[UM] Spider-Man #4

[Jason Kenney]

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Spider-Man
Issue #4
"Line"
by Jason Kenney

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"You know what I was thinking?" I said to the man who cringed against
the wall as I dangled upside down in front of his face. "I was
thinking I need a theme song, you know? A little jingle people can
remember me by. I've been working on one, wanna hear it?"

The man ran.

"Okay, here goes." I started swinging after him down the alley,
"'Spider-Man, Spider-Man, Does whatever a spider can!'"

A quick shot of webbing in front of the bad guy.

"'Spins a web, any size.'"

Silly bad guy gets stuck in the web.

"'Catches thieves, just like flies!' Come on, you should know the
rest. 'Look out...'"

"FREEZE!"

"Hey, that's not how it goes."

I looked beyond the webbing and saw the wonderful sight of a police
car and a couple of police officers, ready for the bad guy, guns
drawn...

Only they were pointing at me.

"I thought New York was bad."

"Come down to the ground and put your hands above you head!" shouted
the lead cop as he slowly approached the web holding the villain of
the evening.

"Look," I said, "there's your bad guy, he's got the money on him and
everything."

"Keep your mouth shut," shouted a second cop who stood back near the
cruiser, a radio to his ear as he called for back up.

"Get down on the ground and put your hands where I can see them!"
shouted the first cop again.

"Hey, guys, I got better things to..."

The first officer fired.

***

Mr. Anderson and two other men walked into an unmarked garage in New
York city. Fifteen minutes later they drove out in a brown clunker
from the mid-70s that would probably die somewhere during the trip.
Anderson didn't care as long as it got him to D.C. because it and
three other men would not be leaving that town alive.

***

Even though he had paid good money for the night, the hooker reached
into Sammy's pants pockets, grabbed his wallet and left without making
a sound, leaving the lonely young man alone in his apartment.

He was a bad lay, anyways, she told herself as she stepped back onto
the streets.

***

DANGER, SPIDER-MAN, DANGER!

My body reacted instantly, one hand shooting out the constrictive
webbing high up on the opposite wall, the other shooting regular
webbing at the first officer's gun while the rest of my body contorted
to dodge a bullet. A snap sounded in my ear as the super-sonic slug
missed my head by inches.

I had already launched myself towards the opposite wall before the
second officer tried to get off a shot. The same arm that webbed the
first cop caught the second right before he pulled the trigger, lucky
for him. And me, I guess.

He was hollering for backup and I could hear approaching sirens as I
reached the roof.

I snatched my camera which probably, unfortunately, caught the whole
thing on film and made a mad dash for the next roof, leaping across
the alley and continuing my sprint.

So, my evening was wonderful, how was yours?

***

Ring.

"Hi, you've reached the answering machine of Peter Parker. I'm not in
right now so please leave a name and message and I'll get back to you
lickity split."

Beep.

"Mr. Parker, this is the gentleman you spoke with last evening. I'm
simply calling to inform you that one of the men in the letter I gave
you is no longer an issue. Please remove any references to gentleman
eight on page eleven and any related information. If this is not done
we may be faced with a very dire situation, so I am sure you will be
very attentive to this change.

"Best of luck, Mr. Parker."

Click.

***

The sirens were far enough behind me to where I felt I was safe to
stop and catch my breath and focus.

They shot at me! Holy crap! I mean, even the New York cops were a
little bit better around me than that.

And I didn't even get to finish my theme song.

You know what? Screw 'em. Petty crimes are going to happen whether or
not Spider-Man is around and if they don't want me movin' in on their
turf, screw 'em.

For now.

I had bigger fish to fry.

The second letter Richard Fisk had left, the one addressed to a
particular web crawler we all know and love, was scarce on the
details, but did supply me a name and an address to begin with.

Guess I shouldn't expect him to do all of the work for me on both
leads.

I made my way to the address, an apartment complex actually really
close to my own, climbed to the balcony of his apartment on the eighth
floor.

No lights, but the door was unlocked. How nice.

Yeah, yeah, breaking and entering, but I'm a vigilante, I'm supposed
to do this kinda stuff for the sake of catching the bad guy, right?

The apartment looked unused. A newspaper on the table was yellow with
age and dated for three months before and covered with a fine layer of
dust like the rest of the table.

False lead?

I hoped this was right because the alternative was that I was helpless
to stop the assassination attempt.

After I walked through the apartment a few times I found good
locations for a few bugs and placed small motion detector under the
dining table and pointing towards the front door. Thing's so nice and
tiny that they'd have to really be looking for it, otherwise it blends
in with parts of the table. The wonderful detector would trigger a
beeper and let me know when someone came into the apartment. I'm so
smart and high tech.

If this was the right place.

And with that I gave the apartment one last look over to make sure
there were no signs of my presence and slipped out onto the balcony
and into the break of dawn.

***

They arrived in Washington DC as the sun pushed itself above the
horizon, barely beating the morning rush hour. The apartment complex
was easy to find, it was near one they'd been to before, and Anderson
parked the car a block away and pulled out the picture he had, looked
at it for a few moments, and then handed it to the guy sitting next to
him who looked it over and passed it to the guy in the back.

When he finished with the picture he nodded, handed it back to
Anderson and said, "okay."

The three men stepped out of the car and headed toward the apartment
complex.

***

I walked into my apartment building in my civvies, having changed a
couple blocks away since I had no idea who might be home when I
arrive. A quick shower and I'd be headed to work.

Two nights in a row without sleep.

Yea, me.

***

Sammy tore through his apartment looking for his wallet with no luck.
He cursed himself under his breath and stood in the middle of his
bedroom, hands on his hips, looking around.

"Damn, whore," he said as he went to his dresser, found his extra
stash of cash, pocketed it and left.

***

"Is that him?" asked one of the two men into a microphone on his
collar.

"Not sure," the man heard Anderson say through his earpiece, "move
closer and wait for him to come out."

***

The elevator doors opened and I almost ran right into him.

"Sammy?"

"Mr. Parker! What are you doing here?"

"It's Peter, Sammy, please. And I live here, apartment C."

"Really? I'm in E!"

"Hey, how about that."

What do you say then.

"So," said Sammy, "off to work?"

"Uh, yeah, off to work."

Sammy and I stepped into the elevator as I resigned myself to no
shower.

Sigh.

***

"Shit, there's two of them," said the second man over the frequency.

"Both move in," said Anderson, "mugging style, kill the one, hurt the
other."

The two men moved as Anderson stood back and watched.

***

DANGER, PETER PARKER, DANGER!!!!

My sense had been screaming for a while, but now it was louder.
Something was close. I saw the man approaching out of the corner of my
eye and knew right away he was trouble. He picked up speed when he was
about ten feet away and raised his arm.

I spun around as a woman screamed, bringing my right hand up and
pushing the man's arm and the gun in his hand upwards as he fired into
the air. My other hand came in low and hit him hard in the gut, my
right elbow coming down on the back of his head as he bent over.

His gun hit the ground as he did.

A second shot sounded out behind me and I turned to see a second man
over Sammy, tearing through his pockets.

"Hey!" I shouted, and the man spun and pointed his gun at me, his
other hand cradling a wad of money he had taken from Sammy. I held my
hands up and the man stepped from over Sammy's body. My senses were
still screaming when the first man came down on the back of my head
with his pistol.

***

"Son of a bitch," said the man as Peter Parker fell down. He aimed for
Parker's head.

"Leave him," said a voice in his ear. The man hesitated but kept his
aim. "I said leave him, get out of there."

"Come on!" shouted the other man who was already running away, money
falling from his hands.

The man with the gun trained on Parker looked around briefly, saw
people cowering and smiled.

Then he ran.

***

Richard Fisk decided to watch the local news for a change and ended up
being glad he did. Glad after being horrified.

The image was familiar and at first he couldn't figure out why. Then
it hit him.

He'd been there before.

"...at least one man is thought dead, another injured in what appears
to have been a robbery in broad daylight. We have no confirmation of
names or the condition of the man who was injured, but witnesses are
saying that the second man may be seriously harmed."

***

"I'm fine," I said as I waved off paramedics who were attempting to
tie me to a stretcher. "It's a bump on the head, give me an ice pack.
And where the hell is Sammy?"

"Sir," said a female paramedic as I sat up, "sir, what is your name?"

"Peter," I said, standing up and rubbing the back of my head.

"Here," said another paramedic, handing me an ice pack.

"Peter, said the first one, "Peter, your friend Sammy was shot."

I saw her face. I'd seen that face before. I'd made that face myself,
only it was usually hidden by a mask.

And I knew right then that that was no ordinary mugging.

***

"Good morning, sir."

"Is it?"

"Indeed, Mr. Fisk, the morning news is very interesting."

"Ah, and I hope tomorrow's news will be just as interesting, Mr.
Anderson."

"If not more so, sir."

***

The Bugle was quieter than usual when I arrived. It wasn't just that
it was lunch hour by the time I finished with the cop's questions and
made my way to work. By then they had heard about Sammy.

"Peter," said Sparky as soon as he saw me, "can I talk to you for a
minute."

I nodded and followed him to his office, smirking and nodding to the
condolences of people who acted as if my best friend had just died. I
didn't know Sammy well, and if I hadn't had been there, I wouldn't be
getting this kind of attention. And I've witnessed worse.

I tossed a roll of film to Sparky as we stepped into his office.

"Spider-man shots from late last night, the cops were taking pop shots
at him."

"Excellent," said Sparky as he closed the door. I was hoping the
"excellent" was for the photos, not the pop shots. "I'll get it down
to development.

"Peter," said Sparky as he walked behind his desk but didn't sit, "I
want you to take the day off." I opened my mouth to protest and he
held his hands up. "Peter, this story's killed, Jameson wants it
buried."

"WHAT?!?!!"

"Jameson looked it over, he spoke with editing and review, they killed
it. It's too hot."

"Sparky," I said, trying to get words out, "Sparky, they killed Sammy
over this."

"Peter, you don't know that."

"I DO! Sparky, of course this story's hot, it's hot as hell and Fisk
is scared shitless. He's putting pressure on us to try and kill..." I
stopped as I realized where the pressure was being applied.

All over.

"I'm sorry, Peter."

I looked at Sparky and saw genuine regret and sympathy from him. He
knew this story was good, knew I wanted it, and, hell, he wanted it
too. Especially with Sammy now gone. But there was nothing any of us
could do.

"Go home, son, you've had a rough day already."

I nodded and left his office, ignoring the people trying to offer
their condolences, and leaving the Bugle entirely.

***

Richard Fisk smiled and sighed as he saw Peter Parker leave the Bugle.
He paid no attention to the man's walk or demeanor, simply pleased to
see him still alive. Not that he doubted Parker's ability to survive,
just that he wanted personal confirmation.

He though about how everything was still going according to plan.

And in a little over a day, Washington DC would be his.

***

Anderson opened the door to the apartment and motioned for the other
two gentlemen to enter before him. They stepped in and looked around
at the dusty apartment.

"Man, you really need a maid," said the first man as the second nodded
in agreement.

Anderson replied with a silenced shot into the back of the second
man's head.

The first man spun around to see the pistol pointed to his head.

"You're right, I think I do need a maid."

The second man was dead before he could say another word.

***

The beeper screamed at me as I walked into my apartment.

Someone was in that other apartment and triggered the motion detector.

It took a lot of effort right then to really get me to care.

I went into my closet and dug through a box, finding the radio that
picked up the frequency the bugs I planted in the apartment worked on.

I could have put on the costume and swung right over, ended this thing
right there, but morale was low and motivation even lower.

And I still wasn't certain what to do.

So I listened.

Someone commented on needing a maid. That was followed up by the sound
of something or someone hitting the ground.

"You're right," said another voice, "I think I do need a maid."

And then a second thump.

I was feeling a bit more motivated.

***

Anderson moved quickly and efficiently, going into a utility closet
and pulling out two large duffle bags he had there just for these
kinds of events. Each body fit nicely into the plastic lined bags.

He picked up the first one over his shoulder and stepped out of the
apartment, locking the door behind him and heading for the elevator.
He went out of the complex to his car, opened the trunk, and threw the
first body inside.

Then he went inside for the second one.

The second body was lighter so Anderson had an easier time of lifting
it. He did a quick look around to make sure he wasn't leaving anything
identifying him behind, and stepped out of the apartment, closing the
door behind him just in time.

***

I swung onto the balcony and hesitated before opening the door,
feeling things out.

The senses were still tingling as they had been for the past day or so
but nothing new jumped out at me.

The door was still unlocked.

I slipped inside and was greeted with a different scene than before.

Dust was still all over everything, but now there was blood on the
floor and walls as well.

But no body.

But someone was definitely here. And they worked fast.

Damn it.

***

Anderson closed the trunk and looked back at the apartment balcony,
seeing Spider-Man leap off and shoot webbing at a near by building,
swinging away. He smiled as he pulled out his cell phone.

***

"Really?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Fisk."

"I wonder how he found out about that?"

"I'm not sure, sir, but I was unnoticed and I have finished what I
needed to do in there. I'm done with the location, sir."

"Then so am I, Mr. Anderson."

***

Web swinging in broad daylight is not good. Not when you're in a
really, really bad mood, pissed the cops off the night before, and
you're still getting your rep in a kinda new town.

Having been caught up all morning I missed the news reports and press
conference from the police stating I was a public menace and wanted
for questioning by the police in connection with a number of break-ins
as well as assaulting two officers the night before. But the rest of
DC seemed to have heard about it.

Nevermind that they fired at me first.

But all I wanted to do was get my clothes, find a dark corner, change,
go home and sleep.

Sleep.

But, no, in broad daylight you have to deal with gawkers and
rubbernecks and fingers pointing and oohs and aahs and screams and
police and whatever else they throw at you.

And all you're trying to do is get home.

Daylight does help me do some things.

While trying to find a place to change I swung down and saved two
pedestrians from an on coming bus, a woman from a mugger, returned a
wayward balloon to a crying child, and spooked three different flocks
of pigeons.

And then I made a huge mistake.

In DC they'll close a street when the Presidential motorcade decides
it's going to come down it. If you're a pedestrian or a motorist,
you're stopped, great.

If you're webswinging, they can't really stop you as easily,
especially if you're unaware of what's going on below you.

The Secret Service has the right to shoot at you if they need to.
Anything to protect the President. And I understand that.

So I couldn't blame them with I heard the gunshot. I don't know why I
wasn't paying attention to my senses, I was probably tuning them out,
but I paid attention now. I quickly looked around and saw what was
happening.

A second shot came by as the motorcade sped up, and the second shot
was better than the first, but not excellent.

It still cut through my webbing.

I fell and landed on top and grabbed onto of one of the limousines in
the motorcade before I could shoot off more webbing. Bad idea. The
motorcade sped up faster as my senses screamed.

You know, it was kinda funny to see the look on the faces of nearby
cops, Secret Service and pedestrians as they looked at me stuck to the
top of the President's car.

I shot out some webbing on a near by building and flailed my free arm
to shoot out more, swinging out of there faster than I think I had
ever swung before.

So we can add the Secret Service and the rest of America to the list
of people out to get me now.

***

Anderson arrived at a home near the Capitol Building and got out of
the car and rang the doorbell.

"Hello?" said the lady who answered the door, thinking Anderson's face
familiar but not sure from where.

"Hello, Maria, I'm Mr. Anderson, we've met before. I'm here on
business."

The lady's eyes widened and she opened the door all the way to let
Anderson inside.

"Is the Senator in, Maria?"

"No, Mr. Anderson, we are not expecting him home until later this
evening."

"Good," said Anderson as he reached inside his coat.

***

I finally found a place to change and made my way home in time to
catch the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

"You had me worried there. Though you might have stood me up."

I smiled for the first time today.

"Never. What time is it?"

"Five thirty, where have you been?"

"Sleeping," I lied. "I thought I set my alarm for earlier."

"You weren't working on your big story?"

"No," I said, and she must have noticed the change in my tone.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you all about it tonight."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"You still going to be ready by seven?"

"MJ, that's an hour and a half, I'll be ready by six."

"Good, I'll see you at six then."

"I might be wrong, you could walk in on my in nothing but a towel."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

And she laughed, oh, that heavenly laugh, and I could see her face,
that smile, her eyes, her hair, and I loved her more than ever.

But how could I say that.

Especially after everything.

"See you at six," she said and hung up.

And as the phone went dead, all I could do is whisper, "I love you."

Silence answered.

***

Richard Fisk entered the warehouse and smiled. He had been quite happy
over the last few days and the next few would make him even happier.

But this moment's joy was the site of over one hundred men ready and
willing to fight the good fight for the sake of their families and at
the detriment of his own.

And that's exactly how he wanted it.

"Mr. Turner," said Fisk to one of the three suits standing at the head
of the crowd, "please do not tell me these are all only yours?"

"Would it break your heart, Mr. Fisk, for me to say that they are?"
replied Oliver Turner.

"Or that I have at least fifty of my own arriving as we speak?" said
Michael Asner.

"And I the same," said Howard Cummings.

Richard Fisk's smile grew impossibly wider.

"Then everything is going according to plan and this time tomorrow,
gentlemen, Washington DC will have three kings."

"Don't you mean four?" said Cummings, a look of confusion on his face.

"No, Mr. Cummings," said Fisk as he draped an arm around Cummings's
shoulders, "three. I myself will have no part in the aftermath unless
called upon. I am merely here to help you all reclaim what is
rightfully yours."

"And take a serious jab at your Father," said Asner.

"Why do you hate him so much?" asked Cummings, looking into Fisk's
face. Richard looked distant and the smile left his face as his hand
tightened on Cummings's shoulder.

"Because I have no father," he hissed through clenched teeth, "and as
I am dead to him, he is long dead to me and I aim to make that a
reality."

There was a silence among the four men. Fisk's eyes focused back on
the now and his smile came back as he loosened his grip on Cummings's
shoulder.

"But that is for another time," Fisk said. "For now, you all organize.
I have a party to attend."

***

I didn't speak for what felt like an hour but was only a few seconds.
Her beauty stunned me as it always does.

"So are we going to just stand out here for an hour or are you going
to let me in?" she asked with a smile I would have killed for.

"You look stunning," I said as she came into the apartment and I
closed the door. And she smelled wonderful.

"You look wet," she said, her eyes moving up and down me, "and half
naked."

I looked to the towel I was holding around my waste. "More like three
quarters naked, but I can solve that real quick..." I said as I moved
the towel.

And her eyes got wide and she smiled.

"By getting dressed," I finished, tightening the towel and heading
towards my room.

And she laughed that gorgeous laugh.

***

"All set, Mr. Fisk, now it's just sit and wait."

"Good."

And Wilson Fisk smiled for the first time in days.

***

An hour with the most beautiful woman in the world seems like minutes,
but seven came faster than I would have wanted and we stepped into one
of the largest limousines I had ever been in.

"Compliments of the agency," she said as the chauffer closed the door
behind us.

"Ooooooo...fancy," I said. "So what's the occasion?"

"Fundraiser for the Concerned Americans for a Better America," she
said as she pulled out a compact and played with her makeup. "Some
non-profit that builds parks and funds Neighborhood Watch programs and
the such." I nodded but knew better. The name was familiar. From
research. "Do I look okay?" she asked, looking at me.

Oh, God, yes.

"Of course."

"What a standard reply, Mr. Parker," she said, poking me in the arm,
"do I look superficially, super model okay?"

"Oh," I said, "no, you missed on that superficially part. Need a botox
injection right about..."

She poked me again and smiled.

"Remind me never to ask you for an unbiased opinion, Mr. Reporter."

"You say that every time."

"Speaking of which," she said, putting the compact away, "what
happened to your big story?"

Oh.

"It's a long story," I said, "I'll fill you in on it later."

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and smirked. "Liar."

And we left it at that.

***

Richard Fisk smiled as the chauffer opened the limousine door and he
stepped out.

The Concerned Americans for a Better America fundraiser was just
getting started and Richard Fisk in a very charitable mood.

***

A private plane landed at Reagan National Airport just outside of
Washington D.C. One man emerged from it and looked around before
stepping down the steps to the waiting entourage below.

He wasted no time getting into the waiting limousine, he was already
late for a function he did not want to miss.

And he smiled again.

***

Ah, to be on the other side of the camera. Not that they were pointing
at me. No, they were all pointing at the gorgeous woman attached to my
arm.

Touching my arm.

Touching me.

The crowd that lined the red carpet hollered out questions, most of
them a jumbled mess of three or four questions shouted at once, a
couple coming through.

One asking who I was.

We'd pause for the obligatory shots. MJ knew more about this than I
did, but it was pretty much walk three paces, stop, look to one side,
smile, the other side, smile, repeat.

I knew from being on the other side what this dance was all about.

The camera was your audience, it was the only way the public was going
to see you, and you did not want to piss off the camera or the man
behind it.

"Mr. Parker," someone shouted out, getting my total attention, mainly
because who the hell here knew who I was? "Peter Parker," the reporter
repeated as she held out a microphone and a camera behind her caught
my face, "can you give us any details about your research into illegal
political contributions by the Concerned Americans for a Better
America?"

Do what?

"Um... what?" What a smart response, I told myself after I said it.

"Have you been looking into the political activities of CABA and what
have you found so far?"

Good Lord.

"No comment," I said, looking to MJ who was smiling to the other side.
Gotta move, I was thinking. The spidey sense kicked it up a notch.

"Mr. Parker," yelled another voice, "are you aware of any connection
with your investigation and this morning's death of Bugle Staffer
Samuel Jenkins at your apartment complex?"

MJ heard that one and turned to me, wide eyed. Yeah, I hadn't told her
about my day yet.

"Uh, no, no I am not."

"Mr. Parker," shouted another voice, and then another. I looked to the
first woman who called my name, the one who opened the floodgates. And
she smirked.

This was a set up.

I turned back to MJ and she must have read my face. With a nod, she
looked back to the crowd with a smile and we went inside without
anymore pauses.

***

Richard Fisk smiled as he saw Peter Parker enter the room with a
stunning redhead on his arm. He cocked an eyebrow as he saw her for
the first time in person.

He mentally gave Parker a bit of credit for good taste but then took
him down a couple notches for letting such a fine woman go.

He finished his conversation with the Congressman from New Hampshire
and started to make his way towards the couple.

***

"Are you alright, Peter?" asked MJ as we walked into the crowd.

I nodded, my senses still screaming, my eyes darting around for
anything that might be coming at me.

Someone leaked something to the press, and they knew.

And here I am in the hornet's nest.

Senator Gregory Davis of Illinois, received fifty thousand dollars to
his campaign after killing a bill in committee that would have
broadened FBI investigation powers in certain areas of organized
crime, one area of which was run by the Kingpin.

Representative Rebecca Smith of Maryland, in her last bid for
reelection she received information on her opponent's infidelity and
used it to come from behind in the last month of the campaign. Her
opponent was a retired detective out of New Jersey who chalked up one
of the largest money laundering busts in the past 20 years. Although
the evidence was inconclusive, many believed that the operations were
headed by the Kingpin.

Senator Robert Phillips of New Jersey, he won against a three time
incumbent after evidence emerged of the incumbent's weekly visits to a
recently charged prostitute who specialized in the rich and famous.
What wasn't known was that Senator Phillips was also a customer, but
that was kept under wraps by someone and used to manipulate. The
incumbent, who had been initially and reelected thanks to heavy
contributions from the Kingpin, had voted against various measures
that Wilson Fisk was known to have wanted.

Senator Michael Singer of California, who's opponent died under
mysterious circumstances the day before the election. Senator Singer
is a former employee of one of Kingpin's enterprises.

And the list goes on and on.

"Peter?"

I looked to MJ and my heart broke at the look on her face. She was
worried. I was worrying her.

I smiled.

"It's okay," I said.

"Liar."

"I'll tell you all about it later tonight, okay?"

She smirked and said, "okay," and that was that.

"Mr. Parker," said a voice behind us, and I turned around, "how good
to see you again."

And there was Richard Fisk with one of the biggest shit-eating grins
I'd ever seen.

***

The man stepped from the limousine and smiled to the crowd and
flashes.

Ah, D.C. So much like New York, yet so different.

The smiled as he walked down the red carpet and into the Concerned
Americans for a Better America fundraiser.

He was feeling very charitable this evening, and would have to share
his joy with family.

***

"Ms. Watson," said Richard Fisk as he kissed the back of MJ's hand,
"what a pleasure it is to meet you. You are even more beautiful in
person."

"Thank you, Mr. Fisk," she said with a smile.

"Please, call me Richard," he said. "Peter, so sorry to hear about the
story being pulled. Perhaps there is something I can do to help you
with that?"

"You're too kind, Mr. Fisk," I said, attempting a smile, "but you have
done too much as it is."

"I feel as if I have not done enough, Peter. Let me see what I can
do."

"Yes," said a voice from beside us, "let us all see what you can do,
Richard."

Wilson Fisk stood as large and foreboding as ever, smiling a grin
stolen from a shark, his eyes betraying his face with an anger that
burned deep. The man's bulk did nothing to diminish his appearance and
the knowledge that it was all muscle made him seem even larger.

"Mr. Parker," said the Kingpin as he extended a hand to me, "a
pleasure. I have heard you were researching into this fine
organization so you must realize how surprised I am to see you here,
in the hornet's nest as it were." He chuckled as if it were a joke.

"To be honest, Mr. Fisk," I said as we shook hands, his grip strong on
mine, "I had no idea what organization was throwing this fundraiser
until I was on my way, so it seems I have bumbled into the hornets
nest."

"Indeed," said the Kingpin as he turned his attention from me. "And
Mary Jane Watson, you look absolutely splendid."

"Thank you, Mr. Fisk," MJ replied as the Kingpin kissed her hand.

"I am sorry I can not stay and chat," he said as he released MJ's
hand, "but it is very rare that I come into town and find all of these
people in one place. If you would excuse me..."

And he stepped away.

After only thirty seconds or so Wilson Fisk had done exactly what he
intended to do.

Scare the shit out of me.

But, more importantly, he put the fear of God in his son.

Richard Fisk stood with a blank face, a glare of pure hatred into his
father's back. He was oblivious of where he was, intent on focusing on
his hatred and the man who was its source.

I grabbed MJ's arm and turned us away from him and we walked into the
crowd.

"What was that all about?" whispered MJ, shaken a bit herself from the
experience.

"Tell you about it later tonight?" I said with a smirk and a shrug.

She looked at me, looked into me, and knew something more was up. She
could always do that. She knew me better than I knew myself.

"Let's talk now," she said as she put her arm through mine and started
leading me toward the door.

"What about the fundraiser?" I asked, not really concerned about it,
but it seemed like the right thing to say.

"They already have my money," she said as we kept walking, "what do
they care if we leave early. And I think you need to get out of here."

"What?" I said as she nodded towards two big gentlemen heading my way.
Who thought they'd have bouncers at a political fundraiser?

They reached us before we reached the door.

"Mr. Parker," said one with a shaved head.

"Yes," I said as we stopped for the two of them.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave," said the second
man who had a buzz cut. They looked like they could be brothers.

"We were actually on our way out," said MJ with a smile. "Thank you
for the lovely evening."

We paused in the foyer as our limo was hunted down and when it arrived
we made our way back down the red carpet, ignoring the questions, the
flashes, he cameras and their handlers, into the back of the limo, and
we were gone.

***

"Sparky," I said into my cell phone as the limo made it's way back to
my apartment, "the story's breaking without us."

"I know Peter, I know," he said back as I heard him moving around. He
was at the Bugle, trying to handle what was becoming an unstoppable
situation. "JJ still hasn't gotten back to me, Robbie's on our side,
we just have to convince Jameson."

Traffic towards my apartment was worse than usual for a Thursday
evening, and soon I saw why. Vans and cameras all over the place.

I knocked on the window of the limo to get the driver's attention.

"Just drive on by," I said, "don't stop."

He nodded and kept going.

"Sparky, the press is at my door."

Sparky grunted. "The media's infatuation with itself."

Mary Jane sat next to me, looking out the window, not saying a word. I
still hadn't filled her in on what was going on.

"Look," I said to Sparky, "I'm coming in, I'm going to sit down and
write that story."

"We still don't have a guarantee..."

"Sparky, you and I both know that if this story's killed now it's
going to spell trouble. This story's going to be told with or without
us..."

"And if it's without us we'll be questionable for ignoring it when we
had all the facts, I know, I know. Peter, I've got two other guys on
the story, Robbie's got a few folks working on it in New York. If
Jameson agrees on running with this it will get published tomorrow
morning."

"But without my name on it."

"You'll be in the byline, and the press will still hound you."

"How did they know?" I said, not for the first time this evening and
not really to anyone specific.

"Peter, do you have a place to stay."

I looked to MJ who kept looking out the window. "Yes."

"Good," Sparky said, "go there and lay low, I'll call you with
updates. Everything's going to be fine, son."

"Sure," I said, and hung up.

And then silence for a couple moments. MJ put a hand on my knee.

"So are you going to tell me what's going on or are you going to sulk
without me?" she said.

So I told her.

***

There were a few camera crews at the hotel where MJ was staying, but
the place had a garage attached so they were easily missed. Seems
someone got wind of my being on MJ's arm at the fundraiser and put
people at my place and her's to be safe.

Smart.

It's weird being on the other end of the camera and the pen. I mean, I
deal with it all the time as Spider-Man, but Peter Parker has no idea
what to do in this situation. I'm supposed to be taking the pictures
and asking the questions, not the other way around.

And why would they care about a reporter anyway, why aren't the
covering the real story?

Unless they don't know it.

Or, unless I am the real story.

"Fisk did this, I know it," I said as we got to MJ's suite.

"Which one?" she asked as she opened the door.

"Richard. He heard the story was killed, and how do you bring a story
back than make it's death a story. He leaked that the Bugle had
something, that I had something on CABA and they were all over that.
How the hell did he know I'd be there?"

I stopped. My apartment. He was there when I wasn't. Free reign. Bugs,
cameras, any and everything.

The spider sense non-stop for the last 48 hours.

Oh Lord.

"I think he knows who I am."