Bantry and Voorhees were walking fast when they reached the gate. Bantry's car was parked across the street. They headed through—

From behind bushes on either side of the path and whirling around to close from the front gate, a tactical squad of eight police officers in full riot gear with shotguns surrounded the pair in a quick maneuver.

"Freeze!" one shouted. "You are under arrest!"

Bantry put his hand on Voorhees arm and smiled. "There must be a mistake," he said, smiling and fishing out his badge.

Two officers grabbed Voorhees and a third put heavy zip ties on his wrists.

"That's my prisoner!" Bantry protested. Then cold steel cuffs snapped heavily down on his wrists too. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Another man in a trench coat shouldered through the barrier of officers. Bantry blinked. "Thank God, somebody with some sense," Bantry said. "Brilhart, get these apes offa me!"

Brilhart locked eyes with Bantry. He pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket and clicked play.

"I'm going to disembowel Parker." "Fine, later. We gotta get out of this place." click.

For a long moment Bantry just stared at him slack jawed. He went white to the lips. Voorhees swore.

"Read them their rights," Brilhart said softly. "Do this by the book."

Then the pair were hustled into an armored truck that rumbled away. Only Brilhart remained.

Peter walked up to him. "Thanks," he said. "I mean it. Thanks a lot."

"That antidote work for you?"

"Yes," Peter said. He handed the wire microphone back to Brilhart. "I left the transmitter at the gazebo, and those cuffs you let me borrow."

"Thanks for the tip on the zip ties," Brilhart said. He looked closely at Peter. "Are you an independent thief?"

"No," Peter said seriously. "And I won't be. I never have been. I have a talent for covering ground, but I'll never turn to crime. Voorhees and whoever he's working for tried to force me. I won't do it."

Brilhart slowly nodded. "That's good enough for me. For now."

Peter quietly smiled. "You know I'm not like everyone else," he said. "Can you keep it between us?"

Brilhart looked up at the sky. "Never give me a reason to be sorry, Parker," he said. "Who is going to move on you next?"

"I wish I knew," Peter sighed. "Did you all figure out who Lincoln worked for?"

"At one time or another, everybody," shrugged Brilhart. "Voorhees is slippery and insane as they come."

Peter glanced over to see an officer returning with the paper bag and its transmitting device that Peter had left at the gazebo. "Think you can get Voorhees locked up?"

"Sure," Brilhart shrugged. "For a while. Even if he plea bargains and reveals his employer. Which I don't imagine he will." He looked at Peter. "Keep your head down out there."

Peter flashed him a quick smile and disappeared down the trail.

Brilhart walked to his car, dropped into it, and drove away into the city.

xXx

The phone hadn't finished its first ring when Beck snatched it up. "Yes?"

"It's me," came a sibilant voice from the other end. Beck glanced at Fisk and nodded.

"Well, you've wasted your phone call," Beck snapped.

"What do I do?" Voorhees hissed.

"You keep your mouth shut and you reflect on your errors, you sloppy fool. I warned you. Don't get involved with his people. But you ignored my direct order. That alone is enough reason to send you back to jail. A few years might be good for you. And don't try to offer us up," he added, his voice lowering and his eyes narrowing. "You more than anyone know they can't protect you in prison. If it comes to that."

"I know how to do this," Voorhees said, subdued. "I've been sent up the river before."

"Just remember this," Beck said softly. "It's your own fault you're in there. Next time, pay a little more respect to your betters." He hung up.

Turned to Fisk.

"Your betters," Fisk rumbled. "Perhaps it is time for you to prove it."

"Come again?" said Beck.

Fisk turned to look at a painting on the wall of the board room. "Parker has become intriguing," he said. "He is more physically powerful than we had guessed, but he is also possessed of sufficient cunning and will to carry him through our initial efforts. Now he is a challenge. Now I want to know how it will turn out." He looked at Beck. "I'm putting you personally in charge of the effort now. You will be given the resources you need."

"I'm not excited about this," Beck said nervously.

"You seem to have insight into his character," Fisk said in a soft, cavernous voice. "You've demonstrated time and time again you know the right way to handle the situation but you've been failed by the agents I have placed at your disposal." He nodded. "Now you can hand pick your own. My resources are at your disposal. Within reason, of course. Bring me this spider ghost."

"More hitters and thugs are a waste of time," Beck said cautiously. "This is going to have to be subtle."

"Then be subtle," Fisk said with a dangerous smile. "There is an art to bringing an independent man to heel. Show me."

Beck sighed. "I'll need a few weeks to get ready," he said.

"I want it done by the time I return from Japan," Fisk rumbled.

The conversation was over.

Beck left the room.

Monday, November 4

Peter strolled away from the cashier, carrying his tray. He spotted a redhead sitting alone, and he half smiled. Then he dropped down into the booth opposite her, settling his tray.

"I got the bad guy," he says.

"This hardly counts as lunch, tiger," she said, glancing down at her meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the plastic plate.

"I know," he said with a nod. "I'll do better. I'm kind of… you know… worn out right now."

"I can only imagine," she said. "You got the bad guy, curtain down, live happily ever after." She smiled at him.

"Not for everyone," he said softly, distracted and looking out the window, completely missing her smile. "Tomorrow is the funeral for the officers Lincoln tore up. Doesn't help them, or Aunt May."

Mary Jane touched his hand, and he looked at her, startled.

"It does help me," she said softly, looking him in the eye.

That moment seemed to last a long time.

Then she sat back. "I gotta go. I'm helping Harry with his World Civ homework. We're gonna study. See you around, Parker," she said. Then she turned and walked away.

Peter watched her go, and sighed. Then he looked out the window.

"I don't feel a whole lot safer," he murmured to himself.

Nor should you, his thoughts whispered. Somebody still has your number. Somebody knows who you are. Somebody has access to a seemingly never-ending wellspring of freaks and creeps and weirdoes.

"Is this how you talk about me when I'm not around?" Peter asked himself softly, almost smiling.

Just wondering what's coming next… Considering the observation post was abandoned. Perhaps it's time we went fishing for more digital motion sensitive cameras on rooftops. Go spelunking for dirtbags. Find the bottom of this barrel. Relocate. Hunt them.

"If this makes me change my life, then they've won," Peter muttered. "Listen to yourself. We're not Kravinoff."

Incoherent nonsense, whispered a thought in his mind. If they scrape you off the street with a spatula they've won.

"Yes, but it won't come to that," Peter said.

The end of the conversation felt somehow inconclusive.