Lex felt the tire go. One moment he was bumping along the so-called shortcut he’d been assured would cut twenty minutes off his trip, and the next, his car was pulling to the right and not acting like the smoothly running machine Lex knew it was. He pulled over to the side of the road, such as it was, and put his head on the steering wheel for a few seconds. This had already been a long assed day, beginning with a lecture, via a phone call, from his father. He really didn’t need this right now. That’s the last time he’d take an alternate route suggested by Nell.
At first it had been wonderful, no other traffic, no houses, he’d really been able to race along, but then the asphalt had run out. Without warning. He’d been happily coasting along and then suddenly he was reduced to dirt and pot holes. Whatever. Lex debated with himself. He should probably call his mechanic; the man would come right out and fix the tire quickly. But this would be a really good opportunity to see Clark.
In the end, it really wasn’t much of a debate. Lex flipped open his phone and started dialing the Kent’s home number. Then he noticed he had no bars. He stared at his phone in disbelief. No bars…what the hell was that all about? He threw that phone as hard as he could, but since the car wasn’t a convertible, the phone just bounced off the door and clattered to the floor. It’s a good thing too. The last thing he needed was some yokel to find his private phone with a full contact list. He certainly didn’t want to go traipsing through the Kansa underbrush for it either.
Lex huffs out an irritable sigh and open his car door. He’ll have to change the tire himself. How hard can it be? People without a high school education do it all the time. He’s got his degrees, his IQ is genius level. He knows he can figure this out.
Ten minutes later he manages to finally find the spare and the jack. He knew they had to be around there somewhere. Who would have guessed that they were in a compartment under the matt in the trunk? He was already sweaty from the high humidity, although the day itself was very overcast so he didn’t have to worry about sunstroke too, and lifting the tire out had left a small streak of black on his lavender silk shirt. It was probably too late to save it, but he decided to strip it off anyway, just in case.
Thirty minutes later he’d managed to loosen two bolts and bend the fender when the recalcitrant jack had slipped. It was at that point he’d started yelling about piss poor foreign engineering, backwards towns that couldn’t tar their roads, his father for sending him to the middle of nowhere, and phones that were stupid enough not to get service when he needed it. He tried to kick his car into submission, but just wound up hurting his foot. After hopping around for a few minutes, he finally started to settle down.
He was no closer to getting his tire fixed than he was when it had blown, and now he was sweaty, dirty, and tired, in addition his foot was sore, he couldn’t call anyone, and he was miles from the nearest main road. The universal appeal for help from a motorist in trouble is a raised hood, so Lex decided to do that next. With the down-to-earth people around here, someone would undoubtedly stop when they saw the hood up, as long as he wasn’t in the picture. In spite of all he’d tried to do for this town, he was still not too popular in this town. Lex figured he’d sit in the Porsche for a while to cool off and rest. If no cars stopped, then he’d start walking and flag someone down on the main road. Before he could step away from the hood however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle laboring along the road. He cursed under his breath. He refused to flag the vehicle down. It would be undignified, and if the driver was someone who hated him, then he refused to give that person the satisfaction of knowing they had left the powerful Lex Luthor stranded. So he bent over the engine of the car and pretended to know what he was looking for, just before the other vehicle came into sight.
Unexpectedly enough, he heard it coast to a stop behind him. He stayed bent over. He wanted whomever it was to be a little closer before he stood up, revealing his identity.
Bad Boys, Part 1
At first it had been wonderful, no other traffic, no houses, he’d really been able to race along, but then the asphalt had run out. Without warning. He’d been happily coasting along and then suddenly he was reduced to dirt and pot holes. Whatever. Lex debated with himself. He should probably call his mechanic; the man would come right out and fix the tire quickly. But this would be a really good opportunity to see Clark.
In the end, it really wasn’t much of a debate. Lex flipped open his phone and started dialing the Kent’s home number. Then he noticed he had no bars. He stared at his phone in disbelief. No bars…what the hell was that all about? He threw that phone as hard as he could, but since the car wasn’t a convertible, the phone just bounced off the door and clattered to the floor. It’s a good thing too. The last thing he needed was some yokel to find his private phone with a full contact list. He certainly didn’t want to go traipsing through the Kansa underbrush for it either.
Lex huffs out an irritable sigh and open his car door. He’ll have to change the tire himself. How hard can it be? People without a high school education do it all the time. He’s got his degrees, his IQ is genius level. He knows he can figure this out.
Ten minutes later he manages to finally find the spare and the jack. He knew they had to be around there somewhere. Who would have guessed that they were in a compartment under the matt in the trunk? He was already sweaty from the high humidity, although the day itself was very overcast so he didn’t have to worry about sunstroke too, and lifting the tire out had left a small streak of black on his lavender silk shirt. It was probably too late to save it, but he decided to strip it off anyway, just in case.
Thirty minutes later he’d managed to loosen two bolts and bend the fender when the recalcitrant jack had slipped. It was at that point he’d started yelling about piss poor foreign engineering, backwards towns that couldn’t tar their roads, his father for sending him to the middle of nowhere, and phones that were stupid enough not to get service when he needed it. He tried to kick his car into submission, but just wound up hurting his foot. After hopping around for a few minutes, he finally started to settle down.
He was no closer to getting his tire fixed than he was when it had blown, and now he was sweaty, dirty, and tired, in addition his foot was sore, he couldn’t call anyone, and he was miles from the nearest main road. The universal appeal for help from a motorist in trouble is a raised hood, so Lex decided to do that next. With the down-to-earth people around here, someone would undoubtedly stop when they saw the hood up, as long as he wasn’t in the picture. In spite of all he’d tried to do for this town, he was still not too popular in this town.
Lex figured he’d sit in the Porsche for a while to cool off and rest. If no cars stopped, then he’d start walking and flag someone down on the main road. Before he could step away from the hood however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle laboring along the road. He cursed under his breath. He refused to flag the vehicle down. It would be undignified, and if the driver was someone who hated him, then he refused to give that person the satisfaction of knowing they had left the powerful Lex Luthor stranded. So he bent over the engine of the car and pretended to know what he was looking for, just before the other vehicle came into sight.
Unexpectedly enough, he heard it coast to a stop behind him. He stayed bent over. He wanted whomever it was to be a little closer before he stood up, revealing his identity.