Bibbo Bibbowski

The man at the door was tall, some two inches over six feet, and broad as a linebacker, dressed in an off-the rack suit without a tie. A dingy sailor's cap graced a close-cropped head, and although fresh-shaved she could still see the makings of a five-o'clock shadow. The noise had been broken more than once, and not reset right. Scars lined the face, and one ear was cauliflowered.

"Hey pretty lady," he growled, in a rough accent. "De agency called me up and said...oh, Missus Lane!"

The eyes went wide and Lois Lane withered a little inside to realize her gigolo was none other than Superman's self-proclaimed pal, Bibbo Bibbowski—ex-sailor, ex-boxer, and current bar owner down by the docks. A heart of gold beat within that broad chest, and Lois knew it; normally seeing him and listening to his patter was cause for a smile on her face. She was mortified to have met him here under these circumstances.

"I'll uh...I'll just be..." He looked down the hallway, ready to make his escape. Lois sighed.

"Come in Bibbo," she said, standing aside. Looking sheepish for the first time she'd known him, the great lug sidled in the door.

"I'm really sorry Missus Lane," he said, staring awkedly around at her kitchen, antyhing to avoid looking at her in the eye. "Dis is actually my first time at dis gig, and I didn't know...I mean I didn't tink you waz..."

"It's my first time calling a service too," Lois admitted. "It's just been a...long dry spell for me. And I really needed some companionship tonight. What about you?"

"Ah, well, de dames ain't exactly been knockin' at my door lately...and I got a friend, she runs these girls, and says to me: 'Y'know Bibbo, you got a kinda rough charm about chu, some of them hoity-toity girls like that. How 'bout I set you up wit a date wit one of dem high-class dames, and you really show 'em de bizness?' And of course, I say she's jus foolin' wid ol' Bibbo, but she goes 'No, I got one dat needs some dick—pardon me, dat's what she said—real bad, it'd be a proper good deed to go help her out', and I say to myself, 'Bibbo me lad, we ain't never left a lady in distress, have we?' And then I ask myself de main question..."

What Would Superman Do? Lois repeated in her head, just as Bibbo said it. She had no doubt he was being honest. Bibbo wouldn't even water drinks at his pub to save a dime. Which gave her an idea.

"Would you like a drink, Bibbo?" The reporter asked, fetching out the bottle of emergency vodka and two clean glasses.

She invited him to sit down at the kitchen table, and sat down herself. Didn't bother pouring shots, just filled the glasses up. The crystal clinked gently and they sipped, Lois feeling the burning booze slide down her throat, cold and clear, but it warmed her belly when it hit her stomach.

Now, she asked herself, what to do with Bibbo Bibbowski?