Peter rapped smartly on Doug's apartment door. And again. Within, he sensed nothing stirring. He sighed and went to the end of the hall. He cranked the window open and kicked off his shoes, propping his briefcase against the wall beside them. In a moment he was on the outside of the building. A burst of properly applied strength and he opened Doug's window in his living room. Peter took a moment to glance over his shoulder at the rising sun. He smiled to himself. Sunday morning.
He dropped lightly inside the immaculate apartment, then he padded over to the front door and unlocked it. He retrieved his shoes and his briefcase and he stepped back inside. He closed the window. Then he glanced around. A moment later he started up the coffee maker and was rooting around in the fridge.
A few minutes later a wary and tousled young man cautiously worked his way into the living room gripping a Louisville Slugger. Peter grinned at him.
"Good morning, Doug," he said. "Sorry to wake you. I thought I'd make some coffee."
"What the hell do you want?" Doug asked in a raspy voice. "It's dawn, on a Sunday. Go home. Sleep."
"Bah," Peter said. "Those pictures. That's Raymond Snee. If that's his real name." The bald man sneered into the camera lens, captured in a moment of surprise.
Doug looked down at the enlargements spread on his counter. "Okay," he said.
"Have some coffee," Peter said. He handed him a big mug. "How do you take it?"
"Black, leave it alone," Doug mumbled, picking up one of the pictures. "Still damp," he said, looking at Peter.
"Those pictures were just taken this morning, at the hospital," Peter said, looking Doug right in the eye, "where my Aunt May is."
"Ah," Doug said. "I see. So we gotta nail this bastard before he can finish the job."
"Just so," Peter said, leaning back against the counter.
"Did you find out anything else?" Doug asked.
"He's good with poisons," Peter said thoughtfully, "and he was just released from prison." His face darkened. "And he tried to rape one of my friends. After he gave Aunt May a mild heart attack."
"Yikes," Doug said absently. "One sick puppy."
"This is really important to me," Peter said.
"You owe me dinner," Doug shrugged as he booted his computers up.
"Dinner, you got it, name the place."
"Tell you what, this'll go faster if you do breakfast too."
"Fair enough," Peter said, and he opened the fridge and pulled out bread and eggs. "So how come everybody I do stuff for asks me for payment in food?"
"You know anybody who likes to cook?" Doug said, half smiling. "Besides, it's something we're reasonably sure of getting out of you."
"Down boy! Ouch!" Peter said, restraining a smile. Doug returned to the business at hand.
"See, prison," Doug said. "That's the missing link. Now I can find out who was let out for good behavior yesterday or the day before, sometime after you broke Lincoln."
"You know about Lincoln?" Peter asked.
Doug just smiled to himself and typed like a dervish.
Peter turned his attention to breakfast, and in fifteen minutes he brought a plate of French toast and scrambled eggs over to Doug. "Any luck?"
"I think so," Doug said. "Here. I gotta think this is your man. Klaus Voorhees." Doug pulled up a mug shot.
"Oh yeah," Peter said. "That's him alright. What do you have on him?"
"He was released on parole yesterday morning for good behavior. He's in jail for poisoning five people with cobra poison, and for being muscle in a marketing scam run by some bigger fish. Looks like he's a brilliant biochemist, renowned herpetologist too. He had it all then he was convicted of killing his partner, ostensibly to claim full credit for the anti-toxin they had developed jointly." Doug read quietly for a moment. "This guy looks seriously unstable."
"Anything in there about him not being fully human? Was he a front page story in the Weekly World News or something?"
"He wasn't in the Planetary either, thanks for asking," Doug said dryly. "Don't see any reference to unnatural talents."
"Yeah, well put one in," Peter grumbled. Doug smiled absently.
"There's volumes missing," Doug said. "I might be able to find out some more, but I can't be sure. Want me to do some digging?"
"You've done enough," Peter said, and then he gasped and clutched his chest, bending over double.
"Are you going to make it?" Doug asked, worry in his voice.
Peter nodded vigorously, still bent over. "Poisoned me," he gasped out. "I have until eight tonight."
"That's just great," Doug said. "Do you want me to call the Doctor?"
"No," Peter said, shaking his head as he slowly sat up. "I don't want to be any deeper in his debt than I have to be. I can't hide behind him forever. I got this. And Doug. I won't forget this. It means a lot to me that you're willing to help."
"So if you won't involve the Doctor, how come it's okay to drag me into this?" Doug asked.
"I know you won't get all heroic on me," Peter said with a smile. "And I'm desperate. Will you check one more thing for me?"
"Sure," Doug said, shrugging.
"Who is Voorhees's parole officer?"
xXx
Peter stood at the payphone and looked down at the number Voorhees had given him. He punched it in. Cleared his throat.
"Leave me a message," Voorhees murmured on the other end. Beep.
"This is Peter," he said, putting a quaver in his voice. "I… I've had a rough night. Time to think about… you know. And… and I can't beat you… so bring the antidote. I'm ready to talk about your offer again. Meet me in Central Park, at the gazebo, in an hour and a half." He looked at his watch. "At eleven thirty." He hung up rapidly and smiled to himself.
He picked up the phone again, slotted in more change, punched in a number. "Yes," he said, "may I speak to Officer Bantry? He's out. Voicemail will be fine." Peter smiled to himself. Cleared his throat. "Meet me in Central Park at the gazebo at eleven forty. Voorhees is going to try something and he'll need you to cover for him. I'm a friend." Peter was grinning as he hung up the phone.
He dumped more coins into the phone and placed another call. "Yes," he said. "Detective Brilhart please…" He cleared his throat. "Yes, sir, this is Peter Parker. I really need to meet with you. Immediately, if possible. It is? Good. I need your help with something…"
xXx
Peter sat on the steps of the gazebo. He adjusted his jacket and tweaked his collar, then put a paper bag on the ground by the steps, innocuous and out of sight. He cleared his throat. Then the poison smeared pain through his chest and he fought just to get a breath of air.
He was hunched over when he became aware of Voorhees standing looking at him. "I'm glad you finally saw reason," Voorhees sneered softly, fury sparking in his eyes. He had traces of bruising around one of his eyes. Otherwise, he looked fine.
"Poison makes it tough to concentrate," Peter said, half glad of the burst of agony that made his acting that much more convincing. "Tell me the terms again."
"Two hundred and fifty thousand a year, plus bonuses and benefits, for doing cat burglary." Voorhees inspected his fingernails.
"So I won't have to kill anybody?" Peter said hopefully. "Just steal stuff?"
"I'm just the messenger," Voorhees said, exasperation creeping into his voice. "I hope you say no so I can kill you. I'm the wrong person to ask a lot of detailed questions."
"I'm sorry," Peter said, cowering down. "Who is your boss?"
"Santa Claus. Look, you'll find out soon enough. You're in?"
"I'm in," Peter whispered. "Give me the antidote."
Klaus half smiled. "Here you are," he said. "You've just made my employer a very happy man."
"I'll bet," Peter muttered. He took the ampoule and injected himself; immediately the venomous pain eased a little. He handed the ampoule back.
Voorhees reached out to take it, and was caught completely by surprise as Peter's other hand darted out with a loop of plastic, guiding it over Voorhees's wrist and tugging. The zip tie whizzed down, constricting around Voorhees's wrist; Peter gave it a superhumanly powerful tug that forced the tough plastic to constrict down to bone.
As Voorhees gasped with pain and startlement, Peter grinned. The other end of the zip tie was already tightened down on a pair of handcuffs. Peter jerked Voorhees off balance and snapped the cuffs down on the gazebo railing, then he sprang back.
Voorhees stared down at the tie on his wrist and the cuff that held him to the gazebo. "What is this all about?" he hissed. "I'll get you Parker. I'll get your family, your friends, your third grade teacher. I'll punish everyone you ever knew, and I might end it for you slowly after that."
"Oh yeah?" Peter countered. "How you gonna square that with the parole board, Voorhees?"
Voorhees stood stock still and silent for a long moment, his eyes wide and furious.
Peter smiled. Then he walked away.
Voorhees fired a string of foul liquid from his mouth, but Peter easily evaded it and moved around to the other side of the gazebo. Voorhees cut loose with a fearsome screech of rage. His free arm flicked, and he held a knife. He began rapidly sawing at the plastic.
He heard running feet as the plastic parted under the knife. Voorhees winced as he dug into his flesh trying to cut the plastic cuff off. A fat man came into view, wrapped in a spotted trench coat. His jowls bounced and jiggled with his exertion, and his piggish eyes were worried. "Voorhees!" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here, Bantry?" Voorhees snarled.
"Be more careful, Voorhees," Bantry said. "Nobody saw me, but we gotta get some distance. I got an anonymous phone tip you were getting into trouble."
"I'm going to disembowel Parker," Voorhees hissed.
"Fine. Later." Bantry looked around wildly. "We gotta get out of this place." Voorhees cut the cuff off, flexed his fingers, and nodded. They glanced around and moved quickly towards the park exit.
Neither of them noticed the paper bag still sitting by the bench.