Friday, November 19, 2004

Chapter 13: Routines-1

Slamming the phone on to the table, Eldritch grabbed her hair-band and twisted it tightly around the short, sandy-blond ponytail pulled snugly to the nape of her neck.
“Luthor may be a mega-billionaire,” she grumbled, “but he’ll have to learn that my time is as valuable to me as his time is to him – maybe more so – because, I can’t afford to waste my time.”
In the two seconds that it took her to reach the door to her exercise room, Eldritch had pushed through several stretching exercises, downed the last sip of espresso, chalked her hands, and thrust them into her climbing gloves. After a quick glance around the well-stocked gym, she sauntered over to the automated climbing-wall and punched in her code for an extended session – 30 minutes longer than her regular routine for the additional time spent waiting on hold.
Over the two-hour warm-up, Eldritch reviewed Kent’s file trying to determine the weakness she could exploit – his Achilles heel. The notes on the police ledger were very suggestive when she did further research after accepting Lionel’s offer. By and large, though, the reports were accompanied by very little factual support and more often than not accompanied by bizarre theories and beyond the pale explanations for events that might have been explained if the police force of Smallville weren’t so intent on maintaining the town’s reputation for weird events. The conclusion she finally came to was that either Clark was an innocent farm-boy that someone on the police-force had a long-running grudge against, or that Kent was guilty of a number of crimes that the Smallville police were either too inept or too corrupt to expose. On review, it was Kent’s association with the troubled Luthor heir swayed her to believe the latter- that Kent was a petty criminal, at the very least, trying to exploit Luthor’s wealth and possible connections. It’s the only thing that makes sense, she thought to herself as she jumped from the climbing wall and slapped the chalk off of her hands.
It’s not as if they have anything else in common. Yanking a pair of sparing gloves from the wall as she passed, Eldritch pushed her fists into the sparring gloves, pulled the laces tight with her teeth, and secured them under velcro strips. Can’t tell if he has a stash somewhere, but there’s plenty of evidence of exploitation: expensive gifts… The force of her first punch creased the thick-leather punching bag. And parties… Her second punch rocked the bag back around to meet her fist with the third punch. The partnership with Kent’s girlfriend… With punch after punch, she set-up a drum-rolling series of blows striking strategic targets with pin-point precision. Expensive medical experts… The room echoed each percussive strike as she continued. Flown in… Catching the bag in her free hand, she spun it to set up one final blow. To treat Kent’s family and friends.


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