PART TWO: NEGATIVE SPACE
Thursday, November 21
Beck closed his eyes, listening to the speedy thwack and tic of the air hockey table in the background, settling his thoughts.
"Gentlemen," he said. "If I could have a moment." He opened his eyes, and his two assistants were walking towards where he sat in the recliner, comfortable in the otherwise empty warehouse loft.
"Grummins, glad you could make it. How's the leg?" he said.
"Healed up fine," said Grummins. "I'm good as new." He smiled. He was a large man. Not huge, but very strong. He kept his hair short. There was something mean deep in his eyes.
"How about you, Wylde?" he asked the other man, who was short and wiry with a stiff dark beard. Wylde grinned.
"I'm ready for some troublemaking," he said. "I've been so bored without you, Beck."
Beck nodded. "Then let's do this," he said. "First of all, it's important to note the philosophical position that will inform our actions in this case. Currently, our target, Peter Parker, is operating from a position of strength. He believes he can handle whatever comes because he has security." Beck stood and walked over to the balcony to look out over the empty warehouse. Voorhees's tools and workbench had been pushed to the side, and Beck had inherited the space.
"Parker has housing, family, finances, car, and school. Matters of the heart are still murky. Religion doesn't seem to enter into the equation. So," he said, turning to face his thugs, "we will strip his securities from him one by one until he is desperate and weak. When he is operating from a position of weakness, he will be looking for help instead of having it thrust upon him."
"If I remember the file right," Grummins said, "the whole frontal assault thing was a total bust."
"Usually is," Beck shrugged. "We are going to be a little more subtle. We aren't going to hit him then offer him money. It's not generally well received when you attack someone and threaten their families then ask them to work for you." He sighed. "But that's neither here nor there and what's past is past. We're going to do all our hitting and then pop the question at the end."
Beck paused for a moment, reflecting. "I imagine by then we could offer to kill him and he'd think it over. Once he's weakened, you will send him to me. I'll be in a position to use his vulnerability against him. He won't know he's been recruited until it's too late to turn back. And, in the end," he smiled, "as long as you two are careful, he'll even be grateful to me."
Wylde nodded, his eyes glittering. "Point the way, chief."
"Step one," Beck said softly, holding up a finger. "Car."
Friday, November 22Peter sat at the stoplight drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of his new used car. He glanced over at Harry. "You're awful quiet this morning," he said.
"I dunno," Harry said, scratching at his mat of hair. Several strands sprang out of place. Peter raised his eyebrows. He had never seen Harry accidentally displace his hair before.
"What's on your mind, pardner?" Peter asked.
"You'll think it's stupid," Harry said, looking out the window.
"So?" Peter said. "Spill it already."
"You sound like MJ," Harry said, glancing at him with half a smile. "Seig Heil!"
"Ouch!" Peter grinned. He drove past the front entrance to the school. Late in the morning it was best to circle around and come in the back way. More parking.
"And that's what I'm thinking about," Harry said. "Mary Jane Watson. Since the Halloween party on that weekend, she's been… I dunno. Distant. Any idea why she'd get like that?" Harry asked.
"Don't ask me for advice on--"
Peter's senses went wild; he froze at the wheel. What!?
A moment later, he dimly heard Harry say, "Peter?" when from the end of the narrow street a car swerved around the corner, zooming at deeply unsafe speed straight for them. Peter stomped on the gas and cranked the wheel, trying to get out of the way into an alley, but it was much too late.
With a resounding crash, the other car slammed into the front corner of Peter's car, shoving it back to crumple into the building. Peter instinctively touched the dashboard with his adhesion and exerted all his strength, and he remained in his seat as the car screeched and crushed around him; he realized too late that Harry—
wasn't wearing his seatbelt—
but he was too slow. Harry was tossed forward to smack into the dash, then hurled back into the seat, his head whipping from the dashboard to the headrest. As he crumpled in the seat and the passenger area deformed, Peter saw the other driver unstrap in a smooth motion and roll out of the car, landing in a runner's crouch and then taking off. The heavyset driver whirled down the side street moving fast.
He was wearing a helmet and a football mouth guard.
So this was a deliberate attack.
But Peter's senses were absorbed with Harry, who was unconscious with shallow breathing. So much blood…
He managed to clamber out through the windshield. "Somebody call an ambulance!" he yelled at the banks of windows on either side of the alley. So many people, and yet no witnesses. Peter ducked back into the car and checked Harry's vitals. Blood everywhere, and some nasty bruises, but he didn't look lethally injured. A few moments later, Peter heard sirens fire up not far away, and he let his eyes slide shut with relief.
A police car drove up the narrow back street, lights on.
The car screeched to a halt and the policeman got out as Peter fumbled in his glove box to get his registration. Peter clambered out of the car as the policeman strolled up.
"What happened?" the policeman asked.
"My passenger is seriously hurt," Peter said quickly. An ambulance pulled into the alley from the other end, driving down and parking. Medical technicians hopped out and moved towards Harry, forced to scramble over the crumpled hoods. Peter stepped away from the wreck, and looked at the police officer.
"I turned up this street," Peter said, allowing a tremor in his voice. "This maniac came screeching around the corner and rammed me. I tried to get out of the way in the alley, but there's not much room to maneuver in here. He ran that way," Peter said, pointing.
"License and registration, please," the officer said. He took the materials and went to sit in his car.
Peter ran his hands through his hair, letting out a deep breath. Liability insurance. That's all he had. After his rates jumped when the last car was totaled, he had been forced to switch. So now?
"Now I have no car," he said softly, and his heart sank.
xXx
"We have got to stop meeting like this," Peter said to Mary Jane in a tone that really, really wanted to be kidding. The E.R. waiting room was almost crowded, but they found a corner to talk.
Mary Jane turned to see him, then gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for calling me, Peter," she said. "Is he going to be okay?"
"I think so," Peter shrugged. "He didn't look too badly damaged, and I didn't hurt him any worse."
"Do you think this is related to that Halloween unpleasantness?" Mary Jane asked, her eyes serious.
"Gotta be," Peter said, shaking his head. "Harry was just in the wrong time at the wrong place. But this doesn't fit what was going on then. Nobody tried to talk to me. And they know better than to think that would kill me."
"Are you hurt?" Mary Jane asked.
"Not a scratch," Peter said, shaking his head. He looked at her for a moment. "Seatbelt," he said.
"Yeah," she said, and she slid down into one of the chairs. Peter sat by her. They waited for news.
xXx
"Most impressive," the portly man in his expensive suit said. He sat back in his leather chair and looked over the large desk at the man sitting across from him. "I'm honored that you want to spend your sabbatical here."
The man across the desk was lean and powerful, with close cropped black hair and piercing blue eyes. He smiled, his whole face shifting. There was something fascinating about his features.
"Your school appealed to me, Dean," he said. "I've been wanting to try my hand at some counseling. Every theorist wants a little field testing now and then. And it will be nice to get away from my work in California to get my paper written." He smiled graciously.
"I hope you find our accommodations to your satisfaction," the Dean said, leaning back in his chair. "Professor Beck, welcome to the team."
"Thank you," Beck said with a nod. "I'm glad to be able to help."
xXx
"Mary Watson?" the nurse said.
"Yes?" Mary Jane said.
"Harry Osborn is being moved to a standard room, out of the trauma unit. If you like, in about twenty minutes you can go and visit him. He'll be in room four twelve."
"Is he okay?" Mary Jane asked.
The nurse glanced back at the desk. "Yes," she said absently. "concussion, fractured wrist, banged his knee pretty good, a couple of cracked ribs and lots of bruises, some superficial cuts. We're keeping him overnight, but he can probably go home tomorrow."
"Thanks," Mary Jane said, smiling. The nurse was already moving away.
Peter returned with coffee. "Let me guess," he said, taking one look at her. "The doctor came."
She shrugged. "Your timing is lousy, Parker," she said. "Coffee. Gimme."
Peter gave her one of the cups of cheap nasty coffee, and he took an experimental sip of the other one. Shrugged. "Tastes like brewed dirt," he muttered to himself, his mind far away.
"We can go see him in twenty minutes," Mary Jane said.
"Make it a half hour," Peter shrugged. "We are in a hospital. Do you have your cell phone?"
"Yeah," she said. "Why?"
"Let's go outside," Peter said. They threaded through the emergencies and got out to the parking lot.
"I'd like to call Harry's dad, or you can, to let him know what happened," Peter said.
"Oh my gosh," Mary Jane said, her eyes getting big. "I can't believe I forgot to do that." She pulled out her phone and punched in an autodial number. Peter hopped up on the waist-high wall and glanced at his feet. At least he'd remembered to retrieve his shoes. He followed the wall down the side of the parking lot, reflecting on how much thicker the six inch wall was than the line he had to walk every day.
After a minute, Mary Jane strolled over to where he stood at the end of the parking lot.
"How'd he take it?" Peter asked distantly.
"His assistant will prioritize delivering the information to him at once," Mary Jane said sourly. "Told me that the hospital had already called. Like we're pestering him. God his dad is a creep and a half, Peter."
"Can I borrow your phone?" Peter asked.
"Sure," she said. "What for?"
"Maybe," he said with a small smile, "I should tell my teachers why I'm not in class."