PROLOGUE
Monday, October 28
"Lots on the agenda tonight, eh?" the slim man said as he stepped into the dark, rectangular room.
"There is always lots on the agenda, rumbled a deep voice from the other end of the chamber. "What do you want, Beck?"
Beck smiled to himself and walked through the dimness beside the long table and its chairs, towards the vast desk at the end. Beck reflected that in a very real way, the huge man was ensconced in a throne.
"You know I try to be helpful, Mister Fisk," Beck said. "I've discovered something in the course of my work that I thought might interest you."
"Show me."
Beck hefted his briefcase up onto Fisk's desk and popped the latches. Opening it, he said, "These pictures were taken by some of my surveillance gear. He wasn't an intruder. The individual in question tripped the motion sensitive shutters on cameras on rooftops." Beck said as he opened the large manila envelope and pulled out the enlarged photos. He slid them across the desk, where huge hands picked them up; in Fisk's grip they were very small indeed.
Fisk looked at the first, then slowly cycled it to the back, looking at the next, and so on.
"It gets better," Beck said. "I wouldn't waste your time with simple photos. I've got more evidence."
"Beck," rumbled Fisk, "I value your talents a great deal. I keep you on retainer because of your skill, and to a degree your imagination. You are my crime scene artist. I am familiar with your capabilities. Do not try to pull a ridiculous Halloween prank on me. Do not test my patience." He carelessly tossed the pictures back to Beck.
They fanned across the desk; pictures of an inhumanly lithe figure in a dark leotard with huge white eyespots; upside down at a distance, swinging on what looked like cables, clinging to a wall.
"That stuff he's swinging on," Beck said earnestly. "It dissolves in about an hour when it's exposed to air. So I got a sample he left stuck on a building and managed to get it while it was fresh enough to embed in plastic." He pulled a cube of clear plastic with a lumpy web filament inside out of his briefcase. "I'm telling you, Fisk, this guy is for real. Imagine the potential."
"You must understand that you, in particular, are incapable of producing evidence that will sway me," Fisk boomed softly. He smiled, his hawkish features spreading unpleasantly. "That is, after all, why I pay you what I do. To create compelling and misleading evidence."
Beck just looked at him for a moment. "Exactly," Beck said. He scooped up his photos and tossed them into his briefcase, dropped the plastic chunk in, slammed the case. "If this was a trick, sir, I'd have a whole lot more to show you." He nodded curtly. "Sorry to waste your time."
"I can be indulgent with the ones who serve me well," Fisk rumbled. And Beck was dismissed.
Fisk lit a thin cigar and sat alone, immobile, contemplating his empire.