Delilah stood, arms folded, in front of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. She had wondered why the Kingpin broke her out, and now, she finally decided to ask the question. "So why'd you do it, Fisk?" she asked flatly. "Why am I here?"
"You were the Rose's chief assassin and enforcer, were you not?" Fisk said in his deep, sonorous voice.
"Yeah," Delilah replied. "And I was damn good at my job, too."
Fisk sat forward in his reinforced chair, the springs creaking under the shifting weight, and interlaced his fingers. "Well, then I would like to offer you the same position here, under my employment. I need someone to act as my bodyguard for the upcoming negotiations with Fortunato, and you seemed to be the perfect candidate."
Delilah raised an elegant eyebrow. "Is that right? What's the pay?"
"Twenty thousand a week plus bonuses, the first of which will be yours when you kill Fortunato."
Upon hearing this, Delilah grinned. "Make it forty and you got yourself a deal."
The Kingpin sighed, and resigned himself to haggling. "Twenty-five," he said.
"Thirty-five," Delilah said, her dark eyes flashing with cold intent.
"Thirty," the Kingpin shot back. Delilah smiled.
"Deal," and her smile widened. "Boss."
Peter Parker, otherwise known as the Amazing Spider-Man, swung home on thick strands of webbing, his body cutting through the gloom like a knife. As he approached the house, he let go his last strand of web and somersaulted through the air before coming to rest silently on the tiles outside his and MJ's bedroom window. As he did so, he could hear two female voices inside. One of them he identified as MJ, and the other he knew as Felicia Hardy, also known in less reputable circles as the Black Cat. They were discussing something, but he could not tell what from his limited vantage point.
"Wow, MJ – these are fantastic!" he heard Felicia say, pointing to something just out of his field of vision.
"Thank you, Felicia," MJ replied. "I'm glad somebody other than me thinks so – I'd hate to think I put all this work in for nothing." Intrigued, Peter knocked on the window lightly, taking great pleasure in seeing both the women jump. MJ recovered herself and walked over to let him in, and he crawled inside the bedroom, hopping down off the wall onto the thick carpet and removing his mask as he did so, freeing his face up to the warm air in the room. Felicia looked back at MJ and jerked a thumb at him. "What do you say we lynch him, MJ?"
MJ shook her head. "Behave, Felicia. That's my man you're talking about." Peter embraced her and kissed her hello, stroking her hair lightly.
"Got one of those for me, stud?" Felicia asked. Peter glanced at her, a little confused, until Felicia threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "Been a while, Peter. You don't call, you don't write – I almost don't think you love me any more."
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" Peter said thoughtfully. "What are you doing here, 'Licia?"
"MJ invited me over for a coffee and some company, and to ask me what I thought of her designs," Felicia said, shrugging. "Who am I to refuse a friend?"
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Designs? What designs?" MJ crossed to the bed and picked up the pad that she had been showing Felicia, flipping it open to the first page so that Peter could see what she had drawn.
"I spent the day in the Village doing some sketches, Peter," MJ said. "I want to do some designing as well as modeling, and I thought that was the best way of getting started."
Peter flipped through the pages of sketches, his eyes rapt. "These are really good, MJ. I never knew you could do this so well." MJ smiled.
"Neither did I, but I'm glad it paid off." She paused. "I really think I've found my niche, Peter. I had so much fun just sitting and sketching – it was great. I'd love to be able to design as well as model my own clothes. This could be a new start for me, Tiger. For both of us."
Peter nodded in agreement. "I agree, MJ," he said. "You can't let a talent like this go to waste. Uncle Ben would say 'With great talent –'"
"'– There must come great responsibility', I know," MJ said, laughing. "I'll try not to disappoint him, Peter." Peter smiled and tapped her on the end of her nose with his finger affectionately.
"You better not," he told her, "or I might have to reconsider why I married you in the first place."
"Thank you for the reassurance, Peter," MJ replied. "You make me feel so much better."
Peter shrugged. "I try."
MJ laughed. "You're a paragon of virtue, Peter." Disengaging herself from his arms she put the pad back on the bed and continued, "Anyway, how was your day, sweetheart? Anything interesting happen to you?"
Felicia watched motionless in the background. After all, she just couldn't ruin a husband/wife moment such as this.
"Depends what you mean by 'interesting'," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ben Urich tells me that the Kingpin and Don Fortunato are getting ready to tear each other apart, and they don't care what they destroy in the process. There're guns and drugs flooding the city and the gangs are getting ready for a full-scale war. It's not good, MJ. Even Daredevil doesn't feel optimistic. I spoke with him earlier today, and Matt thinks that the Don and the Kingpin aren't going to stop until one of them is dead. There's going to be a bloodbath unless they're stopped." MJ sighed.
"You're going to get involved in this whatever I say, aren't you?" she said sadly. Peter touched her face with his gloved fingers, gently tracing her soft cheek, and nodded.
"I have to, MJ. This is my city – our home. If I don't fight for it, who will?"
Felicia stepped forwards. "You know, Peter, you can always count on me. I've been dying for a chance to air out my costume for a while now, and this sounds like my sort of party. This is my city too, and I'll protect it if I can."
Peter shook his head. "Absolutely not, Felicia. I can't let you do that. The Kingpin and Fortunato are going to have all of their most powerful heavies there, and without any powers you'd be vulnerable." Felicia rolled her eyes.
"Tell that to the Punisher," she said flatly. "You don't see him flying around with a cape and energy blasts coming out of his hands, and he's taken out half of the New York mobs with nothing but an M-16 and a bag full of flashbang grenades." Peter had to admit that she had a good point, and that she looked like she wasn't going to change her stance on this.
"Look at it from my point of view, Peter," she continued. "How would you feel, knowing that you had the ability to help to protect your city, and then being told by somebody else that you couldn't do what you felt you had to do because that person felt guilty about your possibly getting injured in a possible future gunfight?"
Peter gave up. "Okay, Felicia. Okay. But you have to promise me that as soon as it starts getting bad, you get out of there, all right?" Felicia grinned and drew an invisible line in the air with a forefinger.
"Score one for me. I'll think about it," she said, mischievously. "You're a good man, Peter Parker – just a little overprotective. I'm a big girl now, and I can look after myself. Remember that."
MJ moved over to the door of the room and took a couple of sniffs of the air. "I think the dinner is just about ready." She looked back at Peter and continued "I hope you don't mind, Peter, but I couldn't face doing anything extravagant tonight – so I found some cuts of leftover meat and some vegetables in the refrigerator, and I've made us a kind of stew with all of the bits and pieces. I hope it tastes all right – if it doesn't we could always order out for Chinese instead." Peter shrugged.
"Hey – if it's you doing the cooking, it'll be wonderful," he said. "Beats the idea I had. I was just going to dial Domino's and ask for a deep-pan pepperoni and pineapple special for two." MJ laughed, her green eyes twinkling in the dim light.
"You might just get your wish yet, tiger," she said. "We'll just have to see how the stew tastes, I guess."
Out on Staten Island, Daredevil crouched low above the window of Don Fortunato's office, listening to every word that was being spoken between him and his son Giacomo Fortunato, otherwise known as Jimmy 6. Fortunato was angry – Daredevil could smell the bitter tang of the Don's emotion wafting off him like a toxic fog. He could hear Jimmy 6's exasperation as he tried unsuccessfully to change his father's mind.
"Dad, you can't do this. The Kingpin – he's got more money and resources than we'll ever have. He can wait until we're bled dry and then he'll take what's left for his own. We can't win if we fight him, Dad – that's the truth, I swear to God."
"No!" Fortunato snapped, bringing his liver-spotted hand crashing down on his desk, causing Matt Murdock to squint in pain as the sound assaulted his ears like a hammer. "We can win this war. We have HYDRA behind us. We have the families behind us." Daredevil felt Fortunato's heart speeding up for a moment as the old man got a little too agitated, and then sensed it slowing again. "That's why I want you to help me, Giacomo. Fisk has a shipment of heroin coming in from Bangkok tomorrow morning, on Pier 47 at six a.m. I want you to be there to intercept it, and the people Fisk sends to pick it up. I want you to burn everything and leave no witnesses. And I want you to make sure that nothing is left for Fisk to salvage. Not one scrap of metal, not one packet of powder. Everything must be destroyed."
Daredevil could sense Jimmy 6's amazement in his increased heart rate and quickened breathing, and his appraisal of the situation was confirmed when Jimmy 6 said "You want me to destroy that much dope? Surely we could –"
"– Use it ourselves?" Fortunato finished, laughing. The sound was like wind rustling dry leaves. The laugh turned into a wheeze, and Fortunato coughed as his lungs filled with phlegm and spittle. Recovering himself, he continued "No. This isn't about business, Giacomo, this is about sending Fisk a message. He's going to regret trying to force me out of this city, I swear it."
Daredevil felt his heart skip a beat. This did not sound good. This war would be driven by pride on both sides, it seemed – Fortunato would be too proud to yield to a man he considered a usurper and an upstart, an upstart who upheld none of the traditions and laws of the Cosa Nostra. The Kingpin, too, would be too proud to have his empire divided between those he considered his inferiors, his tools, his weapons. There would be massive bloodshed unless they could be stopped, and Matt Murdock knew precisely who to go to in order to facilitate just that kind of occurrence.
Ben Urich sat in his office at the Daily Bugle, his face turned a soft blue by the light reflecting off his computer screen, and the air turned thick from the smoke that swirled off the half-smoked Camel in his right hand. The ashtray that sat on the desk was overflowing with crushed butts and discarded ash, and Ben had had to empty it out more than once. He had to find some good copy for the morning edition, or Jonah would have his hide. Ben took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke into the already clogged air. He coughed slightly, and cursed the day he'd been suckered into lighting up, rubbing his eyes. He could feel the puffy rings surrounding them, and imagined that he looked a mess. Sleep was a definite luxury in this business, he reflected sourly. If you were asleep when a big story hit, then you were the one that lost out, nobody else. Ben tapped a few more words into his computer, and then jumped as the phone on his desk rang shrilly. Picking it up he said "Ben Urich, Daily Bugle," in a tired tone of voice.
"Ben," said a familiar voice on the other end of the line, "it's Matt." That made Ben sit up straight, and grab a pen so that he could scribble down the details of what Daredevil was about to tell him.
"Matt – where are you?" he said in an almost conspiratorial whisper.
"I've just come back from Staten Island," Matt replied. "Fortunato's planning to hijack a shipment of heroin the Kingpin's expecting from Bangkok tomorrow morning. He doesn't want to leave anything for the Kingpin to salvage – including the Kingpin's men. He says that the shipment's expected to arrive on Pier 47 at six a.m. tomorrow morning."
"Thanks, Matt," Ben said. "Are you going to try and stop this?"
"If I can, Ben," Matt replied, worry thick in his voice. "I'll make sure that I show up. Whether I stop it or not is up to providence."
"Take care of yourself, Matt," Ben answered.
"And you, Ben." There was a click on the other end of the line, indicating that Matt had hung up. Ben realized that he was going to need to call Peter Parker – he was partnered with the kid for this assignment, after all, and with a story this big, he was going to need the kind of photos that only Peter knew how to provide. Any idiot from the gutter press could come up with this kind of a story, but without cold, hard proof, the story was as worthless as the garbage peddled in the supermarket tabloids. Ben knew that from years of experience – he had no wish to follow Eddie Brock in a downward spiral through sloppy, unsubstantiated reporting. Pressing the button on his phone to reset the connection, he dialed Peter's number and settled the phone into the crook of his shoulder.
Peter heard the phone ring, his mouth full of MJ's stew. Swallowing the mouthful of beef and potatoes he got up from the table and picked the receiver up from its cradle. "Hello, Parker household – Peter Parker speaking," he said in a swift, businesslike fashion.
"Peter?" said the voice of Ben Urich.
Peter smiled at the sound of the grizzled reporter's smoke-stained tones. "Hi, Ben. What are you doing calling me at this hour?"
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"Sure, Ben," Peter replied. "Shoot."
"I need you to help me tomorrow morning," Ben said. "I have a lead on the story we're working on, and it's a big one. Get a good night's sleep, kid – you'll need it." He then explained to Peter what Daredevil had told him, and Peter felt his appetite rapidly decreasing as he heard more and more of what Fortunato had planned. He said goodbye to Ben after agreeing to meet with him, and hung up the phone, sitting back down to his half-full plate.
MJ saw his sudden change in demeanor and said "What's wrong, Tiger? Who was that?"
"Ben Urich," Peter said, chasing a stray strand of beef around his plate with his spoon. "He says he has a lead on something to do with this whole gang warfare deal – I have to be at the docks, tomorrow morning, before dawn. Ben says that Don Fortunato is going to slaughter a whole bunch of the Kingpin's men just because they're going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." MJ shuddered.
"Be careful, Peter," she said simply.
"I will, sweetheart," he said, reaching across the table and stroking her delicate cheekbones with his fingers. She leant into his touch like a cat, and clasped his hand in her own, kissing his fingertips.
"I love you, Mr. Parker," she said. "I will love you until the day I die. Don't make me have to miss you as well."
"I promise I'll come back in one piece, MJ," Peter replied. "I haven't seen you in that underwear I bought you for your birthday yet." MJ laughed despite herself, and she grinned.
"Well, there's an incentive for you right there, Peter," she said. "I'll make sure I wear it for you."
Felicia coughed gently. "Excuse me, you two. You do have a guest here, you realize?"
Peter flushed, and saw that MJ was having much the same reaction as he was. "Sorry, Felicia. We'll behave, I promise." Felicia waved her hand dismissively.
"Oh, don't worry about it, Spider," she said. "I should get going anyway. I have to remember to tape Saturday Night Live and do some laundry before I go out on the town." She chuckled. "I'll be in touch, you two." Moving over to each of them in turn, she kissed them on the cheek and hugged them tightly. "Don't be strangers, okay?"
"Never," Peter said, as she embraced him.
Suddenly, there was a clattering of the trashcan at the front of the house. Peter, MJ and Felicia all jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Both MJ and Felicia looked at Peter simultaneously, to see what his reaction was. He shook his head.
"My spider-sense didn't go off," he said. "It's safe." He moved to the front window, closely followed by Felicia and MJ, and looked outside. There was nothing that could have caused the sound but a cat that was wandering around mewing quietly. Peter shrugged. "Just that stray cat looking for a snack in our trash again."
MJ nodded. "That's the fifth time this week that cat's been there. I wonder what he can smell that makes him come back?"
"Better not to think about it, MJ," Peter said. "He's not doing any harm." Felicia nodded.
"Don't worry, MJ, he'll behave himself sooner or later. Now…" and she crossed to the door, "I must go. I'll see you two soon, all right?" She slipped out of the door, wrapping her leather jacket around her shoulders. She smiled briefly as she did so, and her eyes gleamed with a mischievous light.
I said I'd think about keeping out of harm's way, Spider, but I didn't say for how long…
The docks of Manhattan Harbor were dark, and smelt of spilt oil and squashed fish guts, and the occasional splash of human blood. The little boat cut through the waves like a knife, even though its outward appearance painted it as an ordinary little tugboat. Inside, however, it hummed with every mod con that could have been comfortably squeezed into its little cabin. Roderick Kingsley held one such convenience in his hand – the remnants of a fine Drambuie whiskey, the ice cubes in the empty glass clinking together every time the small vessel hit a particularly strong wave, until finally the little boat came to a stop by a small jetty. Kingsley saw the hatch on the side of the boat open, and he stepped out into the chill New York air, to be greeted by a small phalanx of men armed with machine pistols and rifles, who stood in front of a long black limousine.
"Roderick Kingsley?" a blond man, with a tiny half-moon scar at the side of his eye, said, lifting his gun just in case.
"That's me," Kingsley said, his voice flat and even.
"Good. The boss is waiting for you." He ushered Kingsley towards the limousine, opening the side door for him and then slipping in beside his guest.
"I have a small favor to ask," Kingsley said, flexing his wrists. "There is a small warehouse near here which I still own under a different name. I have some equipment there which I'd like to retrieve – could we stop off there while I collect it?"
"I guess so," the blond man said. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to arrive prepared, if I may. Never let it be said that the Hobgoblin leaves bases uncovered," Kingsley said, a slight grin crossing his face. The limousine began its trip to the warehouse, and disappeared from sight as the night fog covered it like a blanket.