Beck sat, red eyed, swilling water while sitting on the couch. "I can't believe I'm so thirsty," he muttered.
"Yeah," Peter said. "It's something else, huh." He sat with the pitcher, keeping Beck supplied. "So who was that clown?"
"That…" Beck said. Then he lowered his head. "I can't tell you, Peter. I don't dare bring you into this. It's just… too dangerous. There have been killings."
"I swear I'll help you," Peter said earnestly. "But you have to tell me more. Believe it or not, I'm pretty good at getting people out of trouble."
"You can't stop Mysterio," Beck said. "No one can. I can't… I can't have you on my conscience. I came here to get away, but…" He shrugged. "He found me again."
"Mysterio, huh," Peter said. "So what's his story?"
Beck heaved a deep sigh and put the wet washcloth over his forehead as he tilted his head back. "He was a very promising college student. His name doesn't matter now. I taught him hypnotism. We were good friends. He was a real wild child," Beck said with a rueful smile. "He got into being a stuntman for movies; leaping out of burning cars, getting beat up by martial artists, that sort of thing. Actually got punched by Arnold once."
"Wow," said Peter.
"Yeah. But then he realized it was a lot more fun to blow up cars than to leap out of cars that were blowing up. He learned the tricks of the trade for stunts and special effects. When computers came along they took a lot of the glory out of special effects. Why blow up an office building when you can realistically render it with a computer, right? So he turned his unique talents to finding a more exciting job than working on B movies that couldn't afford computers."
"Any idea who he's working for?" Peter asked softly, his eyes intense.
"None, assuming he's working for anyone at all," Beck said. "I came here from California to escape him. See, I'm in the witness protection program for something else, never mind that, and I've had to move twice because Mysterio keeps finding me."
"What does he want?" Peter asked. "Why does he follow you?"
"I know who he is," Beck said ruefully. "I guess when you live outside the rules, it's awkward having anyone else able to connect who you are on your days off and who you are when you're in the tights."
"I imagine it would be," Peter said tightly.
"Don't confront him, Peter," Beck warned, his eyes wary. "He's too strong. He has hypnotic powers, hyped up by machines he uses. He is much more powerful than I am as a hypnotist."
"Is there any protection against that?" Peter asked.
"Against hypnotism? Hm," Beck said. "What I do for myself is give myself a post-hypnotic suggestion to wake up if I get hypnotized. It's not much protection, and it only works for a few trances with diminishing effectiveness each time." He shrugged. "It's worth a shot, if you trust me to hypnotize you."
Peter sat lost in thought for a moment. Beck quietly waited.
"If Mysterio gets to me," Peter said slowly, "there's no telling what he might force me to do. I won't be worth your trust if my mind isn't my own," Peter said, looking Beck in the eye.
Beck heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. "Okay," he said. "Okay, here goes." He dug his pocket watch out of his pocket, set it to spinning, then rocked it gently back and forth at the end of its chain.
"You are getting very sleepy, with the sleep that is not sleep," he intoned gently. After thirty seconds, Peter Parker was hypnotized.
Beck drew in a deep breath, then let it out. "You are tired of being poor," he said. "You are tired of charity. The spider ghost can bring you wealth undreamed of. You will not rest until you have stolen the Ardesty diamond collection at 20th and Bleeker, out of the Hammond Diamond shop. These desires will surface in you with great strength after you hear the word 'milkrun'." Beck paused. "When I snap my fingers you will awaken with no conscious memory of these instructions."
He snapped his fingers.
Peter's eyes blinked and rolled half around, and he started in his chair.
"Promise me you won't confront Mysterio directly," Beck said, worried. "He's too tricky, too dangerous."
"I promise I won't if there's a better way," Peter said, shaking his head. "Sometimes the frontal assault is the only way."
"He'd trash you," protested Beck.
"Let me worry about that. You find a safe place and stay there. Okay?"
"Peter," Beck said, his eyes shining with unshed tears, "You're a good friend to me."
"I do try," Peter said with half a smile. "Do you have anywhere to go?"
"Mysterio already knows your place and mine. I'll just go check into a hotel."
Peter blinked. "What makes you think he knows my place?" he asked softly.
Beck smiled, and looked Peter in the eye. "He must have warned you off. Why else would you be hanging around my place at this god-forsaken hour in the morning, if not to come and see what that was all about? I've seen it before. Mysterio tries to keep me isolated."
Peter nodded. "Here's my number if you need help," Peter said, scribbling it on a scrap of paper from the kitchen. "Don't hesitate to call. Traffic can slow things up some, so sooner is better than later if it's an emergency."
"Okay," Beck said. "Good luck, Peter."
"You too," Peter said. "We'll nail this Mysterio guy.
"I sure hope so," Beck said softly, and he waved as Peter walked out the door.
Peter checked his watch as he cleared the outside door of the condo. Three thirty a.m. Damn. He ducked into the bushes and rapidly stripped, tugging on his mesh and stowing his clothes in the web bag. Then he fired a webline and popped free of the brush, flying through the air, fighting nausea and fatigue. And he was thirsty again.
A truck rumbled down the street below, and Peter gratefully landed on it and sat, catching his breath. Gas. He hated gas.
He got to thinking as the truck rolled along the way he wanted to go. His senses were uneasy, and he followed the tugging threads back, the buzzing feel of a fly in a web. What? Something about the truck?
People don't always know when they've been hypnotized. Peter snapped his fingers.
"I've fought Mysterio twice," he murmured. "Did he hypnotize me?" Peter felt suddenly cold as he realized Mysterio could have told him to kill Beck on command and he wouldn't know it until he did the deed.
The doubt was intolerable. "Only one man I know that can help me with this," Peter muttered as he fired a webline that tugged him off the truck. "Only one man. Which is a real shame." Peter swung towards Greenwich Village. "I just hope the Doctor is in…"
Time and distance passed, but Peter was lost in his brooding as his savaged senses struggled to choose him a path of least resistance. After a time, he found the roof of the mansion.
Peter sat by the peculiar skylight and waited. Less than five minutes passed when the front door creaked open. He dropped to the sidewalk, and padded inside the brownstone mansion tucked in a line with a dozen other brownstone mansions.
In the dimness of the entryway, Peter looked around uncertainly. "Strange, you here?" he asked.
"I am," came a voice that rolled gently from the shadows all around Peter. He saw Strange standing at the landing of the stairs, moonlight picking half his face from shadow. "Welcome. It is… early. What do you require?"
xXx
"Yes," Beck said into the phone, "I've got a contingency plan in place. Tell Fisk that when I give the word, Parker will rob Hammond Diamonds, going for the Ardesty collection. That will be your chance to catch him, as a legitimate businessman and he's the robber. That will put Fisk in a position to either be generous or to blackmail, either way could give more leverage dealing with Parker. I hope to finish this up, soon, my way, but if I somehow fail then that's the backup plan. When does Fisk get back?"
He nodded. "Not much time then. Thanks." He hung up.
"How's the office?" Grummins asked with a grin.
"I wish Parker would quit spoiling my clever plans, that's what I think," Beck said, collapsing on a battered old couch on the loft. "This should have been wrapped up by now."
"What's the plan, boss?" Grummins asked.
"There's only one man who can protect Beck from Mysterio," Beck said softly, "And that's Wilson Fisk." He shook his head. "Wheels within wheels, Grummins. I've got a lot of different ways I can spin this. And a lot of what happens next depends on the spider ghost. One way or another I'll pull him in to Fisk's power. And if that doesn't work, then Quentin Beck will turn up dead. Parker will find out who did it. He'll do something clever to them; of course, it was a rival crime boss. Fisk will approach him directly or through another agent. The dance continues. The question is, will Beck's body be a fake I create or the real deal courtesy of Fisk?"
Beck looked over at Grummins. "Mysterio must remain an enigmatic boogyman that Parker isn't confident he can beat." He paused. "Even if it is little old me."
"Hey, I had to be Mysterio too," Grummins muttered.
"I'm gonna go get some air," Beck said, getting up. "Let me know if you need anything." He walked out of the loft onto the catwalk.
Beck lit a cigarette, a rare pleasure for him. He leaned his elbows on the chilly catwalk rail and he looked out into the darkness of the warehouses.
Never got this close to a mark before.
Beck steeled himself to do what he had to do.