Two bruised and cut men sat in the café booth looking at their coffee. They looked as though they had both been in a savage fight, and the other patrons left them alone.
"The money trouble, the car, Aunt May in the hospital, all of it," Peter said softly. "So Wilson Fisk is the man behind my troubles. Behind Lincoln, and Voorhees. Behind you."
"Yes," Beck said.
"You set me up for the fall then got close to me, to offer me support for the weight you heaped on me."
"Yes," Beck said.
"I didn't know anyone could be that heartless," Peter said, his voice flat.
"I know it was wrong," Beck said. Peter looked up, looked him in the eye. "Don't look at me like that," Beck said, shifting uneasily. "I'm out of that situation now. I did what I had to do. So did you."
"I can't believe you just said that," Peter said, and he looked down into his coffee again. "I can't forgive you for what you've done to me, Beck."
"Maybe not today," Beck said. "Maybe not this year, or this decade. But maybe someday." Beck took a deep breath. "Thanks for following me to Fisk's place and saving my life. I swear I'll make it up to you someday."
Peter sat unmoving. "I did what I had to do, just like you said. And now I know who's behind it all."
Beck sighed. "Take care, Peter Parker," he said, touching his forearm. Peter did not react. Beck walked out of the café, carefully looked both ways, then crossed the street and vanished into the city.
Peter sat there until they served lunch, then he bought some.
He thought long and hard.
"Okay, Fisk," he said under his breath. "Live and let live. But I swear, you come after me one more time, and you are going down." His eyes narrowed. "That's a promise."
Lilly livered tripe. Go to his castle, kick in a window, and rip his damned face off! What's the matter with you? What does it take?
"Promise me we won't kill him," Peter said softly. "Promise me that and we'll go."
Things got very, very quiet.
Peter slowly nodded to himself. "We give him one more chance." He finished his lunch.
PART THREE: CLOSING THE DEAL Tuesday, December 10
Fisk sat bathed in orange light, watching the sun go down outside, watching darkness fill his city. A thin curl of smoke drifted up from his cigarette. Fisk shifted his grip on the cigarette holder, tapping off ash. Behind him, Ledge stood at ease, noiseless.
The door opened. Fisk's aid scurried in. "Excuse me, Mister Fisk, but I have that report you wanted."
"Yes?" Fisk said.
The aid nodded. "We've finished preliminary analysis of Beck's investigation into the nature of the spider ghost's powers. Beck tape recorded his interrogation of the hypnotized Peter Parker, and he discovered that in nineteen ninety one Peter Parker went into a coma after being bitten by a spider that was in a puzzle box in a trunk in his uncle's attic. The assumption is that the trunk belonged to his 'grandfather.' So we checked the paternal and maternal grandfathers."
The aid checked his notes, not at all rattled by the fact that his employer seemed to be ignoring him. "His aunt's grandfather died twelve years ago of cancer after a life spent working in sales. But the other grandfather was killed in World War II over in Germany in the last months of the war."
Fisk slowly swiveled around to eye his aid. "Surely you followed up on that."
"Indeed," nodded the aid. "It wasn't easy, though. We had to send one of our expert hackers into the Pentagon's files, and since this issue dates back to the second World War there isn't much on computers. We would have to physically break into the Pentagon to find their paper files. As it is, we found out that he was in army intelligence, and his death in a plane crash is highly suspicious. After his death, a trunk of his personal effects was sent to his son, Ben Parker, who is Peter Parker's uncle and father figure."
Fisk sat lost in thought. Then he nodded to himself. "Get me that trunk," he rumbled.
His aid bobbed with a motion halfway between a nod and a bow, then turned and left.
"The bosses are waiting for the meeting to get rolling," Ledge mentioned helpfully.
"They can wait," Fisk boomed softly.
"Let me kill Parker," Ledge said. "He's making you look bad. The others found out about this little hunt when Lincoln got himself broken, and now it's like some kinda soap opera. If he's allowed to run free in defiance of you, then he's a problem."
"He is elusive," Fisk said. "I must decide whether to guarantee my success by committing significant resources, or whether to decide he is beneath my notice, or to simply have him killed." He sighed. "Halfway measures have stripped me of three valuable resources. Losing Beck is the greatest loss, however. He was most useful."
"You know what they say, boss," Ledge said, lighting up a cigarette and talking around it. "If raw force isn't solving your problem, you aren't using enough."
"Such prattle belongs in the mouths of assassins and underbosses," Fisk said with a dismissive wave. "You lack vision, Ledge. The secret of how this spider ghost got his power could be… useful," he murmured. "We should not kill him until we understand how he came to be what he is. I want him taken alive."
"Say the word. I go to his house. Wait until he's sleeping. Pop some teargas in, trank the holy hell out of him. Fait accompli, boss."
"I'll consider it," mused Fisk. "I cannot let the loss of three of my people go unanswered."
The door opened again. Fisk directed a surly look at it. His aide put his head in.
"The natives are restless, sir," he said.
"Let them in," Fisk rumbled.
"Send in the clowns," Ledge grinned. "Another night, another cavalcade of crime."
"Spare me, Ledge," Fisk muttered. "Show me how well you can be silent and menacing."
As the underbosses and lieutenants trooped in, Ledge was silent and menacing, and Fisk presided another night over his sprawling empire that lay both above and below the surface of the law.
Wednesday, December 11
Peter whistled the theme song to a game show as he tended the frying bacon. He kept track of the eggs, too, making sure everything sizzled up just right. He wore pajamas under his bathrobe, complete with slippers. The bacon popped, spattering his arm with hot grease. He just frowned at it.
"Kiss the spider-tough chef," he murmured to himself. "Ha ha, didn't hurt. And I'm gonna eat you, too."
"What was that, Peter?" Aunt May asked querulously from the living room.
"Just talking to the bacon, Aunt May," Peter called back. "Almost done."
The toast popped up, and Peter snagged the bread out of the toaster, scooped the eggs up and patted them on the plate, then zipped bacon out of the skillet and arranged it just so in a matter of seconds. He twirled in to the living room and bowed, placing the plate on the tv tray Aunt May had out in front of her.
"Buhrekafast, is, aserved," Peter said.
"Oh, Peter," Aunt May said. "Aren't you having any?"
"Be right back," he said, strolling into the kitchen. He scooped everything else that was hot onto another plate, this one considerably deeper piled. He headed back out to the living room.
"Don't you have school today?" Aunt May said, cocking her head to the side.
"Starts at nine," Peter said. "Plenty of time. This way I get to spend some time with my favorite lady before she goes to Florida." He grinned at her.
"Oh, Peter, are you sure you can afford to send me to Florida?"
"I can and will, Aunt May. Ticket? Check. Cash, credit, and traveler's checks? Uh, check. All that's left for you to do is finish packing. Don't forget your bikini and suntan lotion."
"I wish you could come," she said.
"You'll be fine," he said. "You'll meet up with what's his name? Right, Lubensky. I'd go with you, but I can't leave my schooling. You'll be gone a week. All that warm air and sun should be good for you," he said with a smile. "Just be sure to behave yourself. No fooling around."
She blushed. "Peter!" she said.
He glanced at the clock and downed his breakfast with disturbing speed. Then, with his cheek-pouches still full, he hopped into the kitchen and made sure everything was off, then he zipped up the stairs to get dressed.
"Woo!" said Aunt May. "So this is what it's like living with a tornado."
Peter would have sarcastically laughed, but his mouth was full.
Two minutes later he was down over the banister with his bag of books. "Gotta go, see you tonight, and be sure you get all packed so we can go tomorrow!" Peter said. He kissed her on the cheek quickly, then spun around just as the car horn honked outside. "Bye!" Peter said, and he was through the door and gone.
Peter hopped in Harry's sleek road machine, and they pulled away.
From the shadows next door, a shadow watched them go, and smiled. Then the dark figure effortlessly scaled the side of the house and popped the window to the attic open, vanishing silently inside.
xXx
"Hey Harry," Peter said. "You look like a million bucks."
Harry laughed. "You are such a geek, Parker."
"We can't all be gifted by the gods," Peter said. "Hey, you want to room together again now that things are settling out some?"
Harry paid a lot of attention to the road. "I don't know, Peter. You're awfully… accident prone."
There was a long moment of silence.
"Yeah," Peter said, looking out the window. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He felt Harry slipping way from him, he felt himself losing his most normal friend. He felt his heart sinking, slowly, by degrees. "Anyway," he said, groping around for a topic, "How is MJ doing these days?"
"She's good," Harry said, and he shut up. Peter blinked. "So do you plan to get a new car?" Harry asked.
"I don't know," Peter shrugged. "I do okay on foot and using the bus, and now and then a taxi. A car, you got your insurance, and there's nowhere to park, and it breaks down and needs fixing… I don't know."
"Especially since you have sucker friends who'll pick you up and take you to school," Harry said dryly.
"Huh," Peter said, "I think you've hit on something," he grinned.
They were just quiet for a few minutes, and then Harry pulled in and found a parking spot. They got out of the car.
Mary Jane swayed over to meet them, and while Harry greeted her properly, Peter moved past them, imagining himself invisible, and he headed towards class.