Enemies & Allies Read Online Free Page A

experience writing at the Planet had been rather unfortunate; intent on his article, he had pounded away on the keys with such vigor that his fingers had smashed directly through them and shattered the machine. Now he was both a better typist and a better reporter.
    But this profile of Bruce Wayne was hardly news. Unquestionably, the man did plenty of good work and contributed large sums to charity. His extravagant lifestyle pegged him as someone who belonged out at night, dressed in a fine tuxedo, with a beautiful woman on his arm. Clark couldn’t understand why the man was so devoted to his dreary Gotham City; on the other hand, Clark himself called a dot on the map in Kansas home. No accounting for tastes.
    Clark soon finished his first draft, pulled the sheet from his typewriter, and removed a sharpened red pencil from a cup on his desk. He combed over the words, marking corrections. Most reporters wouldn’t bother typing a clean copy before showing the piece to the editor, but Clark wanted to make the best impression. Always. It was something Jonathan Kent had expected of him.
    Clark glanced around, inserted a sheet of bond into the typewriter, and when no one was looking, retyped the whole article in a blur. With the clean copy in hand, he walked toward Perry White’s office. Several pool reporters gathered around the shortwave radio set in the bullpen, always looking for a story. They monitored the various frequencies, hoping to pick up a scoop.
    Passing through the bullpen, Clark gave Lois Lane a polite smile, but she grabbed the phone on her desk and dialed a number with an intensity that showed she had a hot lead. He had always found Lois both beautiful and fascinating, with her dark eyes and her long dark hair in a no-nonsense but stylish cut. He’d been shyly watching her ever since he started working at the Planet.
    She presented an all-business attitude to anyone who doubted her while revealing her generous heart to only a few. Since Clark was still a new kid on the block, Lois had not yet decided whether to consider him a competitor or harmless (apparently the only two options, in her view). One of these days, Clark would ask her out to lunch, but he wanted to let her notice him first.
    He held up his article as he knocked on the editor’s door. “Here’s the profile you asked for, Mr. White—everything you wanted to know about Bruce Wayne.”
    Perry White chomped on a cigar. His ashtray was continually full of the ugly chewed brown ends, and his office reeked of resinous, pungent smoke. “ I don’t want to know anything about Wayne, but our readers are suckers for this stuff.” Perry absently brushed his fingers through the white fringe of hair at his temples. He let his cigar droop and made rough grumbling noises as he scanned the paragraphs. “It won’t win a Pulitzer, but it’ll sell enough papers to pay for your expense account.” He waggled a finger. “You and Olsen better not submit any extravagant meal receipts.”
    “Why no, Mr. White. We just ate hot dogs.”
    “You should have let Wayne pay for lunch. He’s got enough money to give you prime rib.” Perry tossed the copy onto his desk. “If you add a few more quotes, maybe some titillating details, it’ll lead off the section-three society page, but it’s not a headline. From now on get me headlines. We’re a newspaper here, not one of those gossip rags.”
    “Yes, Mr. White. I’ll do one more draft.” Clark pushed his glasses up on his nose.
    Through the constant chatter and background noise in the bullpen, Clark noted a sudden urgent change among the staff reporters, indrawn breaths, excited conversation. People began to cluster around the shortwave radio, listening intently. Lois hurried to join them.
    With an instinct for news, Perry poked his head out of his office. “Great Caesar’s ghost, what’s going on out there? And why aren’t those people at their desks working?”
    “I think something’s happening, sir,”