"Time to cop a Rodin," Peter muttered under his breath. He bounded up backwards and lightly clung to the side of the building, looking out over the park. "Some nutcase wants me to steal stuff for him. Will pay me a doctor's salary first year, no study required, no student loans. Plus bonuses." Peter sat motionless, thoughtful, for a moment.
Then he bowed his head. "And it's guaranteed that inside of a month I'd be asked to do something I wouldn't do, and things would get awkward." He sighed. "Better cut out now before I learn too much or sign anything. And now that we've worked that out," he said, raising his head to look over the park, "Maybe it's time we figured out a way to dissuade our creepy friend from letting me die of poison."
"I wonder," he mused as he fired out a webline and was tugged off the building. "All these sneaky underhanded tactics. Bet it's Amway."
He dropped by a public pay phone, and he picked up the phone and dialed the operator. He looked ruefully at his deeply soiled clothes from his swing over town, he wiggled his bare toes. "Collect call… Here's the number. Doug Ramsey. Tell him it's Peter Parker."
Thirty seconds later, Peter heard Doug's voice. "What's going on?" Doug asked, a bit concerned.
"I need your help, Doug," Peter said. "These guys are after me, but I got a phone number for one of them. I want to know who they are."
"Give me the number," Doug said. Peter obliged. "Let me call you back," Doug said. "What's the number of your booth?" Peter passed it on, and hung up. The phone rang a moment later, and Peter snagged it off the hook.
"That was quick," he said.
"Har har," Doug muttered. "Here we go. My algorithms are scouring places they shouldn't be. This won't take long. How are your pictures coming?"
"I got a couple rolls," Peter shrugged. "I haven't gotten them developed yet. Something just keeps coming up, you know? I'll have to get back to you."
"Found the number," Doug said. "Hm. It's an internal use Sprint voice mail box that isn't currently listed as active. Huh." There was quiet for a moment. "Whoever has it is being backed by someone with considerable cleverness and resources."
"Thanks, Doug," Peter said. "I'll get you a better number."
"Next time?" Doug said. "Don't call me collect from a pay phone."
"You got it," Peter said with a nod. "Thanks again." He hung up and looked around, then blended back with the shadows. "Home again home again, jiggity jig."
A few minutes later he was looking at his house from the roof of the first house on the block. He slowly scanned the surrounding houses.
"If I was keeping an eye on me, where would I hide?" he murmured under his breath. His senses relaxed and unwound into the night, calculations running madly in the back of his mind, choosing and picking. "We have a winner," Peter said to himself with a grin, looking at the two story house at the other end of the block with a loft window facing the right direction to see the bungalow and its entrances and exits. He fired out a webline and he was away, a shadow in the dark, circling to approach the possible watch station.
Peter let his senses go at full bore, looking for traps or sensors as he silently prowled in crouched spider position along the roof. He reached the gable and peered down, then clambered noiselessly down to bunch himself together upside down over the window. Slowly, he peeked.
A blanket over the window. But down on one side, a video camera. Yep. This was a watch station. Peter scurried around right side up then relaxed in place, clinging to the wall in a somewhat toad-like position, systematically relaxing every muscle he didn't need to use until he was calm and at peace, hanging on the wall.
"Not a bad way to sleep," he mused to himself. He wondered if he would fall off the wall in his sleep or if, like birds, his grip would tighten as he drifted off.
A heavy door opened and closed, and boots thudded close to the window. Peter caught a whiff of hot grease; McDonalds. Crunch of french fries being chewed, rustle of paper. He realized he was hungry.
Then he heard a cell phone snap open. He heard the almost inaudible whine of rewinding expensive tape gear. What, no digital? Then amidst the munching of fries, a number was dialed.
Peter memorized the tones.
"Yeah, this is station two calling in. Looks like he's still out. The IR isn't picking up anybody in his room, and hasn't for the last couple hours. Yeah, I'll let you know as soon as he shows up. I know my job. Right. Okay, bye." He hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair. Peter heard the swirl of ice and liquid in a papery cup, the hollow screech of a straw's height being adjusted in a plastic lid.
"Well," Peter murmured, "don't let me interrupt your supper." He slithered back to the roof and sprang, landing half the block down and out of sight of the observation station. In a few minutes he crept to his window, glanced around furtively for the sake of the video, and then clambered inside.
It took mere seconds to strip and then he was in the shower and it felt wonderful washing off the grime of the city's mid-canopy smog. Ten minutes later he sat on his bed and looked at the filmy, slightly sticky phone.
"Too many calls before I'm awake," he said ruefully, looking at the ripped up spot on the wall behind the phone, where the phone tended to get slammed by his webline before he woke up. "Okay, spider senses," he said to himself, "cross reference this tonal configuration." He grinned to himself.
His spider senses cross referenced the tonal configuration. He scribbled down the new number and called Doug.
"Ramsey," came a distracted voice on the other end.
"Peter here. Try this number," Peter said, rattling it off.
"Right," Doug said. "How'd you get this one?"
"I was sneaky," Peter grinned.
"Fair enough," Doug said with an almost audible shrug.
Peter just sat and waited.
A few minutes later, Doug abruptly said, "Bingo. Raymond Snee."
"Could you check him out for me?" Peter asked.
"You bet. You owe me lunch already, and supper."
"I'm good for it," Peter said with half a smile, "long as you keep paying me."
"Get some sleep. And quit calling me," Doug said.
Peter grinned as he hung up the phone. Then he sighed. Bedtime. "I mean it," he said sternly to himself under his breath. You always do, he thought. "Great," Peter muttered. "It's going to be one of those nights." He stood and stretched, then shut off the light.
Seconds later he heard the crunch of gravel as a car drove up and parked. He was instinctively alert. A few seconds later another car pulled up. He left his door open a crack and waited in the shadows.
A key hit the lock, and Harry stepped in and snapped on the light. "Pad sweet pad," he muttered. "Come on in, MJ. I'll get you something to drink."
"Juice is good," she said, strolling in and glancing around. "Peter must not be back yet." She walked over to his room and opened the door, glancing around in the dark and not looking up at the ceiling where he clung lightly, back flat on the plaster.
"Must not be," Harry said. "He could be anywhere. Maybe he's at his old lady's place. I'm fed up with him," Harry said with some heat. Mary Jane pulled the door to, and walked over to the table. Harry sat down and looked her in the eye. Peter dropped to the floor noiselessly and watched through the crack in the door.
"Every time, MJ," Harry said, thumping the table with his finger, "every time we go out on a limb, out of our way, whatever to take him to a social occasion for his own good he ruins it for everybody. I'm tired of wasting time and money trying to rehabilitate Parker's hopeless social life."
Peter slowly closed his eyes.
"What possible reason could he have?" Mary Jane asked quietly, almost to herself.
"None. There is no reason. He's just a jerk. And tonight he flaked out on us again. That's it, MJ. I'm through dragging him to parties. And what was up with the moonwalking?"
"He's definitely a weirdo," Mary Jane said. "I gotta get home."
"Hey, it's early yet, and Parker isn't back," Harry said, his tone changing. "Have you thought any more about moving in with me? After tonight I'm more than ready to find a reason to dump Peter and get a real roommate."
"Answer is no, Harry," Mary Jane said. She kissed him on the forehead. "Night." She walked out the door, and a minute later her car started.
"Damn," Harry said softly to himself.
Peter stood stock still in his room.
Okay.
That hurt a little, but okay.
You could tell him you snuck in last night as usual, he thought.
"No," he whispered to himself. "He'd wonder if I heard him." Moving slowly as though exhausted, Peter dressed himself in clean clothes and slid out the window. He circled around to the front of the house, took a deep breath, held it, let it out, and strolled up to the front door. He opened it.
"Hey Harry," he said quietly as he stepped in.
"Where'd you go?" Harry said. "Why did you ditch the party? You looked like you were having fun."
"I went to talk to somebody," Peter shrugged. "Mary Jane descended like the Wrath of God. We went out back and had a chat, and I thought it would be better to just go, instead of dragging that little tiff back in for everybody to feel all awkward about."
"I guess she did kind of chase you off," Harry conceded with a shrug. "Not a bruise on you. I've never seen her go from her 'ready to kill' mode to docile that fast. Maybe you should give me a few pointers."
Peter half-smiled as he thought of his methods. "Well, I just told her I was meant to be a hermit, and while I appreciated the date and all, and it's not that I'm gay or anything, I just am not ready for a woman, to treat her right. I told her I was a heel and not worth her efforts. I didn't give her anything to fight with, so she kind of rolled over me and was done. And I limped off into the night," he grinned.
"Huh," Harry said.
"Well," Peter said suddenly, "I'm beat. I'm going to get some sleep. Thanks for a great evening," didn't hurt much to say "and I'll see you in the morning."
"Night, Peter," Harry said, looking down into his drink. Peter went in his room and shut the door.
"I can't believe," Peter said softly to himself, "I told Mary Jane…"