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Chapter 15: Hot Coffee

Spring was without a doubt, in the air. It was mild and warm, and although the forecast for Monday was rain, as yet there were no clouds to be seen. Erica and Peter strolled down the sidewalk on their way to brunch. Apart from the weather, Erica found it hard in the middle of the city to see signs of spring. The air certainly wasn't fresh, not with the exhaust fumes of countless vehicles travelling slowly through the streets. And unless they passed a small square or park, there were no patches of greenery along the way to indicate the season. Erica pointed out one lone tree in blossom. "When I was in Central Park, you really could tell that it was spring by the vegetation. It's harder to tell in the city."

"Not really," said Peter, "You get to notice subtle changes when you've lived here for any length of time. Besides, no one could possibly mistake a New York winter or summer."

Erica thought of something else. "If New York was in New Zealand it would be a lot harder. The climate is more temperate in Wellington, and the native plants are mostly evergreen." She laughed at the image in her mind; the towers of Manhattan slapped into the centre of Wellington. "Imagine it; the buildings would be taller than the surrounding hills. It would be very impressive."

"I've never seen photos of Wellington," commented Peter.

"It's got a lovely harbour, and the city is nestled in a circle of hills. But," and here she laughed again, "Spider-Man'd be no good there! There'd be, oh, about three streets max, that he could web-sling down, if he didn't get caught in the trolley bus wires on the way."

"It's a problem, all right."

"Where're we going?"

"A place up Seventh Avenue called Café Europa. I like it, and it has a decent cup of coffee."

"Hmmph." Good coffee equalled bad tea. There was always orange juice…

The café had recently had fully opening bi-fold windows installed, and on a mild day like today, with the fine weather, they were opened up for the enjoyment of the customers. Quite a number of those eating also had a copy of one of the Sunday papers in front of them. A Sunday ritual for some people, guessed Erica. They got a table set further inside the light and airy café away from the windows. Erica was rather relieved at this; car fumes and food didn't mix in her book. And she knew she would be able to get relieved later, when she saw that the café also had toilets for it's patrons. What was it with the dearth of public toilets in this city?

"Oh! Look at the ceiling!" exclaimed Erica as they sat down. She had only now noticed the wonderful trompe l'oeil effect. She leaned back in the purple wicker chair to get a better look.

"Yes, great isn't it?" agreed Peter, "You could say I notice ceilings a lot…"

"And walls… and roofs…" Erica was admiring the orange walls and copper highlights of the café's decor.

"Gargoyles," added Peter.

"Where?" Erica spun round to face Peter. He laughed.

"Not in here. Out there." He waved a hand in the general direction of the city.

Erica stared out the windows as she finished her tumbler of chilled water and poured herself another, half in a day dream, ogling the crowds of people passing by. They were a colourful lot, dressing in their new Spring fashions in tribute to the day. The scene was bright and cheerful, and put Erica in a relaxed pleasant mood. All she needed now was some food…

The street was busier now then it had been twenty minutes ago when they entered the café. Peter had told her the only reason they had been able to get a table so soon was their timing; arriving before the rush at twelve-thirty.

Erica soaked in the atmosphere and the sounds of the café - customers talking, funky music playing in the background, the clatter of cutlery against crockery - as she watched the people at some of the other tables: a group of guys, sitting by the window closest to her, obviously sports fans who were about to attend some game - they were dressed in their team's colours, black and pale grey, and Erica caught snatches of a chant every now and then, as they raised their voices; a couple sitting at the next table purposely not paying any attention to each other - either they were in a snit with each other, or they were so comfortable they didn't feel the need to talk to each other. Erica watched the way the woman held her head, waves of hair falling just so, and the set of her peachy lip-sticked mouth and decided it was the former; a man sitting by himself further inside, with his back to the wall and with just a cup of coffee and a newspaper spread out on the table in front of him, eyes darting up when somebody moved, as if he were waiting for someone; another couple, trendy and out to be seen -what were they doing in this café, then?; a table with two women friends animatedly chatting, one talking just as much with her expansive hand gestures as with her mouth.

There was a sudden loud rumble close by, that wasn't a truck or bus passing. Peter looked up astonished. "What was that? Was that your belly rumbling?" Erica placed a hand on her tummy to try and quieten it and nodded in embarrassment; she was hungry! Luckily for her stomach and her peace of mind, their order arrived promptly.

The waitress handed across large plates, platters really, loaded with food. Erica eyed her huge breakfast of French toast with bananas, bacon and maple syrup. Her tummy growled again.

"All right, all right!" she told it laughingly, "I'm feeding you, see?" And she took a large bite of the French toast. Peter laughed as he ate his own brunch of a BLT sandwich. Erica finished her second glass of water.

"I'll have to go into work this afternoon, at least for a while," Peter was saying as Erica continued to eat. "I want to develop and hand in those photos I took yesterday, so there's something for the morning's edition." He had his camera on the table.

"O.K." mumbled Erica with her mouth half full, "Maybe I can use the Bugle's Internet account to do some research…" She was thinking of Doc Ock and Columbia U.

"Sure."

They munched in silence, Erica intent on shovelling her food down, especially while it was still hot. She paused, looking up uneasily. Peter caught her expression. "What's up?" he asked.

"Not sure…" She continued eating, but half a minute later put her knife and fork down with a clatter. "Excuse me," she said to Peter as she pushed her chair back and stood up, "I've got to visit the ladies - all that water…" She walked to the back of the restaurant to the toilets. She pushed open a cubicle door - she really did need to go, but she was also acutely aware that her spider sense was warning her that something was not quite right in the café. She was pleased to note that fortunately, there was a small window high up at the back of each cubicle. Quickly stripping, she rolled her clothes into a ball which she wrapped round with webbing.

Taking her chance, she climbed up, opened, then shimmied out of the window and up the outside wall. Leaving her webbed-up bundle on a ledge, she rapidly climbed up, then crawled around the corner, where she could see the street and the crowds. She wasn't picking anything up from her spider sense from them; it was centred inside the café. She crawled down and scanned inside the café through the top of the large street frontage window. She saw Peter sitting at their table with his camera ready, turning his head this way and that as he tried to figure out what was going on - he had guessed that it was more than a comfort stop she was attending to…

What else was different? She concentrated on her spider sense - she was getting better at using it now, which was just as well. Honing in… the man in his thirties who had been sitting by himself at the back, was slowly moving towards the front of the café, towards one of the tables by the window. Spidey's sense intensified.

Still she watched.

The man put his hand into his coat pocket, approached the table of sports fans, and gradually began to pull something out of his pocket, his gaze fixed upon a florid man wearing a cap and scarf.

This was it.

A gun pointed and aimed.

This time… 'thwip!' A strand of webbing attached itself to the gun and yanked it out of the surprised man's hand. This was quickly followed by Spidey herself leaping through the open bi-fold windows into the interior of the café. She landed behind the man, and quickly secured his arms behind his back. The group at the table jumped up out of their seats, tilting their table. All the cups, plates, newspapers, knives, forks, spoons, cellphones, sugar, salt, pepper and food crashed to the floor in a huge sticky confused jumble. The suddenness of the action had most of the people eating in the café out of their seats as well. Only one man was calmly sipping his coffee while taking a few photographs.

The restrained man started screaming obscenities at Mr. Florid, straining against Spidey's hold. "You *&%# son-of-a-bitch! I'll get you, you'll die, you #^%*$%!"

"Tut, tut," said Spidey, "Whatever would your dear mother say if she heard you using language like that?"

It was Spidey's turn to get sworn at.

"No," she replied, "I don't think she'd say that."

She didn't really want to hurt the guy… she looked around café, wondering what to do next with her captive. Spidey took a quick glance at Peter, who, hiding a grin, made a barely discernible motion with his hand. Spidey almost sighed with relief.

"O.K, time to wrap it up", she said, and proceeded to push the man into an empty chair and web him to it, he still swearing copiously. A splash of webbing suddenly appeared over his mouth. "It's not soap, but it'll do for now."

Spidey took a couple of bounces towards the window. "The floor show's finished folks; enjoy your brunch!" And with a wave of her hand, she leapt out, and when a couple raced up to the window to see, Spidey was already web-slinging on her way up the street.

When Erica stepped out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later, staff were busy cleaning up and righting the tipped over table. The friends of Mr.Florid were supporting him as he had become quite pale and shaky; Erica would be surprised if any of them stayed around to finish their breakfast. The wicker chair with the captive webbed tight to it was being skirted around and people were pretending the man was invisible, even though his eyes were still fixed on his intended victim and the chair gave little jerks, scraping on the floor as he tried to move.

The rest of the customers were back at their places, and the noise level of the café was considerably higher, with all the excited chatter going on. The woman who had been animated in talking to her friend before was now almost falling out of her chair with the exuberance of her gestures. The couple who had not been talking to each other were now engaging in conversation, the woman had relaxed and Erica even saw a slight smile on her face. The trendy couple were sitting at their table as if it was all cool, but Erica could see that their faces were flushed - with suppressed excitement, she guessed. She smiled to herself - well, she had brightened up someone's day.

She came up to the table where Peter still sat, finishing his coffee. "What happened here?" she gasped, "Did I miss something?" She sat down as Peter replied straight-faced.

"You just missed Spider-Man. He didn't put on much of a show though - took a gun off a guy and left."

"Small beer, I guess. Golly, I'm still hungry." She looked down at the remains of her breakfast on the plate. "Oh poo, it's gone cold." Nevertheless, she took up knife and fork again and worked on polishing it off. Eventually she placed her cutlery neatly together on the plate and sat back in her chair, feeling replete. Peter watched her with wry amusement.

She glanced over at her captive. "I wonder what all that was about?" she mused out loud.

"You don't want to know. Trust me." Peter replied.

Erica grunted. She saw his point. "What happens to him now?" The question became redundant even as she uttered it. The wail of a siren was audible as a patrol car rounded the corner in the street. It pulled up outside the café with a sort of despairing moan as the siren wound down and stopped. A small crowd, who hadn't been aware of the initial action, gathered to watch. A policeman and a policewoman got out of the car, the policewoman talking into a RT as they stepped across the pavement into the café's premises. Erica watched with interest.

The duty manager, a small woman with long hair tied back in a pony-tail, came out to meet them. After a few words with her, the police began questioning witnesses, starting with the fans and Mr. Florid. The female cop spent quite some time with them, speaking in a low voice and writing into her notebook. The male cop in the meantime was working his way around the room, questioning the other customers. They both ignored the gunman.

When the policeman reached their table, Erica had to admit she hadn't seen a thing; she was in the toilet the whole time. He was a tall man, about mid-thirty, with a lanky build; his black hair under his cap was tightly curled, and his skin was like shellacked copper. Erica liked the way he was at ease and laid-back - his manner reminding her of some kiwi blokes back home. For some unaccountable reason though she was nervous; given that she had just disarmed a fellow, she was very aware of the cop's gun in it's hip holster very near her head. She kept shooting sideways glances at it.

The cop caught her glance. He chuckled. "You're a visitor to New York, aren't you?" Erica nodded. "Where're you from?"

"New Zealand."

"Ah. Cops there don't wear pieces, do they?"

Erica shook her head, swallowing.

"Don't worry about it; we only use them if we need to." He moved so Erica could see he had another holster on his other hip. "Cops in New Zealand don't have these either, do they?"

"What is it, another gun?"

"Nnhn-nhn. Taser. Puts 50,000 volts through a fella and stuns him long enough to cuff. No injuries or long lasting effects. There's even an Air Taser that can work from up to 21 feet so you don't have get in real close - can go through two inches of clothing too. Ah, listen to me! I'm sounding like an advertisement for them - still, they are a great tool. What a shame though, you lucked out on seeing one of our visitor attractions." He was rather sarcastic about this.

Erica decided to play the innocent tourist. "Why, don't you like him? I thought Spider-Man was a hero?"

"Oh yeah, hero all right. He waltzes in, clocks the bad guys, and then leaves us to clean up the mess." He waved at the webbed up gunman. "It's cursed stuff - how're we gonna take him in like that?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." She was dumbfounded. Peter was no help, sitting there with a hand supporting his chin and a silly smirk on his face. Erica knew that he'd heard it all before. Still, she had to try and defend her new alter-ego to this policeman… "But doesn't he try to help, you know, fight crime and all?"

The policeman laughed, his white teeth a contrast to his skin. "Lady, I'm joshin' ya. Spidey's fine. He does his thing, we do ours. Though some folks, including other cops don't see it that way. I wouldn't be in his place for anything." He turned to Peter. "What did you see, Sir?"

Peter took his chin off his hand and answered, "Everything. I was looking out the window when Spider-Man arrived. I saw the perp with his hand in his pocket out the corner of my eye, then fully noticed him when he pulled a gun out and aimed it at that table. Next thing the gun was gone, Spider-Man was there, and it got a bit chaotic." He paused. "The gun is probably stuck outside above the window." Erica noticed he had put his camera away.

"Is that so?" asked the cop with a raised eyebrow. Erica squirmed slightly in her seat; it was only pure luck that the gun was there. She hadn't wanted to throw it into the street where anyone might get it, and she had nowhere else to put it. "We'll be sure to check it out," he said to Peter. He turned once again to Erica as he prepared to move on. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Ma'am. Maybe you'll get to see Spider-Man yet."

"Maybe I will," she agreed, smiling up at him.

"And be carefull where you go - you don't want another black eye!"

Erica smiled again, as she touched her eye. She had almost forgotten about it - her lip was all healed, and there was only the faintest bruising around her eye. One thing the spider-powers gave her was fantastic recuperation from injuries.

The police finished up with the witnesses and stood by the chair where their prisoner was securely attached. "This chair's not gonna fit in the back."

"Perhaps we can cuff him to the chair as well, and come back in an hour when the webbing wears off," suggested the policewoman.

"Yeah, good idea. C'mon, let's do it and go."

Erica was amazed at how quickly business returned to normal after that. If it wasn't for the odd addition of a man webbed and cuffed to a chair, it might never have happened. "They didn't even read him his rights,." she commented to Peter.

He replied, "They'll do it when they pick him up later. Have you finished?"

"Yeah."

"Let's take a stroll down to the Bugle Offices."

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Next: Everyone's Favourite Editor…