger watched, fascinated.
He’s showing off for me!
The thought nearly made her giggle.

Superboy pried Specs and Crew out of the wreck, checking them over and tossing them onto the ground. “You punks are just lucky you were wearing your seat belts. I wouldn’t go making any sudden moves just now, if I were you.”

“Chill, man!” Specs lay sprawled and shaking like an addict going cold turkey. “We won’t be givin’ you no more trouble.”

“You got that right!” The Boy of Steel collected their guns, crushing them in his hands. Then he caught his reflection in the round lenses of Specs’s sunglasses and he smiled. “Nice shades. Good thing you didn’t break ’em!”

Specs whipped off his sunglasses and held them out to Superboy. “They’re yours, man—my gift! Just don’t hurt us!”

“Why, thank you, citizen.” Superboy slipped on the sunglasses. “I’m sure the police’ll take this act of selflessness into account when they book you for attempted vehicular homicide. Oh, yeah—and for desecrating my statue, too!”

The jogger looked at him, dumbfounded. “It’s really you, isn’t it? You’re really Superman! But I thought you were dead!”

He tenderly traced one finger along her jawline. “Well, I guess you could say I got better
—lots
better!”

Superboy leaned forward and kissed her passionately. She was a little startled, but not completely surprised, and she made no move to break things off.

Two policemen came scrambling down the embankment, following the ruts made by the cab.

The Boy of Steel gave the jogger another wink. “Looks like my work here is done. Gotta fly, babe. See you around!”

With a wave, he soared away into the sky, leaving the amazed policemen glancing skyward. While one of the cops pulled the punks to their feet and stood them up against the side of the cab, the other checked on the jogger.

“I’m fine, really.” The woman stared a little dreamily after her flying rescuer.

The cop looked from her to the disappearing form. “Who
was
that?!”

“He said that he was Superman.” She shook her head, smiling. While his kiss had been nice—sweet actually—she’d found it somewhat lacking in experience. “But in some ways, I think he’s still a boy.”

“Heads up, here comes Superman!” The cry went up along the docks of Hob’s Bay. A dozen homeless people gathered around as Bibbo strolled along in his makeshift costume, passing out plastic-wrapped sandwiches from a big rucksack.

“Here youse go, folks. Plenty fer ever’body—compliments o’ Sooperman.”

A young boy looked up shyly from behind his mother. “How can you be Superman? Mommy said that he got killed dead. Are you a ghost?”

“Naw, squirt, I ain’t no ghost.” Bibbo knelt down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Guess ya could say I’m one o’ Sooperman’s helpers. I’m helpin’ folks out ’cause Sooperman ain’t here to do it hisself. Ya hungry?”

The boy nodded his head.

He handed the boy a sandwich and an apple. “Yeah, I remember what it’s like, bein’ hungry. I had me some pretty tough times, but I got through ’em. Now I’m helpin’ other folks get through ’em.” Bibbo stood up and looked around. “Sooner or later, mos’ ever’body has some bad times, but we can all get through ’em if we stick togedder. Dat’s the important thing.”

Bibbo was halfway through his supply of sandwiches when he heard someone crying. He handed his rucksack to the little boy’s mother and rushed down to the end of the pier where an old woman stood sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

“My babies . . . my babies . . .”

“What izzit, lady? What’s wrong?”

She looked up, her eyes red and puffy with fresh tears. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing food, or I wouldn’t have done it. I just couldn’t stand to watch them starve.”

“Watch who starve?”

“My puppies. There were three of them. Somebody’d thrown them away like they were garbage, but they were beautiful and I took care of them as best as I could. But I couldn’t afford to feed them anymore—couldn’t afford to feed myself.” Her hand shook as she pointed to the water off the pier. “So I sent them on . . . to a better world.”

Bibbo looked stricken. “Aw, no. I would’a took ’em! I’ll
still
take ’em!”

With a single bound, he dove into the icy black waters. Visibility was just about nil, but somehow among all the refuse at the river bottom, he managed to find a small burlap bag loosely tied to a cinder block. Bibbo yanked the bag free and kicked his way to the surface.

Moments later, Bibbo crouched at the end of the dock, gulping in air, as the old woman shakily tore at the bag.

A homeless man bent down to help her, but when the bag finally came open, he just shook his head. “Sorry, Bibbo. You were too late.”

Bibbo hunched over, wringing the water from his sweatshirt to hide his tears. “Can’t even save a puppy—not even one li’l pup.”

Suddenly there came a raspy coughing noise as one puppy shakily struggled to his feet. Bibbo scooped the puppy up out of the bag, cradling it in his big hands. The pup sneezed and licked Bibbo’s nose.

“Hey, li’l guy! Yer a real fighter, ain’tcha?” Bibbo turned and held the pup out to the old woman. “Here ya go, ma’am. Sorry I couldn’t save ’em all.”

The woman looked at Bibbo and the pup. “I really think you should keep him, Superman. I think you two belong together.”

“Ya think so? Yeah, maybe yer right.” Bibbo held the pup to his chest, letting it nuzzle against the stubble of his chin. “Ya know, he’s the last o’ his litter, kinda like the way my fav’rit was the last o’ his. I think I’m gonna name him—Krypton!”

The pup licked Bibbo right across the lips; he had found his soul mate.

Lois Lane came back from lunch to find Superboy waiting for her in the City Room. The Boy of Steel was sitting in her chair with his feet up on her desk and flipping through the early afternoon edition of the
Planet.

Lois stopped dead in her tracks. “What on Earth—?!”

“Oh, there you are! It’s about time.” He tossed the paper down on the desk. “What gives, Lane? I make a great heroic save, and it winds up on page six
—page six!”

The Boy of Steel stopped to give a big grin as Jimmy Olsen came across the City Room with his camera. Once the photographer had squeezed off a few shots, the teen hero sat up and smacked the newspaper with the back of his hand. “What’s this on page one? CYBORG SUPERMAN RESCUES PASSENGERS IN TRAIN WRECK? Big deal! I coulda done that, and I’m no phony cyborg. I’m the real thing!”

“You?” Lois looked distinctly less than convinced. “Superman?”

If he noticed her skepticism, Superboy gave no sign. In fact, he beamed at her. “That’s me . . . the one and only, all other claims to the contrary.”

“Superman, huh?” Jimmy set down his camera. “Super
boy
is more like it!”

In a flash, the teenager jumped up out of the chair and grabbed Jimmy by the lapels, turning him upside down. “Listen, pal, I don’t like to be called that. Okay?”

“Uh, sure. Sure!” Jimmy spoke fast, feeling the blood rushing to his head. “No problem . . . Super
man
.”

“That’s better. That’s much better.”

As Superboy set the photographer back down on his feet, Lois pushed past them and hit a preset number on her phone.

“Lois?” Superboy plopped down on the corner of her desk. “Who’re you calling?”

“Building security! I don’t like having my friends manhandled.”

“Hey, I’m sorry!” He laid his hand down across the cradle of the phone, disconnecting the call. “Don’t be mad. I’m here to give you the story of the century—
moi!”

“Look, junior, I’ve already met two other Supermen, and while you’re strong—I’ll grant you that—you’re not nearly as convincing as they were.”

“What’s the problem? Don’t I look mature enough? Is that it? Okay.” He pulled the sunglasses from his jacket pocket, put them on, and ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back off his forehead. “There, doesn’t that make me look older?”

Lois looked at him, and her heart went to her throat, but before she could say anything, the kid whipped off the sunglasses and stared across the room.