xXx

Castle tilted the cold bottle of water, drinking from it. A doctor hovered at his side, swabbing a cut on his muscled arm.

"Good work," Beck nodded. "By our count, you got fourteen of the Chan bosses and at least forty of their soldiers. That should put them out of commission. Your suitcase is ready whenever you want to take it," he added, patting the fat case at his side.

"The deal was four contracts," Castle said, looking at Beck. "Who is the fourth. I want to get this over with."

"Fair enough," Beck shrugged. "The fourth target is a retired crime lord. He's in hiding in New York, but I have the specs of his retreat here." He tossed an envelope on the table. "His name is Wilson Fisk. Perhaps you've heard of him."

"Yeah, I heard of him," Castle said. "He retired? He was on top of his game when I was put away."

"He was blinded," Beck said. "His empire was taken apart. He is the last big piece of the puzzle you've been dismantling for us."

Castle nodded. "Tomorrow night," he said. "I'll finish this up tomorrow night. Then I'm a free man," he clarified.

"Then you're all done," Beck agreed. Castle watched him for a moment. "What," Beck asked.

"Nothing," Castle shrugged. "Nevermind."

xXx

"I hope you're happy," Peter said as he sat on the couch.

Mary Jane looked up from her unpacking as she was pulling paper-wrapped glassware out of the box. "Of course you do, as my husband it's your job." She smiled.

"I think Fisk is behind this. I really don't want to tangle with him again." Peter's eyes were serious.

Mary Jane watched him for a moment. "Peter," she said, "I just wanted you to check it out. You did. If you want to walk away, fine. Do it." She stood, picked up the box, and walked into the kitchen.

Peter sat alone for a few minutes. Then he stood and walked over to the enclosed balcony, looking out over the glittering city, and he sighed.

Thursday, September 30 2004

"We aren't unpacked or anything," Mary Jane said, "But you gotta see this place."

The afternoon sun was slanting low and brilliant through the balcony glass as Mary Jane led Gwen and Mr. Stacy down the steps between the foyer and the spacious living room.

"Let me take your coats," Peter said, and he hung the coats in the closet.

"Wow," Gwen managed. "This place is incredible!"

"You've got quite a home," Mr. Stacy agreed.

"And because cooking is difficult under these circumstances," Mary Jane grinned, "I've got some Chinese take out set up in the kitchen. You gotta see the kitchen!"
"Peter," Mr. Stacy said. Peter hesitated, letting Gwen and Mary Jane head into the kitchen. Stacy pulled a fat envelope from his suit's coat pocket. "Here. This is a list of properties in New York that are still under Fisk's direct control. I separated out the ones that are real estate, and the ones that are business." He hesitated. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Peter said. "Let's get something to eat."

They joined the ladies in the kitchen, where Mary Jane was portioning out the food. "Oh, Peter. Where is the serving dish?"

"Box H9," Peter said. "Should be on the floor in the living room, second tier, fourth in." He grinned, and went to get it.

"There is a man who takes his packing entirely too seriously," Mary Jane sighed, shaking her head.

"This place is pretty cool," Gwen said mischievously. "Are you sure Peter didn't get a job working for the mafia?"

"He's a photographer for an interior design magazine. And they've got some backing. Plus the guy running it knows Peter from his college days. I don't know how this deal got so sweet, but I'm sure Peter isn't doing anything illegal," Mary Jane shrugged. "I better go see how he's coming along with that serving dish." She smiled and excused herself.

Peter was just pulling the dish out of the box. He glanced up as Mary Jane joined him.

"So you got the good Captain and his daughter over here for dinner so he could give you something?" she prompted.

"Yes," he replied.

"And you're going out tonight?" she clarified.

"I guess I probably am," he nodded, slightly evasive.

"If you want some mesh, I saved a suit. It's in my makeup case." She patted the side of his face and smiled, then left him kneeling on the floor looking bewildered.

xXx

Peter stood in the shadows of the bedroom as he heard the front door slam. Alone, he lifted the dark strip of mesh, like a flat shadow, and for a moment he felt Peter Pan. "There you are, shadow," he murmured.

He slid into the mesh, and it settled on him like a second skin. He felt his temperature rise, his joints loosen, his muscles relax, his alertness ramp up. He closed his eyes under the mesh, and when he opened them he could see through it, his senses compensated for the thin fabric barrier.

He picked up the envelope with Stacy's information, then he opened the window and slipped out into the night. He pushed the window closed, then hopped at the side of the building.

Holding the envelope adhered to his palm, he let adhesive power swell in his hands and feet as he scrabbled up the wall. Reaching the roof, he sat down, not even winded. He opened the envelope and pulled out the papers.

His eyes scanned sheet after sheet, adding the information to a mass in his mind. He dumped more in, and more, feeling his spider mind sifting and winnowing the data into useful fact.

"There," he murmured, tapping at the paper. "Hefe's Burger Barn." Abandoned restaurant. Centrally located. Good sized. "Or maybe this is just me with an elaborate fat joke," he shrugged. "One way or another, I'm checking it out."

The spider ghost sprang into action.

xXx

The fence rattled, and a thug stepped over to glance out the gap between the boards. A rifle butt slammed into his head; he slid down out of the way as a bulky warrior stepped through over his body.

"Don't move," the other thug said, nervous, his trembling gun barrel lined up on Castle.

Castle's hand flicked, and a knife spun through the air in a flat arc and slammed into the thug's throat, knocking him back. Castle spun, leg firing a kick out, and knocked the gun out of the dying thug's hand. Then he turned his attention to the shadow of the restaurant.

He found his way inside, stalking around the shadows of bulky counters and appliances, long since abandoned. It didn't take him long to follow the worn trail in the dust around to the stairs that led to the basement.

Alert for traps, Castle descended the stairs. At the bottom, he found himself in a room awash in candle light. The room stank of untended invalid, and Castle simply stared at the huge bulk of the man that swelled to fill an entire corner of the room.

"I heard you were big," Castle said, "but I had no idea."

"Most people don't," Fisk replied agreeably.

"Just so you know. Your toady, Beck, told me to come here and kill you. I thought I'd check with you first, make sure this wasn't some kind of double-cross."

Fisk paused. "You knew?"

Castle shrugged. "I put a GPS tracker on Beck early on, followed his movements via satellite. Came by on my own to check it out. Remember Jake? Guard on your staff a week or so ago? Yeah, I disappeared him. Found out who they were protecting in here. So when Beck told me to come here and kill you, I thought we should have a chat first."

Fisk sat motionless. "Your loyalty comes as a surprise to me."

"Don't get me wrong," Castle said. "I think you're scum. But I don't want to knock you off and walk into a trap on the way out. If you get my meaning."

"I do," Fisk nodded. "And that is very cautious of you. No need to worry, however. I sent my bodyguard away for the evening, and I can only assume you had no trouble with the thugs upstairs. My time is over, Castle. My empire is dust, my body is crippled, my family… is lost to me. I find myself a man once accustomed to power, with nothing left to live for. In expending my last remaining fortune, I write my own will and testament. And in it, I bequeath myself an escape from the degradation of being at the mercy of my caretakers."

Castle reached back to a satchel strapped to his belt, and he tossed it to land on Fisk's bulk. The big man grunted, and grasped the charge.

"That's an explosive," Castle said. "Make your peace with God. I'm on my way out."

"Goodbye," Fisk said simply.

Castle climbed the stairs and ducked out the back, then he hesitated.

Someone was watching him.

He slowly turned to see a lithe figure made of shadow with two large, pale eyes. The shadow was perched on a fence post, looking right at him.

"Okay," Castle muttered. He took a few steps back.

"Don't run, I'll catch you," the shadow said. "Have a nice chat with Fisk?"

"You could say that," Castle nodded. He thumbed the trigger's button.

The explosion burst up out of the ground, shattering the building. Castle sprawled awkwardly through the air and slammed through the fence, the agile shadow twirled into a backflip and rolled with the blow.

Skidding to a halt on his side, Castle opened up with the machine gun, sending bullets pounding through the doors and windows of parked cars as the shadow darted behind them. Then he rolled to the side, regained his feet somewhat clumsily, and sprinted for the alley.

He paused to catch his breath as his body ached from the force of the explosion. Must have been a lot of other explosives down there somewhere. With a peculiar sound like tearing silk, a dark shape dropped down into the alley from the roof of one of the buildings. Castle lined up with his gun, and a gob of sticky webbing whipped out and smeared over the gun barrel.

"What did I say about playing with guns in the house?" quipped the shadow. Castle scowled as sirens wailed closer.

"What do you think you're here to do?" Castle demanded, his voice hard.

"I think the police might have some questions about why you're setting up your own crematorium. Was Fisk in there?" the dark figure asked, voice light and even, shadows seething around it.

"Fisk paid me to kill him. I used an explosive charge. The world is free of one more scumbag; justice is served. Now get out of my way before you and I have a serious disagreement."

"Justice… justice is served?" the shadow echoed.

"What, you think it would have been better to turn him over to the cops? Months in trials, retrials, mistrials? Maybe you don't know that after over a year of legal wrangling he got out of every charge the cops could throw at him, full acquittal. The process was littered with corpses, disappearances, and evidence rendered inadmissible. Justice is to hold him accountable for his crimes, and protect the public from him. I have done that, and I was well paid as a bonus. And I swear to God if you don't get the hell out of my way, you'll be in some major pain." Castle's expression darkened further.

"You are the one that's been killing crime families," the shadow breathed.

"They have been punished for their crimes," Castle growled.

"So what are you going to do now?" the shadow asked, voice trembling with an unidentifiable emotion. "Who's next on your heavily-armed docket?"

Castle regarded the shadow. "I'm taking a vacation," he said softly, his expression shifting slightly. "Somewhere warm."

"I… I can't let you go," the shadow murmured.

"So don't," Castle shrugged. His rifle whipped up, the underslung grenade launcher barked, and the spider ghost sprang out of the way as a concussive blast rippled through the windows of the alley, blowing them out. Castle tugged his mask on, then fired teargas; the shadow scrabbled for the roof, away from the gas. Then four squad cars screamed up to the flaming crater of the restaurant, checked out the alley. Disgusted, the shadow disappeared into the night.

Castle was long gone.

xXx

Peter shoved the door open and marched into the living room. He flung a wadded handful of mesh at the trash can as Mary Jane looked up from her book.

"I'm through," Peter said through his teeth. "No more heroing. No more. I'm sorry you miss it, but I'm just done." He spun on his heel and stalked into the kitchen. Mary Jane quickly rose and followed him.

"What happened?" she asked, breathless.

He pulled a cold can out of the fridge and slammed it on the counter, and leaned over it, his back to her. "I don't know what I was doing out there tonight," he murmured. "I let a murder go… because I wasn't sure it was right to stop him. There are too many shades of gray, and I'm going to find myself on the wrong side one of these times. I don't… Forget it." He put his drink back in the fridge unopened, turned, and pushed past her.

"Peter?" she called after him as he jogged up the spiral staircase to the upper level.

"Fisk was killed," he said. Then the door to the bedroom slammed.

Mary Jane blinked, slightly bewildered.

xXx

Elgin sighed as he turned the stereo off and capped the candles, snuffing them out. He took a last sip of his brandy, and he padded into the kitchen and rinsed out the glass. Checked the time. After eleven. He smiled to himself.

"There's a lot to do tomorrow," he murmured to himself, and he turned—

"Beck," Ebony said pleasantly. "I've been thinking." The assassin leaned in the doorway to the kitchen. He was dressed all in black, his peculiar dark eyes haunting, his arrogant features crafted in thoughtful amusement. He wore black gloves, and toyed with a knife.

"What are you doing here?" Elgin asked nervelessly, color draining from his face.

"Fisk was all about letting you and Castle go. But me? Well, I'll just come out with it," Ebony shrugged. "You just know too much, Beck. Sorry." He smiled mirthlessly.

Elgin made a break for it. But the conclusion was foregone.

Friday, October 1 2004

"Is there anyone who would like to say something?" the preacher with the dull face and the bored eyes asked the small group that assembled in the inexpensive side chapel of the funeral home. Plastic flowers decorated the casket.

"I would," said the trim young man with dark eyes. He stood, and the preacher deferred. "I'm Peter Parker. I knew Simon Elgin as well as anybody, I suppose. He was a private man. I know he wanted to do the right thing, and he was a man who honored his debt. The world is poorer without him. He saw things in a way no one else could. He was a mystery. In his own way, he was a riddle, a riddle that will never be solved." He faltered, and touched at his face. "Thanks." He sat down and took a deep breath. The lovely redhead at his side squeezed his arm.

xXx

The graveyard was appropriately dreary and fogged. The funeral was breaking up, and the few that had attended were heading for their expensive chauffeured cars. One of them was a young man with pale hair slicked back from his face, expensively dressed. A man built like a linebacker strode along at his side as they headed for their car.

"Scuse me," said another man as he jogged up to them. "Scuse me, you must be Richard Fisk," he said. He smiled, not out of breath in the least. "I smelled the revenge on you."

"You've got ten seconds to interest me before Alfred here encourages you to leave me alone. I'm in mourning, you insensitive clod." His voice was high and light, but there was a lingering hint of mean in his eyes.

"Your father, Wilson. He was quite a guy," the newcomer said. "My name is Jack Ebony. I've heard good things about your work overseas. I was one of your father's retainers."

"Alfred. Get rid of him," Richard said dismissively, turning away.

He heard a grunt and a crack and a thud, and he turned to see Alfred on his knees, mouth gaping like a landed fish, arm twisted at an impossible angle behind him. Ebony was still smiling unflappably.

"I haven't broken anything too bad yet," Ebony admitted. "But I can. About another ounce of pressure and his tendons just pop all kinds of loose in this here arm. Sorry I didn't hit the ten second limit, but I hope you're interested now."

Indeed, interest glimmered in Richard's eyes. "What do you want."

"Like I said. Your dad was quite a guy. When he knew it was over, he didn't wait around and mope until he was done. Nossir. He took the initiative, whacked the people that screwed him, and then arranged for his own checkout with style. Makes me want to know his son, if you get the picture. I want to work for the winning team. And Fisk? He was good people. You got need for someone of my talents?" He smiled broadly. "I'm the best there is, but what I am not is cheap. Course, you don't have money trouble. It's just hard to find good help." He let Alfred go, and the big man thudded down on his elbows, panting into the grass.

"Indeed it is," Richard agreed, a smile hinting in his features. "Walk with me. Tell me more."

They turned and continued walking towards the car, and Alfred dragged himself to his feet and limped after them.

xXx

"Touching speech," Worthington said to Peter as they filed out of the chapel. Peter stepped between rows of folding chairs to get out of the way, and he turned to Worthington.

"Thanks," he said calmly. "Do I still have a job?"

"Of course," Worthington nodded. "I was more interested in your photography than his pitch. I'll assign one of my veteran editors to your magazine. You have complete control, he's there to help you. Make this happen. If you can show a demonstrable uptick in my sales and reviews as a result of the magazine, or if it is self-sufficient in a year? Then your position is assured. In one capacity or another."

He turned to Mary Jane. "You must be Peter's wife. I didn't realize you were so lovely." He bowed slightly, took her hand, kissed it. He released her, turned back to Peter.

"For now, you will work out of your home. Get started on the Hawkins Heights apartments, your editor Jameson already has the details." He smiled winningly at Peter.

"Prove me right," he said. "Show me what you've got." He turned, and left.

Peter looked over at Mary Jane, then glanced over his shoulder at the casket.

"I guess the show goes on," he said softly.

They left together.