December 21, 2001
She walked up behind the slim young man, stopping an armspan behind where he hunched over his lunch tray. "Hello, Peter," she said, walking around the end of the table and sitting down facing him. "Don't see you here in the Commons much."
Peter looked up, a bit startled, and he smiled. He hastily swallowed his mouthful of food.
"Aunt May is a really great cook," Peter grinned.
"So you've said," she nodded. She looked briefly around the cafeteria. "Got Christmas plans, Parker?"
"Christmas? Oh, Aunt May and I are going to have a real holiday blowout. I'll probably help her watch Christmas movies until it's time for supper. I'll help her cook. Then we'll eat and open presents and she'll retire from the festivities about nine. I'll make sure the yule tide log doesn't torch the place, and then I'll wander off to bed at a more collegial time in the morning. How about you?"
"Headed to Texas on a family trip. Believe me, yours sounds like more fun." She made a face.
"I think it's going to snow again," Peter said. "Might not be able to fly out."
"If I couldn't, then I'd need a bobsled to get around town."
"Or a chauffeur," he said with a cockeyed grin. "Did you know I have a magic carpet?"
"I did not know that," she said, nodding her head, her bright green eyes wide. He forgot what he was going to say, watching her cute little nose and those mock serious eyes, that beautiful pale face framed in crimson. She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "Parker?"
"Yes," he said, blinking. "Yes. Please excuse me. I am slow of mind." He put his fist up to his forehead. "Christmas. Carpets. Right." He flushed pink. "So when do you leave?"
"Saturday afternoon," she said. He desperately tried to remember what day it was.
"Saturday, right," he said sagely, fumbling for his day planner. "So what are you doing before you go? Got steamer trunks to pack?"
"More like an overnight bag. Why?"
"Oh, just wondering whether airline regulations really do let people move households on airplanes or if they're more strict about the two carry on limit, that's all," he pattered. "Aaand, to, see, if, you, needed to get anything done in town while you were gone so I could maybe help out."
"Peter," she said with a grin. "Are you offering to take care of my cat?"
"Yes!" he said. "I am offering to take care of your cat. You have a cat?"
"My roomie does," she said. "The adorable furball's name is Hellraiser. I'm sure you'll get along. Tell you what. Why don't you come by tomorrow afternoon and I'll show you around. Deal?"
"Deal," he said.
"Two okay?"
"I'll be there with bells on."
"That's hardly necessary," she said with a smile. "Hellraiser might think you're a chew toy. Here." She took his day planner and opened it randomly, scribbled her address and phone number in, snapped it shut, and slid it back. "See you tomorrow," she said with a dazzling smile, then she was swaying off.
And he just sat there watching.
"I am offering to take care of your cat?" he said to himself. "Her cat?" He groaned, his head sinking down to his arms on the table. "'Mary Jane, would you like to go out to dinner with me?' And it comes out 'I am offering to take care of your cat?'" He groaned again, and slowly thumped his head against his arms. "Smooth like serrated gravel, Parker. And, for those who are completely hopelessly clueless, today is Friday."
xXx
Creed inhaled deeply, filling his vast lungs with the air of the city. He bared his teeth at the sky in welcome, challenge, triumph, and defiance. Then he slung his bulk down from the pile of crushed cars. He prowled through the junkyard, sniffing this way and that.
It was good to be free again. He had forgotten just how much he hated wearing a suit, attending meetings, living inside and underground, following the list of rules, fitting where he did not fit. It was like coming alive again, this prowling. He would have been dissatisfied if he was not hunted. The danger he faced spiced his food, flavored his water, perfumed his air. He was alive again. Surely Bryant would know that. Surely Bryant was wise enough to fear it.
Creed cleared the back fence of the junkyard, leaping over the fifteen feet of chain link topped by cyclone barbed wire. He landed heavily in the alley between the junkyard and the restaurant.
First kill Logan. Once in possession of Logan's body, this whole expedition became vindicated. Then he could return, and if Bryant was clever he wouldn't press charges or attempt discipline. Bryant just didn't understand. For this kind of task, you couldn't use the conventional methods, the usual procedures. Logan was not a man. Logan was a predator. You hunt them differently. If possible, you hunt them one on one through the jungle.
Creed bared his teeth again. He knew Logan. He knew that right now, Logan was hunting him. Moving with startling silence and grace for one of his enormity, he catfooted down the alley and vanished into the gloom of the warehouse district. He would find the right place to confront Logan, then he would find Logan himself, then he would return to the Project. First things first.
He had no doubt he would succeed. Logan was civilized overmuch. He wouldn't pay enough attention.
In the end, Logan would be a trophy.
December 22, 2001
Logan stood in the shadows watching the man in the pinstripe suit explain to the cop where things stood.
"This is a matter for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Officer Calvin. I'm afraid you don't have jurisdiction." Another vanilla agent; Logan looked him over and wondered if he knew who he really answered to or if he was just following the next highest tier. Trim dark hair, handsome square jaw, nice tie with an Oxford knot. Very clean cut.
"Any idea how long this cleanup is going to take, Agent?" the officer asked. "This investigation may be your jurisdiction, but it's surrounded by my jurisdiction, which includes people who want to use the park and wonder why you guys can come in on helicopters through restricted airspace."
The agent took a step towards the policeman. "Explain it to them so they are soothed and comforted, then get on with keeping the peace." He turned his back and looked to where the team was scanning the charred rubble of the gazebo where the fight had taken place. Another team was collecting blood samples from the smeared earth.
"You should be serving and protecting," the agent said in a low voice. The cop sighed, turned, and slung himself down into his cruiser.
"Good luck, Agent," he said. He started the car and turned in the narrow space, then drove down the avenue.
Logan grinned. Time to check his hunch. He strolled out of the shadows toward the agent, who was busy on his cell phone arranging for the lab to work doubletime on the blood samples. "Scuse me," he said.
The agent ignored him. He cleared his throat.
"Scuse me," he repeated. "I hear there's a Starbucks around here and I got a mighty thirst for some coffee."
The agent looked over his shoulder at him, irritated. "D'ya mind?" he asked, tense. Then it hit him; recognition. Dilation of the pupils, arrested thought and posture; Logan knew he was recognized. Good.
"Down the street, to the left. Can't miss it."
"Thanks, bub," Logan said. He strolled down the sidewalk. The agent was too well briefed to wait until he was out of earshot to make a call. He trotted towards the rest of his team, unsure of earshot's range. Smart move. These guys might be a workout.
Might.
Old instincts flowed through him. He ducked into the alley and leaped, catching the fire escape. He tugged himself up, his swiftness making it look easy. Then he was prowling towards the top, tier after tier. In a minute he reached the flat roof, walking between air conditioning units. He glanced over the edge to make sure he was on the right building, the one with the best view of Starbucks.
The choppers had been in earshot for a minute or so, but they weren't close enough to spot him yet, and he knew they'd hang back until the pursuit started. He jogged to the roof entry and slid down to the side, in its shadow. He waited. Listened. He heard footsteps on the stairs.
The man on the steps stopped, fumbled with the lock, opened the door. Logan watched him from behind as he moved forward to the edge of the roof, flipped his ball cap around backward, and set up his sniper rifle.
"Check," the newcomer said softly into his headset as he snapped the rifle's matte scope open. "This is Eagle One, I have full view."
Logan stealthed up behind the sniper, who swung the barrel of his gun this way and that, quickly learning the street. Logan glanced down the stairwell; backup wasn't coming this high. No action up here. He moved right behind the man; smelled his Old Spice, his dryer sheets, his cooling sweat, his shampoo.
Logan put a fist against the back of the man's head. Gently. "Move and die," he whispered. "Nod once if you understand."
The man very slowly nodded once.
Logan glanced at his gear. Standard setup. He clicked the headset off. "You know who I am," he muttered.
Nod.
"You seem bright enough. You understand your position. Tell me where Bryant's headquarters are."
"I can't do that," the man said. "I don't know."
Logan grunted, then yanked the man back over his leg. The sniper crashed down on his back, his gun still propped up on the wall. Logan knelt on his shoulder and gripped his vest, breathing into his face as he locked eyes. "I can't think of a single reason to let you live then," he whispered.
The sniper lay very still, breathing fast and shallow. "Wait. The captain is in the lobby, with a swat team. I don't even know who Bryant is."
Logan grinned.
"I thought of a reason to let you live," he said.
xXx
Peter knocked on Mary Jane's door. She opened it a few seconds later. She was dressed in a careless sweatshirt and jeans. She grinned at him. "Come on in," she said. "Amy's just leaving."
Peter grinned and followed her. Amy, Mary Jane's roommate, was just hauling on her winter coat. She flashed a smile at Peter. "I get to go to Nebraska for my boyfriend's family's Christmas," she said. "Thanks for taking care of Hellraiser."
"I live to serve," Peter said. "Need help with your bags?"
"You're a prince," Amy said, and Peter picked up her suitcase.
"Taking a lot of books, or just sticks of firewood?" he asked, struggling with the weight.
"Bowling balls for all you know, smartalec," Amy said, and with a very blonde flounce she led the way out the door.
After stowing her gear in her SUV, Peter returned to the house rubbing his hands together. Mary Jane met him at the door.
"It is winter, you know," she said, gesturing at his light jacket.
"Hey, this is a scarf," he said, tugging the strip of cloth off. "You think my Aunt May would let me out of the house underdressed?"
"You know best," she said. "We baked cookies to celebrate leaving. Great plane food. We saved you some. Do you like chocolate chip?"
"Oh yeah," he said. He looked around. The entryway was modest and unremarkable, and it opened up into a loft-like living room, with a hall leading back to the two bedrooms. The kitchen was off to the side. The place was decorated with an odd mix of posters, some framed and some taped up. The posters displayed nature shots, boy bands, and movie posters. The floor was carpeted, and accented with laundry. An old couch faced the television.
Peter strayed into the living room, captivated by one of the posters. An eagle hung suspended in an empty sky, gazing at distant mountains. He cocked his head to the side.
"Cookie?" Mary Jane said, approaching.
"No, me Peter. You Mary Jane," Peter replied. She sighed, and handed him a chocolate chip cookie anyway. "Oh, thanks. Hey, I was just admiring this poster."
"And here I thought you were looking for secret passages. Yeah, I love that picture. I have flying dreams sometimes, you know, and looking at that poster reminds me of those dreams; to float effortlessly over everything."
"Yeah," he said, looking at her sideways. "Don't forget I have a magic carpet."
"You'd better use it if you need to. Hellraiser is very delicate and I don't want him to be unsupervised for a whole week. Think you're up to the task, Parker?"
"Lead me to this little catmuffin and we'll make friends," Peter said.
She looked to make sure the front door was shut, then she headed for the pantry. "Razer baby, got a new friend for you," she cooed in a voice that made Peter's knees go all wobbly. She opened the door.
A streak of orange slid out past her leg and zipped into a bedroom. She glanced at Peter with a rueful smile. "He's a bit temperamental with new people, but he's got a heart of gold," she said. "Here puss puss puss."
"Allow me," Peter said gallantly.
"We don't let the cat in the bedrooms because he can have an attitude problem, and he knows one sure way to express his displeasure," she said. "Think you can get him out?"
"Oh yeah," Peter shrugged. He walked in to the darkened bedroom, and let his senses unreel. The cat was watching him from under the far side of the bed. While he knew he could hurl the bed up against the wall, snag the cat in a string of web and jerk it through the air to his waiting hand, he suspected Mary Jane would not approve.
He lowered himself to his hands and knees and peered under the bed, his sharp eyes piercing the gloom easily. The cat glowered at the far end, a furry lump of malignancy. "Here puss puss puss," he said in his most disgustingly charming voice. "Razer here been declawed?" he asked as an afterthought.
"Peter!" Mary Jane said sharply. "The practice of declawing is cruel. A well trained cat makes it unnecessary anyway."
"Ever seen a well trained cat?" he muttered under his breath. He knew what to do, but it would not be simple. He saw a dry erase marker that had rolled under the bed some time ago. His forearm began to tingle as he wove adhesive into the web before he spun it out. "I'll have the little darling in a second," he said.
His focus was intense as he sprayed out a low-impact strand that landed smack on the marker. Ever so slowly, he tugged it closer. The cat's eyes lit up, watching the marker. Hellraiser's tail began to lash. He pounced and batted the web. His paw was stuck.
Peter jerked on the strand, quick as his reflexes could manage. Hellraiser got out a quick yelp before Peter had him by the scruff. His hand itched terribly with the chemicals that began to bead on it, but he rubbed at the webbing and it faded like soapsuds.
"Careful, Peter," Mary Jane said. "Razer isn't a stuffed animal, you know."
"I know," he said. He swiftly folded an arm under the dangling cat and turned around. He smiled, tiny lines of strain creasing the corners of his mouth and his forehead as claws sank deep into the flesh of his arms and chest. "Here's the little cupcake."
Mary Jane smiled and reached for the cat. Peter laughed, fast and high. "Let me hang on to him for a bit," he said. "So he'll be staying in the pantry?"
"Oh, yes," she nodded. "His litter needs cleaning once a day, and changing on Wednesday. His food is on the top shelf, just mix one can with some dry in a one to one ratio. He has an automatic waterer, so just make sure that's full. And if he gets a little down because he misses us, his c-a-t-n-i-p is in the jar on the fridge. Okay?"
"Okay," Peter said. "So you got any time before you go?"
"Well," she said with a smile—
A horn blew outside. "Oh shoot. That's my cab to the airport. Sorry, Pete, gotta go."
"Hey, no problem," he said. "Let me help you with your bags."
"I got it," she said, scooping up her carryon on the way out. "Keys on the table, and Pete: thanks so much. You're a hero." She flashed a smile at him, then she was out the door. It clacked shut behind her, and Hellraiser hissed at Peter.
"I wish people would stop calling me a hero," he muttered.
