Well, I enjoyed the week-long break, how about you guys? ;) Here's another update, along with the mandatory hope that you guys leave a review because I'm desperate for attention and bla bla bla.
Also, Clone Conspiracy Omega hit a few days ago and it shows Gwen being somewhat hypocritical (or Dan Slott just didn't realize it): Despite the fact that she's been ignoring 616 due to her issues with 65-Peter's death she apparently takes offense when 616 does to the same to her after seeing a revived/cloned 616 Gwen die to help him save the world.
Incidentally this means I made her act OOC: Apparently her response in canon to seeing another version of Peter was to try and ignore him/not think about it, whereas in LG she does the exact opposite and keeps trying to involve herself with Noir even when it becomes abundantly clear that they're not the same. Eh, hopefully the lack of Spider-Verse is a good enough explanation, and if not...well, my bad.
Another mess for him to clean up in this madhouse...somehow he wasn't surprised.
Peter looked around the alley with a grimace. Despite the no-doubt audible gunshot it was just the two of them in the alley, a fact that he didn't easily miss. In this part of town everyone kept their heads down; one reason he liked the place, really. He could go down the street in full costume and most people would probably just look away and hope that the 'Dark Spider' (God, what a dumb name...) wasn't here for them.
It reminded him of home, actually: No one looked out for one another unless they were in a gang, so playing the bystander was easier than sticking your neck out and getting your face beat in for the sake of misplaced altruism.
Of course, it meant that apart from Lori he couldn't count on there being witnesses to maybe make his life just a bit easier, "...What was her name?" he asked, more out of propensity than anything else, "Given the way you were acting you seemed...close."
"Helena...her name was Helena." Lori let out a tired breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. She seemed to be doing everything in her power to look everywhere but at her friend's dead body, "New girl, got into this 'job' of ours a few months ago. Didn't know the reason why, but I can assume it's the same as everyone else; she needed the money and didn't have anywhere else to turn."
Young, and not enough to make an impact even as a well-known lady of the evening, 'Fresh blood, then. No one would miss her.' Peter knelt down and examined the corpse again. The stench of blood in the air was pungent and already he found himself missing the smell of smoke from the coffin nails, "She make any friends? Besides you, I mean?" He eyed her stomach. Covered in blood, but no wounds. Blowback from the shotgun blast, most likely.
"Not really. Didn't really talk much, liked to keep to herself." She frowned, "The place we work at isn't exactly the best when it comes to trying to start friendships. Dave doesn't like the other whores talking too much, thinks it distracts us from the job."
"Typical pimp, then." He craned his neck to look back at her, "So, mind explaining why you two were friends? Didn't sound like she was meant to come down this place alone."
"No, not really..." She let out a tired breath and brought a hand through her face, "We've been hearing rumors about killings on the streets. At first we'd just assumed it was a coincidence - just the risk of making a living down here - but then rumors started up about some kind of serial killer running around. Most people just ignored it, but a few of us got spooked and started going in pairs. Helena was my partner."
"She was alone in this alley..." And who started those rumors? Someone must have seen something. A serial killer with a religious motif was just a bit too specific, even with the crosses etched into the woman's arms. People tended to ignore things rather than look for explanations.
"Yeah..." Lori pursed her lips together, "Dave got me booked on a late John. Paid well, so I couldn't afford to turn it down..." A discrete frown came and went, "She left ahead of me, said that one night alone wouldn't kill her..." She let out a bitter laugh, "Shows what she knew...damn it."
Peter didn't reply, looking down at the dead body once more. Given the angle of the remaining pieces of her head and the placement of the blood he could reasonably assume that the blast came in from the front, and likely point blank given the damage. Besides that the way her arms were positioned were too precise to be considered coincidence - Wide at her sides in a straight line while her legs were tucked together.
Like Jesus on the crucifix, except instead of the spear of destiny she got a face full of buckshot.
"Don't think this could be just another customer who didn't want to pay?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Most cheap customers used something like a knife or baseball bat. Something like a shotgun was just too impractical to lug around just to kill a prostitute for free sex.
"Can't be. Look between her legs." She gestured to the slightly bloodstained skirt and underwear with a frown, "She's still wearing all her clothes, and she wasn't a virgin so that blood isn't because of a first time fuck. Unless this guy decided to have his way with her then put her clothes back on after wiping away his mess then she shouldn't be fully clothed. None of them should have been."
"Point taken." He clicked his tongue. Something was missing here. Did she go down the alley willingly? Kind of hard to believe that, especially since a shotgun wasn't something you could just hide under your coat like a pistol, "Did she usually take this route home? An alley seems like an odd place to cut through..." Not that he was one to judge given his tendencies to slink around in the dark, though at least he had his abilities to help him.
"No, not particularly." She shook her head, "I mean, we cut through alleys sometimes when we don't want to get gawked at, but it's hardly our first resort when it comes to these kinds of things. A place like this is usually somewhere you meet a John when the bars and the clubs are already filled up."
"Good to know..." Going home, but not the proper route. It could have just been a coincidence, maybe she'd decided to take a faster way back, but every detail helped paint a clearer picture, "...How long ago was it when you separated from her? And how did you even find this place?"
"About an hour, give or take a few minutes. John had a business meeting so he just wanted one for the road," she said, "As for how I found her, probably the same way you did: I heard the shot and came running." She clicked her tongue, "Looking back on it now it could've been nothing, but I've gotten paranoid ever since those rumors started cropping up. Guess I was right..."
"The gunshot..." He'd heard it, too- wait, something was off about this, 'The angle of the shot meant she would have seen it coming.' He looked at her cut-up wrists again and frowned, "...I was far away when I heard it, so tell me something. Did you hear a scream before the shot went off? Anything at all?"
"I...no." She chewed on her lower lip before shaking her head, "Just the shot. Streets were mostly empty and the ones who did hear it...well, they knew to keep their head down and keep walking. Isn't like a shot's rare in this kind of place."
"Yeah, but anyone would scream if they got a gun shoved in their face," he said, "She should've seen that shot coming." No way she was taken by surprise. The alley only went two ways and even with the lack of footprints she'd see a guy carrying a shotgun clear as day.
"Maybe she got killed before she could let out a scream? It...wouldn't be the first time someone's been killed like that."
"Could be, but look at these." He traced two fingers an inch above the thin slices at her wrist, "Precise cuts, slight ridges suggest a tactical knife of some sort. Whoever did this couldn't have carved these out after killing her; the cuts are deep enough to hit bone, it would've taken minutes to carve the cross and position her like she was the messiah. He was long gone when I got here and I heard that gunshot maybe half a minute before I got to this place."
"What are you saying? That he did all that before killing her?"
"Just a theory, but answer me this: If someone tried carving you up like you were a thanksgiving turkey wouldn't you be struggling and screaming? At that point you ain't got nothing to lose." He let out a soft breath and gestured to the cuts again, "Her hands should've been moving, trying to shove whoever it was off of her. Instead the cuts are clean and straight, as if she was lying completely still when he did em."
"That...it makes no sense." Lori shook her head with a light scowl, "Are you suggesting that she did this willingly? That she wanted some fucked up serial killer turn her into a discount Jesus in some alley?"
"There's more than one way to get skin a cat...or carve someone's wrists, in this case." He stood up and turned to face her, "Drugs would work, put her under so she wouldn't be able to fight back. Hell even some rope, though given the lack of marks I have my doubts." He sighed, "Either way whoever did this was clearly prepared. The entire thing looks...ritualistic, doesn't it? Doing it in an alley where anyone could walk in on em kinda makes a point that whoever they are they've got more zealotry than sense."
"Damn it..." She walked a short distance away, a hand covering her mouth. Whether she was sick or just wanted to avoid looking at him Peter didn't know, but eventually she spoke up again, her voice just a tinge more uncertain, "If it really was drugs, then..."
"Then she was alive, yes. Whether she felt anything is another matter entirely." There were many kinds of tranquilizers and anesthesia, particularly after nearly eight decades of scientific advancement, "That's a dead end, though. This doesn't tell me anything except that whoever killed her might get off on nearly getting caught. Maybe the police might have better luck when they examine the body."
"The police? Now isn't the time for jokes, 'Detective'." The bitter laugh she let out was soft, but it was difficult to miss given their current circumstances,, "She's just another dreg, all of us are. You talk to the boys in blue about a dead whore and you'll just get another note on the backburner that they'll get back to after a decade; and that's if you're lucky." She scoffed, "Worst case they won't even bother because some bitch in a ninja costume's robbing a convenience store."
He was tempted to disagree, but now wasn't the time for jokes. Whores and drug addicts didn't exactly get the warmest reception even without the presence of freaks in costumes hogging all the attention from the padfoots, but with those 'Supervillains' running around? He could probably drop the headless corpse right in front of the station and they'd ignore it cause White Widow was signing autographs and they wanted to join in.
"Well, what do you want to do then?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets, "I can't analyze her properly and see if she was drugs in her system. My...acquaintance is out of town on some business so that's not going to work, and something tells me dragging this body over to the station's not going to get us the warmest reception." Especially not since half this town decided he was a 'Supervillain'. Most likely they'd slap cuffs on him and use her death for the arrest.
Lori bit her lip again, looking at the corpse with heavy eyes before she let out a slow breath, "I know a guy, a...doctor who doesn't exactly practice legally. He could probably search her and see if she has any drugs in her system or anything else you can't make out."
"Back alley surgeon, huh? Can't beat the classics." He smiled wryly and pulled his gloves tighter against hands. At this point it was too late to start worrying about leaving fingerprints everywhere, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of carrying a still-warm corpse over to some quack who lost his license, "I'm guessing you know a way to get there without attracting attention? Cause I get the feeling if people see a freakshow like me carrying a headless broad over my shoulder they're gonna call the coppers."
"Yeah...just follow me."
He had to admit, slinking down alleyways following a prostitute to some quack with another dead dame on his shoulder wasn't exactly how he pictured this night going...though, considering he'd spent nearly 4 months in this madhouse with his only allies being an unhinged former cop, a sadistic fugitive and some crazy clown in a costume with three personalities in his skull who claimed to talk to an Egyptian god, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised.
Bullseye probably would have found this funny. Something to talk about if the older man got bored and wanted a story in exchange for his help...
They stopped in front of what looked like a dead-end. Aside from a rusted door with a dim bulb hanging above it the place was completely barren. Peter looked around him warily, shifting the corpse over his shoulder. His jacket was covered in large swatches of blood, but it was halfway blocking the spider spray-painted on his back so maybe it was for the better.
Besides, he had a feeling he'd need it if his theory panned out. Easier to intimidate someone with a little crimson on him.
"We're here..." She looked back at him for a moment before knocking on the door loudly. The slit at its upper center slid open and a pair of bloodshot eyes peeked out, the lids narrowed as it stared back between him and Lori, "Doctor, open up. It's me, Lori." She held up her hands and did a quick circle, "I don't have anything on besides a pocket knife, the same thing I had when I came to you last week."
"...What about him?" he asked, voice rough. Sounded like he scratched his throat with sandpaper, "Can he be trusted?" He looked at Peter with open suspicion. The teenager raised an eyebrow. Did he not see the corpse he was openly carrying over his shoulder, or was bringing dead bodies just another Tuesday in this place? It honestly wouldn't have surprised him considering all he knew.
"You can trust him, Doctor. He's...trying to find the person who killed my friend," Lori said, her expression pained, "Let us inside, please."
A moment of silent staring passed before the slit closed again, the sound of detaching locks coming soon after. Peter stepped back as the door swung open and exposed the 'doctor' standing inside. He looked like he'd seen better days: Pale skin, brown hair matted to his forehead, days old stubble, baggy eyes and a casual suit that had a bit more dust and tears in it that he considered safe for anyone who planned to treat living patients.
"Get in, quickly..." He rushed them inside, closing the door just as quickly and leaving them inside the slightly narrow room with nothing but a few overhead bulbs for light. The strong smell of alcohol hit him immediately, which was a relief considering he reeked of blood.
Apart from a table with two chairs the place was devoid of anything resembling personal touch. Off to the side he could see a makeshift metal slab that he could only assume was meant to be the surgery board for whatever unlucky bastard wound up under his care. Past that and ahead of him he saw an even smaller kitchen, or at least he assumed that's what it was given the presence of an old stove.
And he thought his place was bad...
"Put her on the table..." He gestured to the slab, Peter putting the corpse down with as much care as he could muster, "Ms, Baumgartner, I hope you have an explanation for bringing a dead body here. I've brought people back from the brink before, but I can't bring back the dead."
"Nothing like that, Doc. You see..."
Peter turned away and let Lori explain the situation. There wasn't anything he could say that would help and the way the 'doctor' looked at him made it clear how much trust he had in him: About the same amount Peter himself had for a lot of people in this place not named Bullseye.
He bit back a yawn and and looked at the table. Apart from a few slices of burnt toast and a half-filled cup of coffee it was as empty as the rest of the place, though the papers caught his attention, '...Gamma radiation?' His eyes narrowed. In this place radiation seemed to be the key to power, if White Widow and the green amazon who showboated on the television was any indication, 'Looks handwritten...a journal of some kind? Says his name's Bruce Banner-'
"Leave now, I have to concentrate." The disheveled quack said, jolting him out of his train of thought and gesturing them both to the door, "You can come back tomorrow evening. I should have the autopsy finished by then."
"Thank you, Doctor. How much will it-"
"I only charge the patients themselves, Ms. Baumgartner. And she certainly doesn't seem like she's capable of paying back in any way." He waved a hand through the air and trudged to the table, facing away from them both, "Don't worry about payment, just keep yourself safe. I don't want to see you be the next person on this slab. For your sake...I hope your friend can catch whoever it is that's stalking the alleys at night."
A doctor who actually cared about saving lives...this place really was mad. He and Lori shared a look before he shrugged, stepping out the door with her following behind. He didn't know if the quack could really do a proper autopsy given the state his place was in, but it wasn't like he had much choice. Waiting for Spector or Grant to come back would take a week, time he really didn't have.
"Now that that's done with," Peter muttered, "Tell me about your boss. Dave, was it?"
"You think he's in on this? Why would he kill his own merchandise?" She shook her head, "You know what, you're the detective here. I'll answer all your questions. You're the best shot any of us have of not getting planted six feet under. But can we do it at my house? It's close by here and I'd rather not stand around in the open like this even with you around. You understand."
"Right...lead the way."
The house was nicer than he expected; certainly nicer than the joint he was shacking up in, even if it had nothing to Hardy's ritzy digs. The apartment looked like it could comfortably fit at least four people with a kitchen, living room and what looked two bedrooms, 'Guess being an exotic dancer's lucrative...' Then again maybe he should have figured that. Felicia had to get her start-up money on the Black Cat from somewhere.
Lori breathed a sigh of relief when they got inside, locking the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary, "Feels good to be back here..." she muttered, "Come on, we should-"
The door to one of the bedrooms opened before she could finish and someone he hadn't expected trudged out, "Mom, that you? You're back late..." Lana paused and stared at the two of them, eyes shifting back and forth between her mother (definitely wasn't expecting that) and himself, "Uh...didn't know you were taking your Johns back home, mom...especially not dudes who cosplay Superheroes."
"I'm not-"
"He's not a John, Lana." Lori sighed, "I'd never take those back home, you know that. This is...uh, I think he's called the Dark Spider if I'm remembering right. He's trying to figure out who's behind all those recent killings."
"No shit? Huh, and for a second there I thought you started blowing freakshows. Was worried we were going to have webs gunking up the place." He raised an eyebrow. She was definitely blunt about her mother's job...though, considering said mom looked like she just got off her work with a jacket barely covering the loose top she wore, he guessed it'd be pretty hard to be clueless after a while, "So...Dark Spider, huh?"
"It's Spider-Man..." God, what was with the people here and stupid nicknames? If he ever found the guy who gave him that stupid title he'd punch his teeth in...and really he was hoping it was this place's Jameson cause he really needed his teeth kicked in. The Jameson he knew wouldn't have stood for that guy's blatant lack of grit and integrity, "...This your kid?" he asked Lori, trying to change the subject.
"Yeah, and if you try anything on my mom you're going to fucking regret it," Lana crossed her arms and glared at him, "I saw you on the news, 'Spider-Man'. Not sure if she should trust you after all the shit you've pulled." He could see her hands shaking slightly despite her words. Did she honestly think he was going to attack either of them? This was almost as bad a reception when he worked with George Stacy back home.
"Don't believe everything you see, kid. The rags in this place will tell you the Nazis won if it gets you to buy more papers." He ignored her glare. Just an overprotective kid, nothing he hadn't seen (or done himself...) before, "I just want to ask some questions about her boss."
"...If you say so." She shrugged, her glare fading, "Alright, well if you two are going to have that talk I should probably fuck off. I'll be back-"
"Hold on there, Lana. Just where the hell do you think you're going at this time of night?" Lori asked, her eyes narrowed, "I just told you there's a serial killer out there. It'd be suicide to go out there now."
"Christ, mom, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna run into a serial killer." She rolled her eyes, "'Sides, I'll be with Poey and the others. I'll just get something to eat so I can stay out of you two's hair. I'll be back before you know it."
"Poey? You know I told you-"
That was as far as he got before he blocked out the rest of the argument. He knew better than to interfere; they'd just both yell at him if he tried intervening. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and waited for the argument to run its course, 'Should probably have asked her about the address beforehand...' He sighed. Well, nothing for it now. He'd just have to wait for his chance.
They stopped their (incredibly curse-filled) argument soon enough. Lana practically stomped out the door and slammed it behind her, Lori yelling out one last warning to her before locking the door again with a frustrated breath. It almost reminded him some fights he had with Uncle Ben when he was younger.
"Sorry about that..." Lori muttered, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Nothing I haven't seen before." He shrugged, "Your kid's a little hellion, isn't she?" He still found it an odd coincidence that she was her kid at all. Best he not mention to either of them what they'd done in exchange for a few hundred dollars...
"Gets that from my side of the family." She smiled sardonically, "Don't pay her any mind. Girl talks big but she's harmless unless you do something really bad to piss her off." She gestured to the couch, "Take a seat. I'll change out of these clothes then I'll answer any questions you want."
He took off his bloodstained jacket and practically collapsed on the couch with a sigh, his head resting lazily on the cushions as he blankly looked up at the ceiling. A part of him was tempted to fall asleep, but another, even bigger part reminded him of what awaited him if he let his mind wander too far. The nightmares had lessened, though it helped when he had a drink or a cigarette to dull his senses beforehand. The relief never lasted long, but it was better than nothing.
Lori came back out eventually, her risque attire replaced with a far more sensible yellow shirt, jeans and sneakers, "You tired, too, huh?" She sat down next to him, taking out two smokes from the pack she held in her hands and offering one to him, "You smoke?"
He pulled the mask till it reached his nose, "Like a chimney." Another thing Aunt May would've been disappointed in if she ever found out. Though he liked to think seeing him again after months of absence would be enough to counteract his vices...he only hoped Mary Jane was taking care of her. She'd already lost Uncle Ben, he hoped he didn't lose her nephew either...
"Peter...is...is that-"
'Wrong May, Parker.' He held back a scowl and let Lori light the cigarette, coughing slightly at the taste of the flavor in his tongue, "...No offense, but what brand of cigarettes do you buy?" He took another puff and grimaced. It did the job, but it tasted foul. At the back of his mind he could hear the sensible part of him chiding himself for being so picky about the kinds of cancer sticks he smoked.
"Big Bull. It's not much, but keeps second-hand smoke to a minimum." She let out a breath of smoke and leaned back on the couch, "Why, what about you?"
"Hope...guess the guys who made it thought'd be funny." He took a lighter inhale before continuing, "Anyway, back on track: Tell me about your boss, Dave."
"What's there to say?" She shrugged, " He's a thug who whores women out if they're desperate enough. I'd like to say he's a pimp with a heart of gold, but I'd be lying. He takes anything that can make him a buck, but that's just it: If it doesn't turn a profit to him then he doesn't care. I can't see him giving up one of his merchandise to some kind of religious serial killer. He's not one to believe in ideals."
"Let's not ignore the fact that he could have just been bribed...or threatened. Doubt he'd care about giving up one of 'his girls' if it means he continues breathing." Wouldn't be the first time he'd seen a boss everyone below him to the wolves, "You trust him to do otherwise?"
"No, he's a pig." She snorted, "But so's every other pimp, crime boss and thug in this city. What makes him so special?"
"The way your friend got killed makes me wonder." His grip on the cigarette tightened, "You two have been going in pairs for days or weeks now, right?" She nodded, her eyebrows furrowed, "So is it just a coincidence that the one time you get saddled with a customer she gets killed? Seems a bit too convenient, if you ask me. Call me paranoid, but I smell something wrong here."
"What, you think Dave set me up with a John so Helena would have to go it alone?"
"It's possible. I'm not discounting anything till I speak to the man himself." He'd ask if he knew anything about the killings and if he was involved. His spider-sense might not be able to tell him why he would lie, but he could make a good estimate on his own if it pinged him as being involved in this donnybrook. After that it was only a matter of how long he could take his third leg being threatened before he caved, "Where's his place? Still open this time?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't it be? Sex never stops, does it?" She stuck the cigarette between her lips and wrote an address down on a piece of paper before handing it to him, "Shouldn't be too far from here, maybe half an hour if you walk. Take the back room, it's for VIP's." She clapped his arm, "Hey, do me a favor: If you're really going to interrogate Dave then I'd appreciate it if you didn't wreck the place I work at. Thanks."
"I'll keep that in mind..." He rolled his eyes and took another cigarette from the pack. It should tide him over till he could get something better, "One for the road...wish me luck."
The 'gentlemen's club', to use the fancy term, wasn't anything special. Peter looked up at the sign with a flat expression, his eyes scanning through the letters lining the neon, "The Shaftesbury Quimhouse..." Huh, and he he thought the places back home could be shameless. He let the second cigarette fall and he crushed it against the concrete, pulling his mask back down to cover his face completely before making his way to the back entrance. He got the feeling a place like this wouldn't exactly be the most welcoming to someone with his reputation.
He was right.
"Welcome, sir. Would you like the-" The woman greeting him froze up, her eyes wide as she looked right at his masked face. Young...much younger than Lori by the looks of her. He had to assume she was meant to be the appetizer; a pretty woman in a slinky black dress to give a taste of what was to come inside. He could only hope she wasn't underage; he didn't need another problem on top of this one, "Y-You're-"
"Give me the guided tour."
The music in the place was enough to give him a headache. The woman walked forward meekly, stuttering through the practiced lines and whipping her head back to look at him after every few seconds that passed. It was odd; he didn't even have to pull out his gun or make threats to make her scared of him...he didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. He decided on 'useful' for now.
"Th-These are the back rooms, wh-where we let our more f-f-favored clientele enjoy our services." Meaning it was a private place for people to ride the midnight horse...maybe even literally, "W-We offer many services, e-especially f-f-for persuasive c-clients such as yourself." She looked him up and down, eyes again lingering on the mask partially covered by his hood, "If-If you'd like I could-"
"Where's the owner? Dave, I think." Cut right to the chase, he didn't have time to waste.
"O-Oh, you mean Mr. Walsh? H-He's in a business meeting, very urgent." Peter raised an eyebrow. Someone definitely had an inflated sense of ego considering he was running what amounted to a dolled up whorehouse, "I-If you want I could take a message."
"No, just show me to him. I'm pretty sure he'll be interested in what I have to say."
"B-But-"
"I'm very persuasive. Trust me."
She looked like she was about to argue, but evidently thought better of it. With a muted 'follow me' she led him down the hall, Peter taking note of everything around him. The music was getting louder, which wasn't helping his headache any, and the telltale smell of sex and booze was hanging in the air again. Still, he knew it could be worse. This was the backroom, not even the main hall. Any horse riding was going on in the locked rooms they were passing rather than orgies in the middle of the stage.
He hated going to places like this, but he couldn't deny the sense of familiarity from it. When he'd first been to the Black Cat he'd been a mess, averting his eyes from the scantily clad waitresses like a damn monk. Hell even when Felicia instigated a one night stand he'd been an inexperienced idiot. Chalk it up to the way Aunt May and Uncle Ben raised him, he supposed, but his conflicting feelings weren't going away any time soon.
When they got to the end of the hall he found out exactly what the dame meant by business meeting.
Dave - or David Walsh, as he apparently preferred to be called - wasn't that different from many of the other pimps and 'managers' he'd seen on the streets. Dressed in a black tank top and a pair of jeans, that was where any practicality ended. His lean, tan arms and what little of his chest he could see were covered in tattoos, the designs seemingly having no overarching theme. Besides that he could see more than a few piercings on his ears with a pair of undoubtedly expensive leather boots to complete the ensemble.
In short, typical wannabe tough guy who thought he was more intimidating than he really was. He'd seen dozens of his type before.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, voice laced with a thick northern England accent. Peter followed his gaze and sighed when he saw a frowning, topless brunette dancing stiffly on a pole above an elevated platform. The way she moved made it clear she would have preferred to be anywhere else but there.
He must have walked right into rehearsals...
"You think you can get any attention just by shaking your bum like a damn cripple, is that it!? Me grand mum could dance better than that!" he screamed again, causing the woman to flinch, "You wanna work here, you gotta learn how to-"
"Real charming. That how you talk to all your dates?"
Both their attentions snapped to him, his 'escort' not-so discreetly retreating back to the other side of the hall. The brunette's expression was torn, but Dave's was about what he expected: A cross between annoyed and seething. He had the distinct feeling he wasn't used to getting back-talk in 'his house'.
"Oh, what the fuck is it, then?" Peter stepped into the room, Dave continuing to glare at him till he was in front of the couch he was sitting in, "Christ, you another Supervillain trying to get a cut of my take, is that it? I'll have you know I'm insured, so you tell the rest of your buddies that if they fuck with me then they're gonna get their shit kicked in by the Maggia. You hear that? I'm the king of this fucking castle, not you!"
"You really think that's why I'm here?" Seems like Dave didn't know who he was...it was oddly refreshing.
"Yeah, well what the fuck else could you be here for? Huh?" He leaned back in his seat, trying for all the world to look like he didn't have a single whit to give, "Supervillains try to take a cut, but like I said I'm insured. If you're one of those heroes then everything here is legitimate, paid for and licensed. You ain't got nothin' on me. So..." He gave a self-assured smile, "Get the fuck out of here before I lose my patience."
"Does the name Helena mean anything to you?"
That did it. His smile immediately turned into a scowl and he saw his arms reaching for his back pocket with all the subtelty of a bull in a china shop, "You, get the fuck outta here! Scram!" he screamed. The brunette was more than happy to comply, following her compatriot down the hall; though not before giving him a look of worry. Unexpected, but a bit pleasant considering what he came here for.
"How the fuck do you know that name, huh? She your girlfriend or something?"
"Answer the question." He was stalling. He didn't know if there were guards in this place, but he didn't want to push his luck, "Did you know her, yes or no?"
"Yeah, but she's dead," he bit back. Peter smirked underneath his mask; sometimes it was just a bit too easy, "So if you're looking for-"
"Funny...how the hell'd you know she was dead? I took the body, I doubt anyone else knows."
A sudden silence covered the room. Forgoing any sense of subtlety the tattooed pimp pulled out a revolver, his finger already on the trigger, 'This seems familiar...' Peter raised his right hand and sprayed a slightly narrower net of webbing, the gun being covered in black silk just before he pulled on the trigger.
The revolver exploded with a small bang, the bright flash coming and going just as quickly, "Ah, son of a bitch!" He dropped the now-broken lumps of metal and held onto his injured hand. Nothing permanent, but he'd need help driving out all the bits of metal from his flesh, "Hey, I remember you now! You're that freak that was on the news months ago, Spider-Woman's sidekick!"
"Whatever works for you." He kicked the door close and locked it before slamming him over the edge of the platform, "I tried to play nice, so here's where we do things the hard way." He grabbed one of the empty beer bottles and broke it against the metal, quickly pressing the jagged end to his cheeks hard enough to make him start bleeding, "Lets try this again: Does the name Helena mean anything to you?"
"Alright, alright, yes! I knew the fucking bitch!" He scowled and pressed the glass harder, getting a cry of pain in response. A bastard till the end...he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, "I-I fucking told you what you wanted! I answered your question."
"Fine..." He pulled it back. watching the stream of blood gush down his cheeks to the elevated metal, "Were you involved in her murder?"
"M-Murder? I don't know what you-" Liar. He pressed the bottle against the top of his head this time, his dark hair starting to mat with blood, "Argh, what the fuck is wrong with you!? I didn't do anything!"
"Stop lying to me. It's not gonna work," Peter snarled, "You were involved in her murder, and if you don't tell me exactly how I'm going to cut you up slow." He inched the bottle closer to his left eye, "Tell me and you might still be able to see when this is done."
"A-Alright, alright!" He moved his head back to try and put as much distance between him and the glass, "Th-This guy, came up to me weeks ago! Told me that he needed a sacrifice or some bullshit like that!" Peter pulled the glass back, "He...He asked for a girl, thought he was just a nutter with weird tastes. Get those types all the time, you see. Didn't know he was the killer everyone's so riled about."
"And when did you realize he wasn't who you thought?"
"A-A couple days ago, when he let something slip..." He closed his eyes and let out a few strangled breaths, "But what the hell was I supposed to do, eh!? He tells me that the last people who tried working up the nerve to protect their merchandise and customers got one between the eyes! So yeah, I took his money and I kept my head down! What the fuck would you have done in my place!?"
"I'd never be in your place, you damn leech." He was a parasite, using girls' bodies to get money, but murder was a step too far even for his kind of degenerates, "You could have called the police, hell even tried to shoot him like you did me. Anything besides just letting an innocent woman die."
"Yeah? Well, we can't all be heroes, mate."
"...Where is he?" He tightened his grip on his neck, "You told me he met you, you have to know where he is."
"I dunno nothin'!" he spat, "He came to me, right after everyone else was gone! He requested two girls, left his pay, then-"
"Wait, two?" Helena was the first, that meant...no, he had to be sure. He pressed it close to his left eye again "Who's the second one, you limey!? Tell me!" Maybe if he was fast enough he could put an end to this.
"B-Baumgartner! Lori Baumgartner!" he said, his voice strained, "H-He wanted to do em separately for some fucked up reason! I told him where Baumgartner was staying, and he should be on his way there now!" He let out a strangled cry of pain, "Do you really have time to be dealing with me if you want to try and save her!? You can't-"
"Shut up." He threw him against the ground and let out a growl of frustration. Much as he hated to admit it, he was right. He had to leave. Now.
Lana opened the door to the apartment and trudged inside with a yawn, "Hey, mom, you still awake?" She flicked the lightswitch, giving an annoyed sigh when the lights remained off. Perfect, a blackout; just what she needed, "Mom? We forget to pay the bills or something?" She groped her way through the living room, giving a curse when she stubbed her toe against the table. Bad day to wear sandals.
She could see a light coming from the kitchen, "Candles? The fuck happened to flashlights?" She rolled her eyes and made her way to the kitchen, being careful not to bump into anything else, "Hey mom, you there? Look, I'm sorry if we left off on a bad note last time." God, apologizing never stopped being awkward no matter how often she did it, "I know you don't like Poey, but-"
The teenage girl froze when she finally made it to the kitchen in full. Her mom sat at one end of the circular table, her arms stuck to the chair's handles by a large covering of duct tape and her mouth similarly muffled by the adhesive. She saw her struggling with her binds, her eyes wide and and screaming something that was muffled by the tape.
"M-Mom, what's-"
"The spawn of sin has arrived, we may commence."
Something hit her at the back of the head and she felt herself fall to the ground. She didn't know how long she'd blacked out, but by the time she'd woken up again she was sitting on a chair facing her mom, her hands tied and her mouth muffled with duct tape just like she was, 'Wh-What the fuck is going on!?' She struggled, but the tape refused to move. This wasn't happening, it couldn't have been-
"You wake. Good."
Her head snapped to the source of the voice and her heartbeat quickened. Obviously a man by his figure, but beyond that she couldn't tell anything else. His face was covered by a black balaclava, a dark jacket, cargo pants and boots completing the ensemble. At first glance she would have thought he was a burglar, but the sawn off shotgun he carried along with the golden crucifix prominently displayed immediately put some doubts on that.
"Before you was a youth who had let herself be corrupted by lust, and now we have a mother who sins with every breath she takes." He walked next to her mom, running a hand through her jaw slowly, "You who have given birth, become responsible for another life, and yet continued on the downward spiral of lust. What say you?" He suddenly ripped the duct tape off her mouth, "Do you have any sins to confess?"
"Why...Why are you doing this?" Her mom managed to force out, her voice weak. Looking closer Lana could see that her wrists were bleeding, drops of blood falling to the floor in a constant torrent, "I never did anything to you..."
"You've sinned. That is enough." He stalked over to Lana, a hand gripping her hair painfully and forcing her to look up, "It is one thing to debase your own body, that alone is worthy of damnation, and yet you dared to profane this world even further by instilling perverse life to it." Lana shivered when he ran the barrel of the shotgun down her arm and paused it at her side, "The gift of life is precious, and yet you have corrupted it."
"Stay...Stay away from my daughter...please..."
The bastard didn't even turn to look at her, "You cannot proclaim motherhood now after years of sins and transgressions." Lana saw her mom struggle, pulling one bleeding hand painfully from the duct tape and groping for her pocket knife, "Ever since she was born into this household she was doomed to corruption, doomed to a life of immorality and vice. I find it only fitting that you see the corrupted life you brought to this world be brought to an end."
He leveled the shotgun at her head. Lana screamed; she cried, she begged trough her gag, she did everything that she could think of to try and prolong the inevitable, 'Please, please, please...' Tears slipped between her closed eyes and she struggled even harder against her bindings. She prayed to God, begged for a miracle, screamed for anyone to save her and her mom from getting killed by this monster.
The sudden scream the bastard gave was music to her ears. Opening her eyes she saw her mom stab the religious nutjob at his neck before kicking him away, "Stay away from my daughter!" Without missing a beat she brought the knife through the tape keeping her trapped and pulled her up, "It's gonna be okay now, Lana. It's gonna be okay..." She pulled the tape off quickly, "Just- Get down!"
The sound of two gunshots going off made her heart stop. She and her mom stared at one another silently before Lana looked down, "M-Mom...?" Her mom had taken the brunt of the shots. Lana could see her right side and leg bleeding profusely, her lips parting open and letting out a soft cry of pain before she fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, a pool of blood seeping out of the gaping wounds.
"M-Mom...?" This wasn't happening. This couldn't have been happening. Lana reached a hand out and touched her shoulder, reeling back immediately when she felt the warmth of the blood, "Th...This can't be..." More tears spilled from her eyes, quickly followed by a searing pain engulfing both her palms. It felt like her hands were on fire, "M-Mom, wake up...please...please don't..."
"Unexpected, but it ends the same either way." The bastard stood up, feeding a single shell to the shotgun with one hand while the other held pressed tightly against his neck, "Mourn not, child. You shall join her in the fiery pits soon." He raised the gun and aimed it at her head. Lana felt the searing pain worsen, but it was nothing to how much she wanted to kill him. Clenching her hands into fists, she looked up at him and screamed in rage.
The next thing she knew, everything in front of her exploded.
He was too late.
Peter charged into the apartment, trying to ignore the smoke wafting in from the kitchen. He'd seen the explosion from the entrance, heard the deafening boom that no doubt woke up everyone in the building, 'What the hell happened here?' He coughed and stalked forward carefully. He knew Lori was at risk, but why an explosion? Did the killer change his tactics?
His answer came when he saw what was in the kitchen.
An entire section of the kitchen wall was gone, as expected, but the two that remained wasn't who he'd expected. Lori layed on the ground, unmoving, a wound at her right side and leg showing the telltale signs of buckshot damage. At her side he saw Lana, her hands pressing against both wounds and desperately trying to to stem the tide of blood while the killer was nowhere in sight.
That and the teenager had rings of light around her hands...probably safe to say she was the cause of the explosion.
Ignoring the two briefly, Peter made his way to the window and looked out. The drop from the second floor was easily survivable, and he could see a shaky figure slip past the alley to the open street. This was his chance to catch him.
"W-Wait, please!" Lana called out. Peter looked back and found the girl looking up at him, her entire body shaking. Her hands were covered in blood, "H-Help me get my mom to a hospital, please! Sh-She's going to die!"
Peter looked back at the shattered wall. The killer was getting away, and the chances of Lori making it out with those wounds were slim even under the best circumstances. If he stopped him now he could end this once and for all; no one else would have to die.
"Please..."
Except someone he could have saved, "Damn it..." Looking out one last time, he sucked in a frustrated breath and knelt at the older woman's side, "Hospital's too far away, we have to take her somewhere else." He released a burst of webbing to cover her wounds. It wouldn't stop the bleeding permanently, but it would buy them some time, "Come on...lets get out of here."
He could only hope he made the right choice.
Well...that ended well: Sin Eater gone, Lori at death's door, Lana traumatized and recently awoken to the power of being able to explode shit with her mind. Truly a great victory for Noir :/ Ah well, you win some you lose some...though Noir does seem to do a lot more winning than losing, doesn't he?
Anyway, the obvious question: Do we continue with Noir trying to solve Sin Eater (possibly with Lana's help now) or do we leave the doom and gloom and jump back to Gwen trying to apprehend the marginally less sinister Mysterio with a special guest appearance by Kate Bishop? Depends if you want to seem more film noir grittiness with two traumatized heroes or more comical antics and less angst.
Oh, and my own obligatory question: In-universe, why don't heroes help each other? I mean we have the Avengers teams and DC has an explanation with heroes having their own cities, but Marvel parks just about everyone to NYC and yet Spider-Man still gets no help when fighting the Sinister Six, Carnage, Venom etc etc. It's just weird, isn't it?
In the I try to limit the number of heroes who are willing to help each other to a handful so it at least avoids that problem, and in the current arc it's a non-issue: None of the others could help Noir investigate Sin Eater while Gwen's more than strong enough to take down Mysterio that she doesn't need to call SHIELD or Cap for backup; Kate just comes because she wants to.
Review answers:
NoirValor - Yeah, the only 'Supervillain' was Sandman and even he died with enough bullets. Though for this story Peter mentions fighting outlandish people like the Bullseye Killer, the noir X-Men, Venom etc etc. Sin Eater's a bit of a hearkening back, so to speak.
Persin - Usually I don't mind it, but when I update every few days it gets annoying and redundant; I am updating soon in the case of this fic. Sorry if that offends you.
Dr. Sugarcakes - He's likely to get his mask soon given the sentimental value it all has on him. Like I said the Red Hood-esque attire is more or less during his less heroic phase when he acts like a raging jackass and needlessly violent douchebag.
NewWorlds - Why not? Apparently Howard the Duck, Patsy Walker and Gwenpool reside in the same general area as Punisher, Daredevil and Moon Knight. Given this I don't see a problem with France having animal themed 14 year olds fighting villains that look like they came out of a McDonalds meal.
Mingyu - Bullseye does try to get him to lighten up - hence the selfies and spray tagging his stuff with a spider symbol - but he's still wangsting over what Gwen did. Also, no dice on Gwen getting a shit reputation again; she just got it fixed, and I don't like the cyclical 'Status Quo is God' comics have with making sure every good thing that happens to Spidey is undone by the end.
As for your other suggestion: Nice idea, but on that front I already have my own plans. Apologies.