xXx
The phone rang, startling Mary Jane. She sat bolt upright in the chair, clutching her teddy bear. Then she creaked up out of the chair and closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing, sounding awake. She answered the phone.
"This is Mary Jane," she said with remarkable brightness for someone who had just woken up.
"Oh," said a very confused voice. "I'm sorry. I was using Gwendie's address book, I got the wrong number. I was trying to call Parker."
"This is his place," Mary Jane said pertly.
"Ah."
"It's okay, Mr. Stacy," she said with a smile. "It's my day off and I came to wake him up. Do you want to talk to him?"
"Won't be necessary," Mr. Stacy said, sounding secretly relieved. "Gwendie thought it would be good for you two to come have lunch with us today if you're free."
"Sounds great, I'll get the big lug out of bed and we'll be by," Mary Jane said. "What time?"
"Noon good?"
"Be there with bells on," Mary Jane smiled. "See you later, Mr. Stacy."
They finished out pleasantries and she hung up the phone. She rubbed her face, then she rubbed her back. The television was muted, and some morning show was on. Peter lay in the exact position he had been in when he fell into the bed.
"Damn," she muttered, and she twisted her head, cracking three vertebrae in her neck. "Remind me never to do that again." She kneeled on the bed. "Pete, wake up, tiger." She shook him. She realized his whole body felt different when he wasn't aware, when he wasn't in it. Until she touched him when he was totally unconscious, she didn't realize how his razor sharp reflexes always adjusted, were always ready for everything. Slack and absent, he seemed somehow smaller.
He didn't respond. She pursed her lips. "Hey, slugger, c'mon, up and at 'em!" she said. She scooped up a pillow and smacked him with it.
Nothing.
She took a couple steps back, then rushed to him and put her finger on his wrist. He still had a pulse. She straightened, and gazed down at him with open concern.
His fingers twitched, then he gasped and rolled over. In a reflexive action he stood, then blinked stupidly as he looked around the room. A few seconds later he was fully alert.
"Holy cow, Peter, that's scary as hell," Mary Jane said quietly.
"Yeah," he nodded, worried. "I think so too. Was I here all night?"
"Far as I know," Mary Jane said. "Oh, Gwen and Mr. Stacy are having lunch, they want us to come for it."
"What time?"
"Noon."
Peter glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. He grinned at Mary Jane.
"We'll make it. First, I need to reward you for staying with me last night." Then he caught himself. "Oh man, do you need to go to work?" he asked in potential panic.
"I have Wednesdays off," she reminded him, arching an eyebrow.
"Right. Because it was last Wednesday we went to be groupies for Tandy and Tyrone." He laughed and shook his head. "This has been a hell of a week."
"Not sure this one is promising," Mary Jane shrugged. "One thing is for sure, Peter, it's never boring being around you."
"Must be my sparkling wit," Peter said dryly.
"Must be," Mary Jane agreed as she groped for the pillow she had smacked him with.
xXx
"Fabulous as always, Gwen," Peter said, pushing back from the table as lunch wound down.
"Thank you," Gwen nodded to him, her bright eyes sparkling with the compliment.
"I'll help you clean up," Mary Jane stated.
"So Peter," Mr. Stacy said, leaning back in his chair. "Brilhart give you a call?"
"No," Peter said, a bit confused. "Why?"
"Not at the table, dad, we agreed," Gwen said severely. He chuckled.
"There have been a rash of unsolved burglaries that seem to be a bit unusual," Mr. Stacy said. "Come on, Peter, let's go solve the crime," he added with a smile as he stood.
"I think I'll stick with the dishes," Mary Jane said, collecting plates. Peter padded off after Mr. Stacy, to the den. Mr. Stacy picked up his pipe and a newspaper. He tossed the newspaper to Peter, who sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Mr. Stacy sat down and started packing his pipe.
Peter glanced at the highlighted article. He skimmed it.
"Warehouse payroll stolen. So?" he said, looking up.
"And this is today's paper," Mr. Stacy said, sliding the paper over to him. Another article, a little less deep in the paper, was highlighted. Peter glanced at it, then blinked, then looked back and forth between the articles.
"A jewelry store, cleaned out in under five minutes," Peter noted, looking at the current article. "Metal bars wrenched off, extremely fast…" He looked at Mr. Stacy, genuinely startled. "A figure in a black leotard?"
"Anything you want to tell me?" Mr. Stacy asked as he closely examined his work in preparing his pipe.
"You look tired," Gwen said to Mary Jane.
"Trouble sleeping," Mary Jane shrugged. "No big thing. Happens to the best of us from time to time."
"How are you and Peter doing?" Gwen asked.
"Good, fine, what kind of a question is that," Mary Jane replied, faintly bemused. "How are you and Flash doing?"
"Good," Gwen shrugged. "Hey, Harry's back. I told him over the phone he could probably catch you guys practicing last night."
"He did," Mary Jane nodded.
"I think the band is such a cool idea," Gwen said with a smile. "I was thinking about maybe getting Tandy and Harry together for a date."
"That's a bad idea," Mary Jane said with a sudden forcefulness that surprised her. Gwen glanced over, clearly startled. She quickly returned her attention to the dishes, too polite to say anything.
"I was just thinking," Gwen said, "Harry seems to have gotten himself sorted out in his travels. I thought maybe he and Tandy could be an item, that's all," she said.
Mary Jane dried the dishes, distracted and thoughtful.
"One more robbery like that," Mr. Stacy said, pointing at the papers with his pipe stem, "and it will be front page. I don't think you want that."
"You're right, I don't," Peter said, feeling a shortness of breath.
"The police are speculating it's a team of acrobats. I think it would be best if that team of acrobats remains uncaught. But those robberies. They have to stop," Mr. Stacy said, shaking his head.
"I'll look into it," Peter managed. "Can I have these?" he said, gesturing at the articles.
"You bet," Mr. Stacy said, leaning back in his chair. "Good luck, son."
"Hey ladies," Peter said, strolling into the kitchen. "Gwen, you mind if I steal Mary Jane and stick you with the clean up?"
"I suppose," Gwen said with a lopsided grin. "You two stay out of trouble, okay?"
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Peter said with a grin. Mary Jane tossed the dish towel on the drainer and brushed her hands together.
"Bye, Gwen," she said. "Bye, Mr. Stacy!" Then she and Peter were out the front door.
"You have newspapers," Mary Jane said slyly. "I take it you'll be busy?"
He handed the papers to Mary Jane, and they got in her car. She glanced over the articles, then her eyes widened as she read the description from the security cameras of the thief.
"Peter?" she said uncertainly.
"One on Monday," Peter said, "One on Tuesday. I don't like it. I can't convincingly prove it wasn't me. Not even to myself."
"I was there last night," she said uncertainly.
"There is a possibility," he said evenly, "that I could sneak past you if you were asleep."
"So this is my fault?" she said, nettled.
"No," Peter said. "And I hope it isn't mine either. Let's go back to my place…"
Peter walked in and immediately headed for the bedroom. "Peter?" Mary Jane said as she closed the door and turned to follow him.
"If I did it, then I used mesh," Peter said. "So I'll check my mesh and see if it's been used."
Effortlessly kneeling and reaching under the bed, he pulled out the shoebox he kept his extra mesh in. Opening it, he gasped and staggered back and up to his feet. His blood ran cold.
Mary Jane's hand fluttered to her chest as she looked at the shoebox.
Inside, there was no mesh. But the shoebox was full of diamonds, pearls, and jewelry.
"There must be a hundred thousand there easy," Mary Jane breathed.
Peter stared at the sparkling hoard, his breathing shallow. "Oh no," he whispered, horrified.
"What are you going to do with it?" Mary Jane asked, startled.
"I gotta go hide it," he said. "Until I figure out how I'm going to return it. It wouldn't be planted here unless somebody was trying to frame me, and that means the cops will be here any minute. Gotta move fast!" He swept the lid back on the shoebox, scooped it up, ran to the back window, and opened it to slip out rapidly. Mary Jane watched him go, bewildered, as the window slid shut with a click.
"A hundred thousand easy," she managed.
A heavy knock rapped on the door. Mary Jane jogged over, glanced out the peephole, then opened the door.
"Hello, Detective Brilhart," she said brightly.
"Ms. Watson," Brilhart said with a winning smile. He was tall, slightly stooped, with eyes that were too old for his face. "Is Mr. Parker around?"
"No, he's stepped out for a minute. Would you like me to give him a message?"
Brilhart smiled briefly. "No message. I'll catch him later. No official business. Just had a couple questions I thought he could help me with. Have a good afternoon," he said, tipping his hat.
"Thanks," Mary Jane said, closing the door. She watched the detective drop into his car, start it, and drive away.
"Whoah," she murmured to herself.
Peter shook his head as he finished using a Kleenex to polish the last bit of jewelry. "There," he muttered. "No traces. Any of this look familiar to you?" he asked his spider ghost acidly.
No response.
"Fine," Peter grumbled. He glanced around his room in his aunt's house. From under the bed he got the shipping envelope he had stuffed a backup suit of mesh into. He quickly stripped and pulled the mesh on. "I'll go look for myself. I can't believe there weren't any traces on the jewelry as to who handled it last. Did you do this?" he asked the mirror. His haunted eyes didn't have an answer.
He flexed the spinnerets on his forearms as he squirted web and shaped a bag for his clothes. Slinging that over his shoulder, he picked up the shoebox of valuables and slid out the window, closing it behind himself.
xXx
Twenty minutes later Peter had stashed the shoebox between the ceiling and the floor of the second story of the science building at Empire University. Another twenty minutes took him to the jewelry shop that had been robbed.
The spider ghost stood on the roof of the building and looked down at the unmarked police car that was parked in front of the jewelry store, the two cops inside having coffee. He would take a more subtle approach. He scouted briefly, then saw the scars where the iron bars had been ripped out of the third story window.
Dropping down the side of the building, he stealthily slipped inside.
"Okay, spider senses," he muttered. "Do your thing." He examined the brick where the bars had been. The bars had been torn casually out of the brick, that much was clear by the explosive force that had wrenched them free one at a time, left to right. Nothing had rubbed against the brickwork, so whoever entered this way couldn't be much bigger than Peter. He glanced at the floor; nothing. He examined the cases. Casually smashed, no blood, no traces. He looked closer, leaning right up to the glass.
No skin oils. Nothing. Nothing at all. He looked around the crime scene, his intense senses playing over everything. Slowly, he turned to look at the camera. He approached it.
There were traces of an oil of some sort on the lens. He sniffed at the camera.
He smelled something very like his pheromonal breath.
Peter flinched from the possibility, but there was no denying the truth.
A voice in the hallway. Harsh voice. Peter sprang up to the corner of the room and made himself very small in the ample shadow. The door opened, and a heavy man walked in.
"Brilhart," the big man said, "this is ridiculous. Get Peter Parker. I know you don't think it's him. But his friend. This spider ghost thing. It's cagey. This has every sign of it being him. We got inside contacts here, that Parker guy can reach him. Can we please quit protecting those two?" He listened for a minute as he glanced around the shop. He walked over to the window and inspected the frame. He sighed.
"Right, you're the boss, Brilhart. Fine. You talk to Parker. Me? I'm gonna keep an eye on his tax bracket. No way this aint gonna show up. I ran a background check on him. Last year he wins this scholarship. It all looks like a fence to me, Brilhart. A one time academic award? Nah. He sold the Stark Foundation something he stole, something it wanted, for a huge sum a money. I know he doesn't seem like the thieving type to you. But he is. Yeah." He listened some more. "Yeah, I know. I know, I know. I'm staying away from the press. But you can't let him get away with another one of these, Brilhart. You get me? One way or another, somebody's got to say something. Yes sir. Yeah, I'll get it. Yeah. Bye." He hung the phone up, then surveyed the broken cases. He clucked to himself, shaking his head. He headed out of the shop.
Shivering, Peter darted to the window, slipped out, and disappeared across the rooftops like a shadow in clouded moonlight.