A/N: Hi, everyone. Robbie Robertson and Betty Brant are two people who work for the Bugle - they're in the movies, but not too much. (Speaking of which, Spider-Man doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Stan Lee and Steve Ditko.)
Speaking of which, the timeline for this one is during the time in the second movie when Peter ceases to be NYC's friendly neighbourhood superhero. Technincally, this fic changes things slightly, but without real effect on the storyline. A minor change - in the comic (and probably movies), Robbie is married to a woman named Marla. Here, he's not. (I've got to start doing the research before I start the fic). Ah, well, whatever. (grins) Enjoy!
--------------------------------
New York City was still for once.
Which was a pretty unusual sight, reflected J. Jonas Jameson, staring up at the silvery-gray mass of steely skyscrapers, chrome-plated condominiums and metallic museums of NYC. Jonah, the publisher and editor in-chief of the Daily Bugle, the local newspaper, glanced quickly around the industrial area. It was here, where the big residential apartments, condos and office buildings crowded the place that was usually teeming with New Yorkers, but for once things were still and empty.
"Hm…" murmured Jonah. Almost desperately, he strained his eyes to see the red form of Spider-Man, New York's arachnid superherohero. Sure enough, JJJ was soon rewarded. The red and blue figure swung through the industrial area by means of one of his gossamer-like webbing lines - the modern-day NYC equivalent of Tarzan swingin' through the jungle.
Jonah glanced one last time at the masked marauder and then pivoted quickly on his heel, turning to face the Bugle's editor in-chief, who was sitting at the desk as he typed away on his laptop.
"Robbie!" The bespectacled African-American turned round, wondering what Jonah could want. The head honcho of the Daily Bugle had been gazing out the window a few minutes past; knowing JJJ, that had probably affected the order he was about to issue to Robbie.
"What, sir?" he asked, wondering inwardly, again, what Jonah wanted. "Is the newscast in yet?"
"No, I was just wondering why in the world the industrial area is empty as anything today," JJJ replied as he padded over to his own desk and popped open a drawer. Robbie watched in horrified fascination as the older man proceeded to remove a large packet of Cuban cigars from the inside; Jonah snapped it open and dumped the contents on his glass-encased blotter. He reached for one of the largest cigars and swept the others back away into the drawer, which he then slammed shut – all in the approximate space of one and three quarters of a second. "I've seen Spider-Man, but criminalwise, the area is completely empty."
"Maybe the criminals are scared of Spider-Man, sir," replied Robbie, coughing slightly as JJJ flicked a silver bullet-shaped cube from his breast pocket and lit the cigar. It wasn't long before a cloud of dank gray smoke had completely obscured his boss's face. "Maybe they've stopped in this area.
"Could you stop that, please?" he added defiantly, one hand flattened against his nose as the odorous fumes wafted in his direction. "It's disturbing my concentration."
"All right, all right," Jonah replied, subdued; in a few seconds the cigar had disappeared down the garbage can. "But I want a report on why the crime rates are dropping here - pronto!"
Robbie watched as his boss's elusive figure cut through that part of the building, to stand in front of the silver-plated elevator. In a matter of seconds, J. Jonah Jameson stood there no longer.
Suddenly, his dark eyes flew to Spider-Man in flight, whose red and blue costume reflected on the pane, and then flicked forward to the laptop as he started his assignment.
--------------------------------
"How's the assignment going, Betty?"
"Not too well," Betty Brant replied carefully, looking up at her boss. One had to be careful around J. Jonah Jameson – the aura of "it's-got-to-be-on-time" that surrounded him wasn't always a good thing. "I mean, the answer is obvious; it's because of Spider-Man. Why else?"
"Well, you never know, Betty, you never know," JJJ replied cryptically. He was leaning against the window a few cubicles away on her own; he was blocking the breathtaking New York vista, judging from the shouts of her fellow coworkers in another part of the room. "But then, think about it," Jonah continued, gesturing vaguely with his left hand – his right was holding a Mexican cigar (smaller this time) to his mouth. "How long has Spider-Man been saving us New Yorkers? About a year, right?" When his employee nodded, he continued his monologue, moving his right hand so that the cigar was gripped in between his teeth. "Crime rates have been dropping substantially around here since about Monday morning."
You had to owe it to Jonah; he sure could be smart when he wanted to. Betty glanced at today's newspaper, lying beside her coffee canister. The headline read, Crime Rates Down Faster than Ever. It wasn't her who had written that – rather, it had been JJJ itself. He tended to obsess over things sometimes. (Then again, maybe he was just jealous.)
Nevertheless, she quickly scanned the front page. A bar graph with red lines representing the statistics had been printed; sure enough, New York's crime rate had gone down by almost twenty percent during the past week. "Maybe he's just trying extra hard?" she dared to venture, and Jonah shrugged in reply:
"I don't know… But – and I can guarantee it – this is just a one-day obsession. Spider-Man saved us all a few months ago, and I'll never forget that. He's a real hero."
