Wednesday, September 29 2004

The pudgy Asian sipped air through his cigarette, and the tip glowed bright red. He tapped ash off, and glanced down the fire escape to the alley far below.

Sighing, he took another drag on the cigarette, then he settled himself on the folding chair set out on the metal grating outside the apartment. He didn't see it coming.

A shadow crossed him briefly, then a big man swooped down, landed with a dull clack on the fire escape, and jammed a knife through the man's throat. Tugging it clear, the big man muscled the fat Asian down in the chair as he jiggled with death throes. Then he propped him back against the wall and wiped off his blade.

Castle eased the window open, glanced inside. Three men watching the game on television, one having a spirited conversation in what sounded like Chinese on his cell phone, and a flush from the bathroom. Castle nodded to himself, sheathing his knife and drawing two silenced pistols.

Fluid and swift, he tumbled into the room and popped up shooting; muffled paffs were startlingly loud, but they were drowned out by cheers as a football team made a touchdown.

The three on the couch were bowled over by mule-kick bullet impacts, two shot in the head and one in the throat. The man on the cell phone spun, snatching at his pistol, but two bullets took him through the chest. Then the door to the bathroom opened as Castle pivoted and squeezed off a handful of rounds down the hall. The mob soldier was knocked off his feet, sent sprawling backward to smack into the wall and topple.

Castle glanced at the wisping guns; six bullets spent on the right, four on the left. He nodded to himself, and he approached the bedroom door.

Inside, the bed was rocking and the springs creaking. Grunting and moaning drifted out through the thick door. Castle frowned, then shouldered the door open.

A strong young man was flexing rhythmically into a woman who had her legs wrapped around him. His back had a sprawling and colorful dragon tattoo. Castle lined up and fired three shots into the young man, knocking him forward, blowing his head open.

The woman didn't scream, but she did gasp and manage to free herself from the corpse. She staggered out of the bed, naked, eyes wide.

"You can walk away," Castle said softly. She stared at him, trembling, then dove for the pistol on the nightstand.

A bullet smacked through her head, and she rebounded from the wall and slid stupidly to the floor, the gun clattering down off the nightstand.

Castle let go a deep breath, then stepped backwards, turned. He vanished into the city, and the television played on behind him.

xXx

The tape dispenser croaked as Peter dragged it across the top of the moving box, sealing it shut. Mary Jane strolled in, half a smile on her face.

"Hey, tiger," she said. "How's the packing going?"

"I got it all sorted, by category and by urgency level, then prioritized and arranged against the wall there," he said pointing to a preternaturally organized phalanx of boxes. "The bins for the stuff we're using until we actually move are arranged there," he said, pointing, "and the furniture has all been prepped for moving to the vans."

She crossed the room and pulled him into her arms, kissing him. "I love a man who can move me," she said with a grin.

"Did you put your two weeks' notice in today?" he asked.

"You bet your sweet tight fanny I did," she nodded.

"Groovy," he said with what could best be described as a smirk. "Hey, Elgin got us a sweet deal on an apartment in Manhattan. It's as big as this apartment and Aunt May's house put together, with change to spare."

"Peter," Mary Jane said, blinking and leaning back in his arms. "That must cost a fortune."

"Mary Jane," he retorted with a peculiar curious smile, "I'm going to be making a fortune. And we're getting a first-rate discount because the place is owned by our magazine's backer. Let's hear it for perks."

"So when do I get to see this place?" Mary Jane asked.

"Get your bag, let's roll," Peter replied.

xXx

The handsome young Asian man had his sleek black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He strolled into the restroom, his motion all grace, and a burst of chatter from the dining area followed him in. He lined up with the urinal, unzipping.

He didn't hear it coming.

The sledgehammer smacked into the back of his head, driving it forward to pound into the motion sensor mounted over the urinal. He didn't have a chance to let out more than a strangled cry; a hard hand snatched his shoulder and flung him to the floor. Then a two handed drive brought the hammer down on his face, and it was done.

Castle tossed the sledgehammer aside with a clatter and knelt by the door to the restroom. He jammed a sticky wad of gray putty by the door, stuck a pin in it that was attached to a wire. Taped the wire across the way from the wad. Then he primed the electric pin, and he swiftly crossed the room and hopped up, squirming his bulk out the window and dropping outside.

The door opened as two trim young men came to check on their boss. They had just enough time to see the body before the explosion tore the doorway apart and shredded them.

The rest of the group, seated at their customary table, looked up in startlement as the wall exploded and flung splinters and gravel through the room. Chattering in Chinese, they snatched up their personal effects and ran for the door, crossing the street in a hurry.

Slinging down into their cars, they ordered their drivers to get out of the area. Only then did they notice the glassy stares, the thin rivulets of blood. The drivers sagged down to the side, but their passengers didn't manage to get the doors open fast enough—

Three cars hopped up into the air, riding balls of flame, as their explosions burst every window in a block radius.

Castle tossed the detonating switch behind a dumpster and turned away. Then, he was gone.

xXx

Mary Jane's face was slack with awe as she gazed around the foyer. "Wow," she said simply. She touched a decorative column gingerly, then stepped into the main living room. "This is real hardwood floor."

"That's nothing," Peter grinned. "Come check this out." He took her hand and led her past the full kitchen to the enclosed balcony. She stared out over the long channel of Central Park.

"How about that?" Peter asked proudly.

"I can't believe we can afford a place like this," she said.

"We can," Peter nodded. "Did you see the marble countertop in the kitchen?"

She followed him, taking it all in. Turning, she saw that the living room had a balcony loft area. "What's up there?" she asked.

"Our room," he replied, taking her in his arms. "And a guest room, in case we have visitors. Things are finally looking up," he said with a crooked grin. "It's time to leave the past behind, and look to the future." He kissed her on the cheek, then turned and headed for the phone.

Mary Jane wandered over to the balcony, taking in the stunning view as she heard Peter call the movers. She smiled quietly to herself.

"Maybe he's right," she said to no one in particular.

xXx

Tempers flared and the argument spiraled into shouting in the plush hotel conference room. Castle briefly wished he knew Chinese. But he had a pretty good idea what they were talking about. His muscles flexed in the dim light of the glow rod as he finished attaching the canister to the air conditioning system. Then he wormed back out of the narrow crawlspace and clambered up to the access that led to the roof.

Stepping over the dead guards he had piled in the maintenance accessway, he picked up his heavy bag and unzipped it. He slid into the kevlar vest, pulled on the gas mask, the infra-red goggles. Then he holstered two pistols and picked up the assault rifle.

Opening the door, he padded down the hallway and stood with his back to the wall, around the corner from the entrance to the conference room. He took a deep breath, then he triggered the teargas.

As the vents spewed chemical fog in the meeting room, shouts of rage and fear erupted. The guards spun to see what was going on inside, and Castle slung around the corner shooting.

Powerful concussive thudding recoil pushed at his mighty arms as he swept the roaring gun, and the four guards were flung back and chopped to gobbets. Castle triggered the grenade launcher; with a hollow 'phoot' it flung a grenade at the doorway as the first wave of bodyguards rushed out.

The explosion sprayed soot and mortal remains all over the hall, and Castle was sprinting into the fray, his heart thudding, adrenaline fueling his predatory rush. Snapping on infrared, he ducked into the conference room that was too murky with teargas to be navigable. He saw heat signatures, and he punctured them with bullets. He lost count of the enemy as his gun bucked and roared.

Someone finally reached the balcony access, flinging the door open. The carefully placed claymore mines fired, and with gurgling chokes an entire line of escaping criminals was pulverized by the ensuing blast.

Castle looked around, taking in the scene. No survivors… Well, he had best be sure. He pulled a satchel that hung from his back, and tossed it in the middle of the room. Then he turned and ran, out of the room, down the hall, he ducked into the stairwell, and pushed the trigger.

The room detonated, spraying debris out to flutter and sink through the air, clattering down around the police cars that screeched to a halt in front of the hotel.

In the stairwell, Castle shed the flak vest and gear. Underneath, he wore a janitor's outfit. Scooping his rifle and mask and goggles and pistols together, he jogged down the stairs and ducked out, hunting for a closet with cleaning supplies. He found one, dumped his gear in a trash can, and wheeled it out. He tugged a baseball cap low over his forehead, and looked down as he headed for the service elevator.

Several stories above, ammunition was still cooking off as flames flickered around the dead.

xXx

Dusk was settling in as Mary Jane drove behind the loaded moving truck. Peter watched the city as it shifted from dusk to the flicker and buzz of artificial light.

The song wrapped up on the radio, and the dj chattered about something or other. Then, an advisory.

"This just in. The Hamilton Arms hotel was just attacked. In what appears to be the final blow in a killing spree that has gone on all day, unknown parties assaulted the Chan family's private suite. Casualties are unknown at this point, though preliminary investigations suggest—"

Peter shut the radio off, and Mary Jane glanced at him.

"You promised."

Peter frowned. "I don't want to bring the spider ghost with us to the new place, MJ. I'm trying to put the past behind us."

She said nothing.

He heaved a deep sigh. "Fine. I'll go check it out. After we unload the boxes." He looked over at her. "I wish I understood why you have a problem with me hanging up the mesh."

"So do I," she sighed. "So do I."

xXx

Peter strolled down the alley, past the police tape, and he leaned against the corner of the restaurant. Across the street, black smears still showed where the cars had exploded. Peter glanced around, his senses sweeping the area.

Something. He focused, ferreting through the vast data his senses collected, testing the strands of his net of senses to find which one vibrated with a catch. Ah. Scent.

He smelled the faint odor of high explosives. Squinting, he tried to narrow it down. He shifted the dumpster aside effortlessly, reached behind it, picked up a trigger-like device.

Recognized it.

"Hey," he said. He looked around the corner at the exploded cars. "Bingo. Now all I need is a weapons expert." He smiled to himself, pulled his ultra-thin cell phone out of his pocket. Dialed a number. "Hey, Natasha," he said. "Got a minute?"

xXx

Natasha sipped her coffee as she leaned on the table between herself and Peter. He glanced around.

"Nice place," he said.

"It's down the street from my dance studio," she shrugged. "What do you want to talk about?"

"This," he said, putting the detonator on the table and sliding it to her. She picked it up, looked it over.

"I know this device," she said. "It is companion to one or more satchel charges. It's a specialized car-bomb style demolition kit developed by Fisk's company."
"Wilson Fisk?" Peter said, surprised. "Who might be able to get their hands on something like this?"

"He was prohibited from marketing it widely, of course," Natasha said with something of a smile. "When his company was bought out, his assets would have been split. I have no idea where this could have come from."

"Do you know where Fisk is now?" Peter asked.

Natasha looked him in the eye. "No, I don't," she said. "He dropped out of sight some time ago. In more ways than one. I hear he's blind now."

"Really," Peter nodded sagely. "How about that. Well… thanks for your help. The coffee is on me." He smiled at her, left a bill on the table, and rose to leave.

"Watch your back, Parker," Natasha said. "Fisk is the wrong man to toy with."

"Don't I know it," he muttered under his breath as he left.

xXx

"What am I doing?" Peter asked himself as he stood on the front porch, waiting, the tone of the doorbell echoing in the house. He jammed his hands in his pockets, looking over the street. A shadow moved behind the door, and it opened.

"Peter, what a pleasant surprise," Mr. Stacy said with a broad smile.

"Hey," Peter said. "Mind if I come in for a minute? I need to talk to an armchair detective." He grinned sheepishly.

"By all means," Stacy nodded, ushering him in. "Gwen is out with Tandy right now, but I'm all yours. Shall we retire to my den?"

"Sure," Peter said, following the older man. As Stacy settled behind his desk, Peter perched in a chair.

"It's like this," Peter said. "I'm trying to figure out where Fisk might have gone. Is he still alive? Still in New York?"

"Fisk, eh," Stacy echoed. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead," Peter shrugged.

Stacy thoughtfully packed his pipe. "Let's see. Last I heard of Fisk was in the papers, oh, sometime around June if I remember right. He was retiring, he sold the company and it was dissected. I don't know where he is now."

"Can you find out?" Peter asked. "That's what I am here to ask for."

"I'll help as best I can," Stacy agreed. "Come back in about twenty four hours, we'll see what a day of digging can turn up." He paused. "What's the interest?"

"Mary Jane wanted me to check out the gangland hits that have been going on. And I'm beginning to think that Fisk might be working behind the scenes here."

"Mary Jane?" Stacy asked, surprised. "I didn't know she followed crime stories."

"I'd explain," Peter sighed, "but she's a woman, and I'm totally lost on this one."

"Fair enough," Stacy grinned.