Chapter Two: the Part About Change

Mom did freak out a bit over my eye being so swollen once Peter and I got home. Tiptoeing around the truth, I passed it off as just a fight with a kid from school I met on the street. Funnily, that did not get me the best possible result. I mean, I didn't get grounded so that's a plus. Instead, I was stuck listening to a lecture for, like, an hour. It wasn't fun but I'd take it over being grounded any day. Thankfully Peter was able to calm her so the whole night wasn't her being upset with me.

I had started making a reputation of being… difficult, when I was about thirteen. You see, I had a bit of a temper. Not necessarily in that way where I was unbearable to hang around because I lash out at everything and everyone. More-so in the sense that when I got angry, I got impulsive, and when that happened, things didn't have a tendency to go well. It all started with picking fights with bullies. Like I said, I'm not really a big guy, I've gotten bulkier in my late high school years buts I'm still pretty short. So bullies were a thing for a long time in Elementary school. Around thirteen I started to get fed up and started fighting back.

Granted, I got my ass kicked more often than not at that age. Eventually though, they stopped bugging me as much as I wasn't an easy target anymore. It didn't stop them from picking on others however, and that didn't stop me from getting in their way any chance I could. After a point my mom decided to put me in self-defense to "help work out my aggression". When, realistically, all that did was make me a bit more capable in a fight. So much so that, around Sophomore year, I started to teach some of the younger classes at the Rec-Center I had been learning at for years—more on that later.

To be fair, yes the self-defense made my fighting more efficient, but I did technically do it less. That was mostly because I started getting a bit more… creative, with how I liked to deal with things. However that was only because I started getting madder at things I couldn't just throw my fists at. Like the biker gang that drove up and down our street and harassed people. They would even go after kids and at one point even scratched up the back of my Mom's car. So… I took matters into my own hands. By that I mean I tracked them to a diner they frequented at night to be a nuisance and I tampered with each and every one of their bikes. I probably should have just done most of their bikes instead, because that's how I ended up getting caught… which, as Peter stated, that did not go as well as I would have liked. They did stop pestering our neighborhood though, so I counted it as a win.

The bar fight was more because I'd been in need of money. More selfish, I know, but I only taught self-defense once a week and sure a part-time job would be the logical step but… Well I heard about this "secret" poker tournament run by a bunch of known high rollers around town. Not just any high rollers though, a bunch of known dirt-bags. As situations would have it I was in dire want of a lot of money fast, I had been teaching myself to count cards, and I didn't think there'd be any harm. I was wrong, it harmed my face. The end-all goal though was to rip off a bunch of jerks who were just going to use that money to stir up more trouble. So ultimately I saw it more as "doing a service" that killed two birds with one stone.

I liked to consider myself to be somewhat intelligent… but making smart choices was not a strength of mine. I liked to think, though, that my heart was at least in the right place.

Going to school with a black eye wasn't exactly new. Usually I wasn't afraid to wear foundation to cover it up. However it was particularly swollen this time around so there really was no point in that. The most I got was the off look here and there, but not much else. I went to public school in a so-so area of New York. Usually one kid was walking around with a shiner, it was just good manners to mind each other's business.

Taking a seat in homeroom, I fiddled with my pencil a bit. That was until someone else caught my attention;

"What'd you do this time?" said a voice over my desk.

Looking up was Rosita Rey, a girl who had been in my class every year since third grade. She had always, always, always been taller than me and in our younger days she took a great amount of pleasure in that. Her thick black hair was usually tied up in a tight ponytail and she usually dressed very tomboyish. She often sported tee-shirts and jeans that seemed too big for her, as if they once belong to an older brother. Calling us "friends" was maybe a stretch, I mean we never talked much outside of school, but we got along alright. By all that I do mean, as a shocker to no one I'm sure, I have had a crush on her for years and have been too big of a coward to do anything beyond playful banter.

"Always gotta assume I did something" I retorted. "Do you ever think, maybe, I was just minding my own business and got jumped out of nowhere?" And the reason for being a coward, you ask? Give me a complicated problem and I can work it out, give me a thug and I can defend myself. Give me a girl with an aloof wit, dancer's legs, and eyes you can't look away from and I'm at a loss. Go figure.

Rosie rolled her eyes and took her seat next to me.

"I've known you too long" she said matter-of-factly. "So… Allie tells me the self-defense class is ending?"

Alicia Rey was Rosie's little sister, currently twelve years old. She actually started the class shortly after I started some of the teaching responsibilities. She was a very high energy girl and a sweetheart to boot… hell-of-a roundhouse on her all things considered too, outright floored me once. As Rosie said that though, I unconsciously scratched at my black eye.

"Yeah… Rec-Center upped the rent on Reggie" I said with a small nod. "I tried helping him out but he was pretty last minute in telling me about all this." And of course we covered how I tried to help and how poorly that went, but obviously I couldn't tell Rosie that.

"That's a shame" she said, "Allie really liked those classes. Guess she'll just have to sign up for soccer to get all that extra energy out."

"Yikes, warn the other team, that kid's kick is lethal" I said with a smile.

Rosie returned the smile but went back to getting out her supplies for class. She had always been a pretty introverted girl. I could usually get a brief conversation out of her a day, and sometimes I was lucky enough for her to start it off. When she was younger she was a little more talkative, but that kind of fizzled out as we got older. Yet I know that part of her didn't just disappear as I've seen her around school with her friends. Not to mention seeing her with her sister when she picked her up from our class. So I don't know. I probably just did something wrong, knowing me.

Ah well, I guess I was comfortable where I was with her. Perhaps I was too all over the place as it was. Perhaps, again, I was just too chicken. Either way, I had my own stuff I had to deal with anyway since I was about to be out of a job and had to deal with the fallout of last weekend for a while.

Come Thursday, the self-defense class ended and I was helping clean things up. The guy who ran the place (he wasn't big on being called "Master" or anything so I don't have a better title than that) was a man by the name of Reggie Baxter. He was a man in his mid-sixties or so, and he was quite the hard ass. As a kid he grew up during the civil rights movement, and coming from a black family he had to deal with his fair share of crap through his life. He was the first person in his family to go to college, but he dropped out as he felt highly unwelcomed there. Afterwards he became quite the world traveler.

And everywhere he traveled, he learned basically every method of how to fight. Various forms of boxing, kick-boxing, wrestling, capoeira, etc. were learned as he traveled both North and South America and various forms of martial arts in his short stint in multiple Asian countries. Then when he came back to his home in the Bronx he amalgamated all he learned into his own style and starting teaching it all over New York until he ended up at our Rec-Center. I really looked up to the guy… especially since he could utterly destroy me without even putting in an effort in his sixties.

"That's good enough, Watson" Reggie said as he started putting his coat on.

I wiped my forehead once I leaned the last of the mats up against the wall. I then crossed to join him as we set out to leave. We were about the same height, but he insists he was taller when he was younger. His head was mostly shaved though some gray hair had started growing back from the last trim. As we headed out to the building we usually had brief chats.

"So what dumb ass thing you get yourself mixed into to get that eye?" Reggie asked without skipping a beat.

"What else? I thought I could do something and I couldn't."

Reggie chuckled to himself before saying; "Surprise, surprise. You know, part of me is going to miss all the stupidity you wrap yourself in."
"I'm sure" I said flatly. "So what do you plan on doin once the classes end? Take it easy for a change?"

Reggie shrugged.

"Who knows? That's the funny part about change, always keeps ya guessing. Don't worry about me though, I'll probably just find a new project. I always do."

We said our goodbyes and I walked home. Once I made myself to the apartment I could hear my Mom and Peter chatting. As I walked in to the front room the two were all dressed to go out. Peter in a sport-coat and slacks and my Mother in a nice sweater, skirt, and her red hair all done-up.

"There you are" my Mother said as I walked in. "Come on, we're getting dinner."

I looked myself over before motioning to me in my scuzzy workout clothes.

"I'm not exactly dressed for it."

"Well get dressed for it, Mama got paid and Mama wants scallops."

Peter gave me a smirk that told me there was no point in debating this. So I peeled off what I was wearing and put on something more presentable. A few sprays of deodorant later and I was ready to go. Taking Peter's car we went to Francesco's, an Italian place that had been around for ages. During the day it was the sort of place school kids got pizza by the slice and at night couples and families went to get a decent meal.

I loved the place myself. It was the definition of comfort food to me. We were greeted by the same middle-aged woman who had greeted us every visit since I was a kid and taken to the same booth we always ate at. Throughout the meal we all chatted about school and work. At that point it felt like it was going to be like any other time we've gone out to dinner. That was all until I felt something hit me on the back of the head. It's not like it hurt, it couldn't have been more than a napkin, but my attention was drawn to the direction from which it was thrown.

At a few tables behind me were two men. One of them I wasn't too familiar with… the other though I remembered quite well. Mostly because he was the one who messed up my face. It was hard to miss his face; it looked like he took pleasure into smacking his it against asphalt… and that was before the new bruises. His hair was also a grease magnet; even from here it looked like it was dripping it in his 70's-tough-guy-pony-tail. His buddy on the other hand looked like a model in comparison. Maybe not a full on fashion model but, like… an advertisement model. He was looking on in a more amused way.

With a smarmy cock of his head he motioned for me to follow as the two stood from their seats and headed outside. Holding back a sigh, I instead grimaced at the situation. If I did nothing they would just end up coming to our table and causing a scene. Going, however, could also prove to be a problem. No matter how I sliced it though, I didn't actually have a choice here. Things were winding down at our table anyway. Mom was still debating if she wanted a dessert before asking for the check. So as casually as I could, I acted like I needed to take a call and would just wait for them by the car when I was done. I had done this before so it wasn't difficult to slip away without them saying much.

Exiting the front of the building, I scanned the parking lot. My two little "friends" were waiting by a nice looking car near the front of the parking lot. Shaking off the nerves, I straightened up, and approached them.

"Gentlemen!" I said as loudly as possible so any onlookers would keep an eye on the situation. "I hope this is quick, I have a piece of lasagna getting cold on me. Not to mention people who will miss me if I'm gone too long." I couldn't help but lie a little. I wanted to wrap this up so Mom and Peter wouldn't get pulled into this at all.

Ad-Model chuckled at my remarks as he closed the gap between us.

"This won't be but a second, buddy" he said in a very calm manner. "We just have to chat about the little incident the other night. Mainly about all that money you stole."

"Correction" I interjected, "I did not get to keep any of the money. It was confiscated as evidence, you know, the whole 'being dirty money' thing. You may wanna talk to the cops on that one, though I have my doubts they'll listen."

"The money you lost then" Asphalt-Face snarled.

Ad-Model held up a hand to silence his surly comrade. He then tried to get a bit closer to me. However I took a large step back, keeping our distance at a safe one. Noticing this, he smirked.

"Alright, let's be blunt then. I don't think you really understand what the big deal is here" he said. Reaching in his shirt pocket he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Once lit, he took a drag and resumed, "The money that was lost that day because of your little stunt. The big guy who ran that particular little game was expecting to get a cut of it that night. He did not get any and, spoiler alert, he isn't thrilled. At first he wanted whoever was responsible dead, I'll have you know. When we broke it to him it was just a kid I was able to talk him down. So let's cut a deal; we were able to save the amount we ourselves put in, but what you lost was around six-hundred-thou'. The Boss has humbly given you two months to get it back."

I was starting to get a little nervous. Quietly steeling my resolve, though, I looked him straight in the eye to shoot back;

"Not to flex my high school education, but we all know that's not possible" I said calmly. "I'll tell you what, we'll meet in the middle, I'll say; my bad, and call it square."

"That smart mouth isn't helping you right now" said Asphalt-Face. "I'd drop it if you want to make it out of this unbroken."

I folded my arms and exhaled.

"Yeah I'd really love to help you guys out but… I gotta get back to my family inside. It's been a minute and with my Mom being so paranoid and being old school-friends with the Police Commissioner, I know I don't want to keep her waiting."

I smirked. Ad-Model started looking annoyed for the first time with this. Asphalt-Face though looked like he was ready to throw more punches my way. It was then though that Ad-Model started chuckling a little more. He took another drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the ground and crushing it under-foot.

"It's alright" he said coolly. "Kingpin can be surprisingly understanding when he wants to be. At the end of the day six-hundred-K is a drop in the bucket to him. If you can't pay us back well… he says; sending a message is good enough."

Before I could even question it further, something struck me in the back of the head so hard that I honest-to-God couldn't actually see what happened next. I felt myself hit the ground and someone started kicking me in the stomach and ribs. After a few moments of being beaten on I slowly started to piece together that there was a third person on the scene waiting to jump me the entire time.

I wanted so badly to straighten up and fight back. With three against one, however, I was totally unable to find a moment where I could. All that I could do was lie there and take it. A series of blunt strikes ran up my body, my only solace being between kicks where I was left in an impregnable daze.

Suddenly different voices joined the mix. I couldn't really place them. I couldn't really place anything. The shouting did cause the kicking to stop but the sounds of struggling still persisted. A firm hand was shaking me. I thought I could hear my name. My eyesight was slowly starting to come back, or at least my ability to focus on things was coming back to me. Every little detail of the parking lot beneath my body suddenly became very detailed, all the little bumps and cracks standing out vividly to me.

Everything else suddenly shot back in an instant. A series of deafening bangs cracked through the air and shocked through my body. I was able to force myself up at this point. It was then that I realized it was my Mom who had been shaking me. Now however, she was screaming, and it became very clear to me on why very fast. Peter had dropped to the ground and his chest was bleeding heavily. Looking up, Ad-Model was holding out a pistol. A newer face was pulling him away. Asphalt-Face was leaning out of the car window and shouting.

A force ran through me and I lunged at Ad-Model.

"Barry!" my Mother shouted.

I grabbed Ad-Model by the shirt. I couldn't even tell you how I was standing, every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to lie back down. My anger proved to be stronger as I held on to the man with a gun in his hand with all my might.

"You son of a bitch…" I growled. "I'll… I'll—"

"You'll what?" Ad-Model said gently, a sneer on his face. I heard him cock his gun. Looking, it wasn't pointed at me… but behind me. My Mom was in clear line of the gun, weeping and begging for him to stop. I felt all my energy drain from my body, my legs shaking beneath me, and my grip on him loosening. He then leaned in close, and he whispered, "Haven't enough people died because of you tonight?"

Then with all the energy of maybe swatting away a fly, he pushed me off and I collapsed to the floor. Thoughts raced before me, my heart hammered in my chest. The car the three thugs came in peeled out of the parking lot, just as the red and blue lights of the police cut through the night.

"Barry…" said a weak voice.

I turned my head. My Mom was now checking on Peter. His face was pale, his front was wet with blood, but he was awake and looking right at me. What shocked me most… was he was smiling. That was how I always remembered Peter, always smiling. Now though, his smile hurt me more than anything that night. I tried to drag myself closer to him. Desperately, I wanted to be with Mom and Peter again. As it turned out though… I didn't have any more strength to spare. All my dragging got me was nothing but a handful of gravel.

"Pete…" I said back in a thick sounding croak.

Peter's smile broadened a bit, then feebly he muttered; "Great… power…"

That was the last thing he ever said. Peter Parker died at the scene. He was thirty-eight.