Saturday, September 18 2004
Four heavyset guards escorted the powerful man into the infirmary. He wore a prison jumpsuit, and it strained to encompass the muscle mass of his arms and legs, The guards sat him down at the examination table, and cuffed him to it. Then they surrounded him, tense and ready. The door opposite the table opened, and a slim doctor hunched in.
He wore thick glasses, his pale hair was slicked back, his nose seemed to aim his eyes as he sniffed slightly. He glanced down at his clipboard.
"Castle, Frank," he observed. "Well, let's get your physical underway. Remove your coveralls and shirt, please."
With the guards supervising, Castle managed to get out of the jumpsuit. He peeled his shirt off, stripped down to briefs. He sat at the table again, eyes ahead, jaw clenched. His face was square and rugged, his dark hair slicked back from his face. His torso was sculpted with muscle and spattered with scar tissue. Blades, bullets, and fire had all printed their memory on his flesh.
The doctor briefly examined him, listening to his chest, checking his ears and mouth and eyes. Leaning back, the doctor nodded.
"You are quite healthy, in spite of the damage you've taken in here," he observed. Turning, he fumbled with his kit. "Let's get your blood pressure."
As he wrapped the cuff around Castle's arm, the big prisoner felt a sharp sting. He frowned at the doctor, who winked at him. Adrenaline threaded into Castle's blood as he glanced around; the guards were oblivious to the exchange.
Then the room began to spin, and Castle blinked. "I… I don't feel… so good," he managed.
He sank back into darkness.
xXx
Peter finished polishing the lens of the camera. He put it back in the bag as the door to the bedroom opened, and Mary Jane emerged fully dressed. She wore hip-hugging jeans slung low, and a midriff baring tee shirt.
"You taking pictures of the band today?" she asked, mildly surprised.
He blinked, then smiled slightly. "Oh right. Practice today." He hesitated.
"Peter," Mary Jane said, crossing her arms, "in case you were wondering, you were not about to suggest you don't have to go."
"Maybe I was," he replied with a frown.
"First the martial arts class, now this? No. No no no."
"Hey, I have something to say about this, you know," Peter replied with some heat. "My livelihood is working for Strange. He's also at the center of the martial arts class, of the band. Is it so freaky to want some distance? I'm surprised you aren't squikked about it."
"Yeah, well, Strange met Tandy and Tyrone because you introduced them," Mary Jane said. "And you met them because I introduced you. So what if I am the center of the social group?" She sat down next to him, leaned against him. "Come on, Peter. Strange doesn't even visit when we play clubs."
She batted her big, green eyes at him.
"Fine," he sighed. "Fine, I'll go."
"And you'd miss it if you didn't," she pressed.
"Yeah," he admitted slowly. "I would." He packed up his camera.
xXx
Castle was jarred awake as the van hit a pothole. Blinking, he managed to rub at his eyes; he was on a gurney, in the back of an ambulance. No guards. Just the doctor from the hospital.
"What's going on," he demanded gruffly, his voice hoarse. Every inch of his body hurt.
"I killed you, bang dead," the doctor grinned. "Congratulations, Frank Castle. Time of death was two hours, fifteen minutes ago." The doctor tugged off the glasses, peeled the prosthetic nose off. "As of right now, you're a free man. I have succeeded where so many others have failed, and your legend is over." He chuckled.
Castle's frown seemed chiseled into his face. "Why? What's your game?"
"My name is Quentin Beck," the doctor said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have used my backer's resources to get you out of prison because he has a task that needs doing, a task that requires a very specific sort of warrior. One like you, Castle. Certain law-breakers in New York need to be stopped. The police can't touch them." Beck paused. "You can."
Castle looked down at his chest, saw the burns from the paddle used to try to restart his heart. He coughed slightly. "Sounds interesting. Keep talking."
Beck nodded. "The Kallara family is first on the docket," he began. "Five leaders at the head of the family. I'm offering you five thousand for each of them, and five hundred for each of their soldiers. I know that's dirt cheap wages, but you must understand that procuring as much temporary blindness and lost paperwork as I did to get you out of prison was… well, not cheap."
Castle regarded him. "I've heard of the Kallaras," he said. "If I'm gonna do this, I need certain tools to do it right. And intelligence about their movements. If I have to collect it myself, that's extra. And if you feed me incorrect intelligence, then my price doubles."
"Can you start in a week?" Beck asked with a pleased smile.
"Why wait that long?" Castle replied, something dangerous in his eyes.
xXx
"You guys will never believe the news I have today!" Tandy said, grinning madly, as Peter and Mary Jane got out of the car parked in the driveway of the palatial Bowen estate.
"What's that?" Mary Jane asked.
"I got us a gig playing at the Royale," Tandy said, eyes flashing with glee.
"The Royale?" Peter clarified. "The Royale?"
"Two hundred bucks apiece for this gig," Tandy confirmed. "Come on in."
They followed her through the side door, into the garage. The card table was set up, and Tyrone sat leaning on it and grinning. Peter, Mary Jane, and Tandy joined him at the table.
"The time has come to talk about the future," Tandy said seriously. "Tyrone and I have been thinking this over. At this point, we've made enough local contacts that if we want we can go semi-pro, get an album out there, and take a shot at the big time. Do this for a career. We have the talent, the fan base is already out there." She leaned back. "Eyes Open could go all the way. I believe it."
"I d-dd-drive somebody e-eelse's car for a l-l-lliving," Tyrone managed. "S-ss-sign me up for th-the b-bband," he clarified. "Ll-llets d-d-do this."
"Yeah, my career? Isn't," Mary Jane agreed. "I'm in."
"I've had second thoughts about working with Strange," Tandy admitted. "I mean, it's been very educational being his personal assistant, and I've seen some things," she said, shaking her head, "that I never would have believed. But this is a chance to do something else. Something special. I really think we can make it, reach millions of people with this music we're making. What do you think, Peter?"
He sat back from the table, watching them, expressionless.
"Peter?" Mary Jane prodded.
He leaned forward, rubbed at his face. "I just got a job opportunity," he said. "A big one. Chief photographer for a magazine. Plus freelancing for the Planetary." He shook his head. "This is money and career and… stability… that I just don't feel I can walk away from. I don't see how I can do that, and also tour and put in studio time."
Peter didn't look at Tyrone, who was crestfallen. As Tyrone slumped in his chair, Mary Jane touched Peter's arm.
"You haven't started work, or signed anything yet. It isn't too late to change your mind," she said.
Tandy saw Peter's frown, and she interjected. "Maybe we could do an album, and keep up our presence in New York. Keep our options open, so if we did decide to go for it later, we would still be positioned. In the meantime, work on our repertoire."
"Yeah, g-ggreat, whatever," Tyrone muttered, looking away.
"Sounds fine," Peter said, eyes glittering.
Tandy regarded him for a long moment, and she nodded to herself.
"Whatever," Tyrone repeated heatedly, standing and walking away from the table, picking up his guitar. "This g-gg-group-p is d-dynamite," he said. "It's n-not like I could-d m-mm-make it goin solo," he added. "I guess I just hafta wait. Till we a-all ready."
"I so hear you there," Mary Jane agreed as she crossed the garage and slung her base guitar on. She plugged it in, checked the amps. "We gonna make some music, or what?"
xXx
Mary Jane steered as the car whisked along the arterial freeway. Beside her in the car, Peter gazed out the window, more or less absent.
"You're too quiet," Peter murmured. "Out with it."
"I really want this band thing to work out," Mary Jane said earnestly. "We could hit the big time. With you and Tandy, we have something really unique and special. Tyrone and I get our names in the lights too, and that doesn't hurt. I could be a part of this great thing. But alone? Yeah, Tyrone and I know that you and Tandy are the band. And we're along to fill out the edges. Not that this is a bad thing. But that means unless you two are both on board, we're gonna flop."
"I may never again get a chance like the one I've got right now," Peter said. "This job could be the perfect use of my talents in the real world, in real life. And the band… entertainment is pretty fickle. I just don't want to go bust and wonder 'what if.' You know?"
"I do," Mary Jane nodded. "And you haven't even interviewed with this Elgin guy. What if it goes sour? We have a chance here with the band. A chance that might slip away. There is no telling what might happen if we let this time get away from us. Maybe the band will fall apart. I don't know. I want to get it going while the getting is good." She glanced over at him. "I'm surprised at you. I'd think you would jump at the chance to get Tandy and Tyrone out of Strange's little clique."
"No," Peter sighed. "I'm not mad at Strange, I wish him the best. Really. But I owe him bigtime." Peter shook his head. "I hate that," he murmured reflectively, as though surprised to hear what those words sounded like out loud.
Mary Jane turned onto the street where they lived. Peter shifted, and looked over at her intently.
"Mary Jane," he said, "it's time for the spider ghost to go away."
"What?"
Peter shrugged, then looked out the windshield. "I'm not going out exercising anymore in the mesh. No more heroics. It's time I paid attention to my life. What I'm doing with it, where I'm going with it. It's time for Peter Parker to be more important. For the opportunities of my real life to be more important than saving the world."
Mary Jane said nothing. But she could almost feel the memory of Aunt May in the car with them, chilling and disapproving.
They pulled up to the curb, Mary Jane neatly parallel parking. Peter bounded up to the door, unlocked it, let himself in. Mary Jane followed him through the building, around and up to their apartment. He moved with energy and purpose. She drifted into the kitchen, shrugging her jacket off. Glancing around.
In the study, she heard the closet opened. A 'tunk' of plastic; the child-sized mannequin bopped against the doorframe as Peter pulled it out. She heard the delicate rip of mesh being stripped off the dummy. The empty rattle of spray cans. She heard Peter fumble with a cardboard box, dumping things in.
Mary Jane opened the fridge, pulled out a loaf of bread. Got the peanut butter out. She noticed her hands were trembling. She smeared peanut butter on a slice of bread as Peter walked past her to the door, hefting the child mannequin and a cardboard box with black spraypaint and extra suits of mesh. He opened the door easily without any help, and vanished into the hallway. She heard his light tread moving down the stairs.
Unable to help herself, she walked over to the window and peered out. Watched Peter go outside, haul the dumpster lid up, stuff the mannequin and box in. He brushed off his hands, and returned to the building without looking back once.
Mary Jane sat on the couch, vision blurring. She turned on the television.
"I'm not gonna cry," she managed in a thick voice. And she put her hand over her mouth as she flicked through the channels senselessly. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes in spite of her best efforts.
When Peter returned, walking behind the couch headed for the bedroom, he pretended not to notice.
Wednesday, September 22 2004
"Glad you could meet me for lunch, Peter," the older man smiled. He was tall, lean, his white hair styled with curves straight out of the fifties. His eyes were sharp, his grip strong.
"Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Stacy," Peter replied as he sat at the table and glanced around. "Sure beats Lucky's Pizza." He smiled.
Stacy shrugged. "I like to come here once a month or so," he said, gesturing around the Italian restaurant. "Reminds me of times gone by."
"Lunch is on me, no objections," Peter grinned. "I just dropped off my pictures at the Planetary, and I'm in the mood to celebrate."
"Very well, I'll accept your generosity gracefully. As long as you do the same when it's my turn," Stacy said with a quiet smile.
"Done. So what's good here?"
"I've never been disappointed," Stacy shrugged. "Order whatever you like. I hear you have a new job in the offing."
"I do," Peter nodded. "Head photographer for an interior design magazine. It's a sweet deal."
"I can't tell you how happy I am for you, Peter," Stacy nodded. "That's fantastic."
Peter eyed him. "Did you invite me to lunch to talk about my new job?" he asked.
"That's part of it, of course. But I don't have too many friends from the old days, and Gwendy, bless her heart, gets awfully tired of listening to my armchair detecting. I thought maybe you'd be interested in rehashing the gory details of a gangland slaying," he said puckishly.
"Gangland slaying?" Peter echoed.
Stacy nodded. "Last night, the Kallara family. Five of them found pinned to the front of their safehouse, a Chinese laundry. Stuck to the wall with bayonets, if you can believe it. Then the rest of the mob soldiers seemed to be trapped inside when the building caught fire and burned down. The police speculate that the leaders were pinned to the exterior so they could be easily identified." Stacy shook his head. "This is not a normal gang hit," he pointed out.
Peter paused. "I… I don't do that anymore," he said. "I decided it was time I grew up and left the police work to the police." He smiled, trying to take the sting out of his words. "I'm afraid the police are on their own with this one."
"Really," Stacy said, arching an eyebrow as he sat back. "Why the change? If you don't mind my asking."
"Well…" Peter said slowly. "Aunt May is gone, and… and I realized that I have to pay more attention to my life. To being Peter Parker. And you know what? The world doesn't end if I stop trying to save it." He shrugged. "My new job will finally make me financially stable without help from the outside. It's time I stopped messing around with my college hobby."
Stacy saw the server approaching with their lunch order. "Well, it's a loss for the city," he said. Then he shook the feeling off, not looking at Peter. Peter nodded to himself.
Lunch arrived, and they ate together quietly.