The door slammed behind Grummins as he walked with smooth grace, balancing the two bags of small cardboard cartons. "Dinner," he said curtly. There was a scrabbling in the loft, and Wylde swung over the railing on the balcony. He caught the lip of the balcony as he dropped, hung full length and dropped to land in a crouching roll that put him on his feet effortlessly unhurt and in range of the Chinese take out. Beck glanced up from where he was tinkering with some peculiar flat tubes on his workbench.
"Good job, Grummins," Beck said. "I hear the car wreck went off without a hitch."
"So it did," Grummins nodded. "He saw me, but I didn't stick around for pleasantries."
"Just as well," Beck said with a nod. "I need both of you."
"How'd your interview go?" Wylde asked as he tore the lid of the carton in his haste to get to noodles.
"Good," Beck said. "I had forgotten how much those in academia beg to be given something to believe." He adjusted the flat tubing that he had strapped on to his sweater. Tubes also ran down the sides of his legs.
"What are you working on, boss?" asked Grummins.
"Just a little something," Beck said airily. Then he grinned, and settled into a stance. He intoned softly a few words, moving his hands, and from the tubing on his legs a thick mist billowed out. He gestured with his hands, and more mist billowed around him. He was engulfed. In moments it was already thinning, swirling, like the wispy smoke of a hundred extinguished candles. It hung in the air.
"Boss?" Wylde said. He peered at the mist, frowning.
"Something in the way of misdirection," Beck said from six feet behind them. They jumped and turned to see him adjusting the setting on a nozzle. "I'm really quite pleased with the effect."
"Not bad," Grummins said with a grin and a nod. "Not bad at all."
"Parker will never see it coming," Beck said with a shrug. "At least, that's the idea. And now it's time for the second phase of our nefarious plot," he said. He smiled at his thugs, but there was something thoughtful in his smile. "Housing." He picked up the phone and punched in a number.
xXx
It was almost dark when Peter trudged home. He turned on the sidewalk and headed towards his rental bungalow. He saw a shadow move in the living room, and several lights were on.
"So," he said softly to himself, "is this the pitch at last?" He shook his head and crept up to the front door, opening it a crack and peering in.
Much to his surprise, his landlord stood in the living room.
Peter opened the door. "Mister Ackly," he said. "Is there a problem with the rent?"
"No no," the pudgy bald man said nervously. He picked at his sweater absently. "I've had something come up."
"Something?" Peter said as warning alarms went off deep in his mind.
"Yes," Ackly said, not making eye contact. "My mother needs to come live with us, her nursing home doesn't take her insurance anymore. There's no room in my house," he said, gesturing to his house next door. "Need a ground floor place for her that's nearby. I really am sorry, Osborn."
"I'm Parker," Peter said, feeling numb.
"Whatever. Sorry. Have your stuff out of here by two tomorrow afternoon, that's when she gets here. I'm really sorry," he said with a shrug. "I'll get your deposit back to you and refund you for the last week in the month. I gotta go."
Peter stood stock still as the landlord scurried past him.
"Wait," Peter said suddenly. Ackly froze. "You gotta help me help you," Peter said. "I'm too young, they won't rent me a van. I'll need one for a couple days. Will you go to the car rental and sign off?"
"Uh," he said.
"That's the least you can do," Peter said with an edge to his voice.
"Let me get my coat," Ackly said quickly. He left.
"We just got evicted," Peter mused to himself. He looked around the place he had come to think of as home, his space in the city.
His brain kicked into gear. No car to move stuff. He briefly entertained the notion of moving everything into Aunt May's house, but there really genuinely wasn't room. What to do?
"Okay, spider brain," he gritted out. "Figure this one out. How are we going to pull this off?"
How come when it's you that wants something it's how are 'we' going to pull it off, but when I want something, it's all about what 'you' are going to do?
"Quit whining and get busy," Peter muttered. "I am so not in the mood."
Peter got started.
Saturday, November 23Peter walked down the hall, barely glancing at room numbers. He enjoyed his spider sense keeping him up to speed on things like signs and directions. He instinctively navigated the hospital to Harry's room.
As he approached the room, he heard voices. He slowed down to listen.
"as we're clear on that. Look, Harry, I have to go. I've got a deal to close this afternoon. It's big. I'll be back this afternoon to pick you up."
"Yes sir," Harry said.
A man in a dark coat, middling height, and tight auburn hair came out of the hospital room. He saw Peter and drew himself up to his full height.
"Parker," he said tonelessly.
"Yes sir," Peter said.
Harry's father shook his head once and walked towards him. Peter stepped out of the way as Mr. Osborn headed straight for the elevators. Peter watched him go, then stepped into the room.
"I didn't bring you flowers," Peter said with a shrug.
Harry chuckled and winced. "That's just peachy," he said. "My heart was set on it."
Harry's head was wrapped in a white bandage, and both his eyes were heavily bruised. He had several cuts on his face. His ribs were taped, his wrist was in a cast. He was pale.
"How you feeling, champ?" Peter said. "I figured we should play racquetball tomorrow morning, whaddya say?" He grinned.
"Yer a punk, I'll beat you anyway," Harry said with a feeble grin.
"Yeah," Peter said. "Hey, is your dad that chilly with everybody?"
"Almost," Harry shrugged. "You're special. You got me in a car wreck."
"Oh," Peter said. "Does he really think this is all my fault?"
"Sure," Harry said with just a hint of bitterness. "He's in total control of his destiny, isn't everyone else?"
"I, uh, have some bad news," Peter said.
"What, they cancelled the Gilligan reruns?" Harry said.
Peter shook his head. "Ackly just evicted us."
"What?" Harry said, genuinely shocked.
"Yeah, I know," Peter said. "His mother's moving into our bungalow, her insurance was rejected at the nursing home."
"But," Harry sputtered, "but"
"That's what I said," Peter agreed. "I boxed everything up and rented a van, made a couple trips and managed to fit everything we had there into one of those rental storage spaces off Bleeker. That'll do for the time being. Until we figure out what to do."
"We should sue him for all he's worth," Harry said. "We'd win, too. I happen to know some lawyers. Hell, we could own that bungalow."
"Yeah," Peter said, shifting awkwardly. "But then both him and his mom are on the street." He shook his head. "You sure you want to do that?"
"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "I'm not my father. I'll just have to move in with him, that's all."
"You sure about that?" Peter asked, concerned.
"You're moving in with your aunt, aren't you?" Harry said with half a smile. "Don't worry about me. It's a little awkward, but nothing I can't handle."
"So…" Peter said. "Once we get things sorted out, want to room together again?"
"We'll just have to see," Harry said distantly, "when things are sorted out."
xXx
Peter was walking slower than he usually did when he walked up the steps to Aunt May's house. He opened the door with his key and walked in. Then he froze.
Aunt May was sitting on the couch, with the television on. She was quietly and daintily snoring. Peter was struck by how… frail she looked. Her hair was in disarray, she was wrapped in an old and frayed bathrobe over her pajamas. Abandoned knitting was on the cushion next to her. Peter felt a sudden overwhelming wave of shame; she would not want him to see her like this. He noiselessly slipped out and closed the door behind himself.
Peter climbed back into the rental van and slammed the door. Well, it is lunchtime, he thought. He headed to the fast food strip a few blocks over and down the street.
He wasn't paying attention as he picked a restaurant, got his food, and ate. He barely remembered it. Then he got to the pay phone. "Gotta get me a cell phone," he muttered. "It'd be cheaper."
She answered on the third ring. "Parker residence, May speaking," she said.
"Hey," Peter said. "I was wondering if I could come by. Maybe in about fifteen minutes?"
"Sure," she said. "That would be nice. I'll look forward to it."
"Okay," Peter said. "See ya then." He hung up.
He took his sweet time getting back to the house.
This time when he strolled in she was in the kitchen puttering, wearing her plain blue dress and her canvas house shoes, her hair done up in a bun. Peter smiled to himself.
"Hey there, pretty lady," he said.
"Hello, Peter," she said, her voice thin and worn. "Have you eaten?"
"Actually yes," he said. "But don't let me get in your way."
"Have a sandwich to be sociable," she said. "You're a growing boy, after all."
"Fair enough," he said, and he sat at the table as she finished cutting the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in half diagonally. She put the plate on the table and sat down opposite him. He smiled to himself and picked up a triangular sandwich. "Been a while since I had one of these."
"Well, you don't pack a lunch any more, I'll bet," she said primly.
"Nah," Peter said. "Me primal college boy. Me live on edge. Me scrounge food between class. Starve till dinner." He smiled at her. "Sorry, the 'Make Aunt May Crazy' urge just kicked in."
"Almost forgot milk," she said. "We both need our calcium."
"Okay, ya got me back," Peter grinned. "I'll get it." He got up and got the milk and two glasses.
Aunt May took her time but she ate one of her sandwich halves. Then she picked up a plastic container with seven lids over small boxes.
"What's that?" Peter asked.
"My lunch pills," Aunt May said. She fumbled with the lid and managed to force it open. "I have to take these with food." She dumped out a pile of pills of all different shapes and colors and sizes.
"What is all that?" Peter breathed.
"Well," she said with a slightly pained smile, trying to be graceful in the face of her weakness, "this one is for blood pressure. This one a calcium supplement, this one a vitamin… oh, I can hardly remember," she said with a flutter of her hands. "I have the chart upstairs." She wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Does insurance cover all that?" Peter asked.
"Oh, mostly," she lied.
He suddenly realized that after her last hospital visit… he saw again the fresh hollowness around her eyes, around her cheeks. He realized that her delicate financial balance couldn't support this. And he looked down at the table to try to keep his sudden understanding from dawning on her.
"I'll be back in a minute," she said graciously, and she took her pills into the restroom. Not ladylike to swallow so many pills when it is so difficult, in front of your nephew…
Peter took a deep breath and leaned back.