PART TWO
Wednesday, September 15 2004
A lean shadow ducked through the gap in the fence. A flashlight flicked on, catching him square in the face. He scowled against the light.
His hair was black, cropped close to his head. Bright blue eyes probed the dim form that held the flashlight. He was powerfully built, lean, dressed stylishly.
"You Quentin Beck?" the shadow holding the flashlight asked in a whiskey-roughened voice.
"I used to be," he said with some irritation. "Get the light out of my face."
The thug chuckled, turning the flashlight around to illuminate a path that led behind the broken parking lot towards a slightly sagging abandoned building. "Right this way," he said. His guest followed.
They reached the back door of the building. A restaurant of some sort. The thug fumbled with a keyring, picked a key, unlocked the door. The two men ducked inside, ignoring the musty stink of the place. They passed the deep fryers and food racks, turning by the counter that overlooked the still and silent dining area. Then down a short hallway to a door that opened over stairs leading down, illuminated by a single bare bulb screwed into a cage on the wall.
Feet scraping on the rough concrete, the two men headed down the stairs and past two other well-armed men with shifty eyes. Finally, they passed through a door to the wide open basement.
It was lit only by candles, so most of the room was in shadow. They could see only the suggestion of the outline of a huge man, impossibly huge, resting in the dark corner.
"It's been a long time," the newcomer said, his voice bitter. "What do you want, Fisk."
The big man shifted slightly. "Quentin Beck," he murmured, his voice deep and powerful. "So glad you could respond to my invitation."
"I'm not Quentin Beck anymore. I've put my criminal past behind me. I'm Simon Elgin. And I just came here to say that whatever you want, the answer is no."
"Hear me out," Fisk rumbled. Elgin tightened his jaw, and said nothing. Fisk nodded to himself. "I will give you a million dollars. Enough to get out of all your debt. Enough to get back on your feet again, and do whatever you want. You can even quit your job as a funhouse consultant."
"What do you want in exchange," Elgin asked, unwillingly interested.
"Get a man out of prison. Then task him with four assassination jobs. I will provide you with funds, intelligence, equipment. You will be my representative to this man, and you will help him find his way out of jail. The assassin is not to know who I am; all contact is to be through you."
Elgin hesitated fractionally, then shook his head. "No. Too risky. I don't want to start over again. Thanks for thinking of me, good luck with the next stooge on your list." He backed towards the door.
"Aw c'mon, it's a short list," drawled a playful voice. Elgin whipped around, eyes widening, to see a whipcord lean man with cold eyes and a lazy smile leaning in the doorway.
"Ledge," he breathed, his heart racing.
"Now see, I changed my name too. I'm Jack Ebony now." His smile widened. "Just hear the man out a minute longer. This was just getting interesting."
Elgin backed sideways, so he could look back and forth between Fisk's shadowed bulk and Ebony's unpredictable threat.
"I want things to go smoothly," Fisk rumbled. "I emptied one of my Cayman accounts. I have your million on hand, and more besides." He paused. "I know you betrayed me once before. But I have no hard feelings. A man in my position is more keenly alert for possible loyalty than bent on crushing everyone who wronged him. You were loyal once. I want you to be so again, for the space of a single extended deal. Please… Elgin."
Ebony wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "Gotta admit, it's a sweet deal," he said mildly.
Elgin eyed Ebony. "So… who do you want broken out of jail?"
Thursday, September 16 2004
The door was kicked at, and it swung open. Mary Jane stepped in, dumping her purse and bag and satchel on the table, taking her keys out of her mouth and dropping them too. She turned and shut the door, then glanced into the living room.
Peter slouched on the sofa, his eyes dull and weary, his feet up as he watched the flickering television. Some ad for shaving gel. Mary Jane stretched out her weary shoulders, kicked off her shoes, and padded over to him.
"Hey tiger, how was your day?" she asked.
"nnn," he grunted. He blinked, looked up at her. His new beard was still shaggy stubble. He tried on a smile. "My day was long and I'm glad it's over. How about yours, beautiful?"
"Well, neither one of us is off the hook yet. Tonight is our martial arts class," she reminded him.
He winced. "Damn. I forgot. You could—"
'—go without me, no, you're coming along," Mary Jane interrupted. "Now come on, get your gi and get ready. We can grab some McDonalds on the way over."
"I don't—" Peter began doubtfully.
"Up up up," Mary Jane said, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet. "Me crack whip. You jump. I really don't want to have this conversation again. Come on now." She headed back towards the bedroom to get her gi. Peter sighed, scratching at his stubble, and he glanced around.
"Right," he said to himself. "Okay."
xXx
Tyrone bared his teeth ferociously, shouting in rhythm to his strikes, his fists whipping out at Peter. Peter slapped the blows aside absentmindedly. Tyrone finished the set, and looked over at the slender blonde who was simply stunning in a gi.
She frowned critically at the two of them where they sparred on the mat in the drafty loft. She shook her head. "Wake up, Parker," she said.
He looked over at her. "I blocked all his strikes."
"Sure you did. You sissy slapped your way out of that. Which is fine because it's Tyrone, but if something stronger than you was attacking, that wouldn't even have slowed the blows down. Reach up, make a fist, twist your forearm to deflect the blow with the meat of your forearm instead of bone. Use the strength of your arm, shoulder, and torso to deflect the hit. You can't just coast on talent."
"Yes sensei," Peter sighed.
"Okay, Tyrone off the mat," Illyana said as she briskly approached Peter. "Now you are going to spar with me," she said to Peter.
"Yes sensei."
They bowed and opened, squared off. Illyana darted at him, feinted to the side. She whipped a couple strikes at him, he deflected them easily. She kicked at his shin, he twitched aside; he punched at her, and she actually leaned out of the way and spun along his angle. He scooted away, and she fired a kick backward that actually hit him.
She bowed and closed, as did he. She looked him in the eye, seeing a vague resentment and bored weariness.
"Parker," she said, "if I can touch you then you aren't good enough. Next time? Next time it could be your life on the line."
"I don't do that anymore," he said through his teeth. "The most dangerous thing I'm gonna run across is a mugger. And I can handle myself. You know what?" he continued, glancing around. "Never mind. Just never mind. I'm through." He untied his sash, let it fall, and he strode towards the edge of the mat. Mary Jane ran to intercept him, but he brushed past her without making eye contact. He left the dojo without bowing out, his footsteps echoing down the stairs. Mary Jane gazed after him.
"Mrs. Parker," Illyana said. Mary Jane turned to face her. "You can go after him if you need to," Illyana said in a gentler voice.
"You know what? No," Mary Jane said. She shook her head and returned to the line. "No, I'm good. I'll deal with him later. I'm here to learn. Let's keep going."
"Right," Illyana nodded. "Sparring, split up. Dani, you and Tandy. Tyrone and Mary Jane. Doug, with me. Take turns, three strikes, throws allowed as attack or defense. Spread out, take your own mat."
Mary Jane faced off with Tyrone. They regarded each other, bowed and opened. Settled into stance. Tyrone fired a kick at Mary Jane, she ducked aside and snatched his leg, kicked the back of his knee so it folded forward. Tyrone hit the mat with a slap and a shout, and Mary Jane let him go, helped him up. He grinned sheepishly at her.
"You a m-mean w-ww-woman," he chuckled.
"Yeah, guess so," she agreed ruefully, stealing a glance at the door, distracted.
xXx
Peter was lost in thought as he approached his apartment. His senses twitched, and he blinked and glanced around, sifting his surroundings.
There, leaning against the wall to his apartment building, was a man in a dapper trench coat. He smiled, his blue eyes bright, and Peter recognized him.
"Beck?" he said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, Parker," he replied with a smile. "The name is Simon Elgin now, by the way. Six of one, half dozen of the other," he shrugged. "I've gone legit, I'm a businessman now."
"What do you want?" Peter asked flatly.
"I need your help, Parker," Elgin replied. "I'm starting a business, a magazine."
"Oh?" Peter asked, still wary.
"Yes, interior design," Elgin nodded. "I want to call it 'Innerosity' or 'Interiorate' or something catchy like that." He paused. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, I gotta change," Peter said, glancing down at the jacket he wore over his gi. "You better behave, I'm in a mood. You get out of line, believe you me, the smack will be laid down."
"That's fine," Elgin said with a small grin. "The smack. Gracious. Have you eaten?"
"Not really," Peter said. "You want to talk about this over some food?"
"Sure," Elgin agreed. He turned and pointed a device at the street, pushed a button. The BMW parked at the curb beeped once, its lights flashing. Peter regarded Elgin.
"You say you got a legal opportunity lined up, and you drive a Beemer?"
"Yes," Elgin said. "I've been doing consulting work for funhouses. There are ways that gifted people can legally make money, if they are creative enough. I have enough saved up to make this whole enterprise work." He smiled disarmingly. "I can't wait to go over the details with you."
"This I gotta hear," Peter muttered as he let himself into the building."
xXx
Tucked back in a booth, Peter smiled widely as the deep-dish pizza slid down on their table. "Enjoy," the server said, and he was gone.
"Dozens of restaurants within a mile of your house, and you want to go to a pizza pub," Elgin chuckled.
"Do not mock until you have partaken," Peter intoned, scooping a piece clear with his spatula. "Dear God, I may die if I don't get my teeth into this in the next ten seconds." He swiftly sprinkled parmesan cheese on it, then picked it up and bit the end off. Elgin shook his head with a slightly bemused smile, and he got a piece too.
"I have investors lined up," he said. "I'm going to go talk to one of them next Thursday, a week from today. Before I go into that appointment, I want my chief photographer on board. I've studied your work, Peter," he said seriously. "What you do for the Planetary is brilliant. It's edgy, it makes the viewer see the mundane in a whole new light. You can take a normal, boring room, and make it a mystery. You can take a mystery and lay it out so the viewer understands for the first time. You have a real gift, an eye for spatial relations, and under all that, a playful nature. You must understand, Peter, I need your talent if my dream is going to work. And because I need you, I'm willing to pay to get you. You'll be brilliant at this."
Peter regarded him. "That's high praise," he conceded. "But you tried to lure me into a criminal job once before. When does the other shoe fall? When does this cross the line into something I didn't sign on for?"
"It doesn't," Elgin said softly. He sipped his water, then looked Peter in the eye. "I'll level with you," he began. "I owe you. You saved my life, even when you wanted to kill me. Since I left you, I've been looking for a way to pay you back for that. And I don't hold my life as a light debt, either. I'd say it was nepotism that led me to offer you this sweet deal, but you know what? You're perfect for this in a way no one else on this Earth is, and I am honored to be the one to recognize that. To pay you what you're worth." His eyes were serious, his tone was even. Peter blinked.
"Can I still freelance for the Planetary?" he asked cautiously.
"There's enough of you to go around," Elgin nodded. "I'm guessing you work fast, faster than anyone suspects."
"I have to talk this over with my wife," Peter added.
"Naturally," Elgin agreed. "When you do," he said, pulling out a business card and a fountain pen, "show her my proposed first-year salary." He scribbled a number on the card, then slid it over to Peter. Whose eyes widened. Breathless, he stared at Elgin.
"All the decimals in the right place here?" he asked, startled.
Elgin leaned back with a smile. "Yes, Peter," he said. "No tricks. This offer is real."
"I think I need to be going," Peter managed.
"Let's get you a box for the pizza," Elgin grinned.
xXx
Peter let himself in, and Mary Jane stared at him.
"Parker," she barked, "where the hell have you been?"
"I left a note," he said, pointing at the table.
"Oh, yes, your note:" she said, picking it up and reading from it. "'MJ, out with old friend, DB.' So who is 'DB' supposed to be?"
"Danger Butt," he explained. "Look, I got some big news!" He put the boxed pizza on the table.
"I can't believe you walked out on—" Mary Jane began, but Peter stepped up to her and touched his finger to her lips.
"Mary Jane," he said. "Listen for just a second. I got a job offer!"
"What, between class and here?" she said, confused. He nodded.
"Check this out. Peter Parker, chief photographer for a new interior design magazine. Simon Elgin offered me the job, he's a guy I met when I was in college. He was visiting staff. He's been watching my work for the Planetary, he wants me on board for this. Check out how bad he wants me to come work for him," he said proudly, showing her the business card and its fateful figure.
Mary Jane's jaw dropped as she saw the proposed salary. "Dude, this is even written down," she said breathlessly. She looked at Peter. "What about the Planetary?"
"He even said I can still freelance for them if I've got the time," Peter grinned. "With this money, you don't have to work. You can quit your job at the doctor's office!" He picked up the phone.
"Whoah there, Peter," Mary Jane said, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "So were you going to come here and ask me what I think about this, or just tell me what you were going to do?"
He blinked, then slowly put the phone down. "Mary Jane, I just can't see how this isn't brilliant," he said cautiously.
She turned away. "Look, I don't know why this bothers me. But… it kind of does. Maybe you could just wait until tomorrow?"
"Sure," he said. "Sure," he repeated with a bit more conviction. "Look, MJ, if you don't want me to do this," he murmured, stepping up behind her and touching her upper arms. He cleared his throat. "You say you don't want this to happen, I won't do it," he said with a slight wince.
"I can't do that to you, Peter," she said quietly. "I just… this is big! I need a couple hours to grasp what this could mean for us."
"You got it, babe. You got it." Peter kissed the back of her head.
Mary Jane let her eyes slide closed, and tried to memorize that moment. Just in case. Just in case everything changed. She leaned back into her husband, and she gazed at the shifting dimness of the future.