DISCLAIMER: I don't own this, not from lack of trying though, Stan Lee owns Spidey (once again, I curse loudly) and absolutely zilch is being made from this…
Sorry it took so long (and my sincerest apologies go out to those that waited for that long)… I have no excuses, nada, nein…This is just a tid-bit of the entire Chapter, but seeing as though I'm still writing it. (If Pete as Spidey seems a bit off then let me know-I wasn't sure as to his type of humour when he's in the mask.)
Thanks a bunch for all those reviews…And enjoy…
It was going to be a long day. Definitely a gut feeling, which begins as one wakes up that morning, knotting and grinding sneakily away at your intestines until even the brain concedes that something's amiss.
And if this whole thing goes sideways…
The man grimaced, forcing down another healthy swig of Pepto-Bismol, in a vain attempt to subside the ebbing unpleasantness that churned his stomach.
…Then I get a one-way ticket up shit's creek, no question.
He shifted against the cold metal door of the beat up Mustang he called a ride. Leaky roof, suspension shot to hell, and a rear bumper that hung on, he was certain, by the power of seagull droppings that had glued one half firmly in place. A good thing then, he supposed, was that the last time water actually touched the exterior, was during that unfortunate sand dunning incident last October.
The abused machine was on its last legs. The only reason he'd kept it was its absolutely repellent nature- No-one spent too much time near the car, that didn't have to. Even cops, staying the length of a look of disgust and a brief warning to get it off the streets as soon as possible, then fleeing back to the comfort of the sleeker, showier government provided police cars.
"HEY! Hey, watch it, will ya! That stuff's more expensive than what you make a year!" The goons handling the crates dropped one with a particularly loud, echoing crash.
Richard Sykes gave the man a look, internally disgusted at the utter lack of professionalism this job reeked of. He was used to better- the criminal element had been forced to up it's game since Spiderman came to town, and even the Kingpin had been forced to tone down his 'activities'.
But then again…
Sykes shook his head, morbidly amused, as the pair dropped yet another crate with a louder ruckus than then first. Luckily the warehouse had been long abandoned, and with wrecking crews showing up in the morning, not a soul was stupid enough to venture out this far-homeless bums and busybodies alike.
He hoped that luck would stay with them for the rest of the way.
…Like any profession, you have the experts… One turned around to shout a nasty string of profanities as the weight sat on his foot, the other laughing with loud guffaws…And the dregs.
Where did the boss dig up this pair of dickweeds?
A high pitched squeak echoed out from a darkened corner, and the trio wheeled around to flash multiple torches at the source- illuminating the fast disappearing tail of the largest rat Sykes had ever seen.
With a thundering heartbeat pounding through his ears, he turned to the shamefaced pair near the truck, eyes throwing daggers. They shifted uncomfortably under his stare, silent until one of them opened his mouth to speak.
"Don't…Say…A…Word. Pack… the…damn stuff…in the truck- And for God's sake, BE QUIET ABOUT IT!" Sykes ended the sentence at a roar, and the first one…Ray, he was sure the name was…jumped into action, and after a moment on the receiving end of the infuriated man's glare, his much bulkier, less intelligent friend followed suit.
"Pathetic" he grumbled under his breath. Within the space of thirty minutes, he was sure that more inept thugs could not be found anywhere, and now silently, here they were, co-ordinatedly packing the last of the crates with sombre expressions, like scolded children.
The roller door of the truck came down with the slightest of bangs, and Sykes allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction. Thank you God, Allah, Buddha, whoever's listening…
It was done. Now all that remained was to go home, and…
Wait.
Sykes stiffened, the changes in the air around the warehouse hitting his instincts hard. Oblivious, Ray and the other climbed into the bed of the truck, bickering slightly at whose turn it was to drive.
Sykes would have been amazed that either one of them actually possessed a license, but his mind was busy screaming at him, completely on alarm. Slowly he inched his had to the gun holstered near his shoulder, invisible behind the heavy drape of his jacket. Damn it…Damn it to hell…
"Go." The command caught the thugs' attention, and Ray stuck his head out the driver's side window to stare at him, his face morphing into an identical expression of Sykes as he saw the gun.
Sykes didn't wait for a reply. "GO, YOU GODDAMN MONKEY, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."
At once, both Sykes and the truck were in motion, and as the warning shadow of a figure played out against the far wall, the thief's legs pumping towards the car, the wheels of the truck squealing at the burnout, simultaneous noises in the vibrating air of the warehouse.
Fwappt!
A single, solitary thread of webbing struck the rear tire of the truck and stuck- the thug's panic mirrored in the desperate squeals of the tires as he floored the again and again, getting nothing but the rising steam of burnt tires. The truck was going nowhere.
A second thread of webbing suddenly caught onto Sykes left leg, and he barely had a moment to swear before he was tugged powerfully, forcefully onto his back on the concrete floor. Ouch, did nothing to describe the pain he felt along his lower back, but he had enough sense to keep a firm grip on the gun.
By now, there was no doubt in Skye's mind as to who the figure was, but it took the signature smart alec-ness of the next quip to bring a series of anguished groans from the bed of the truck. Obviously, Ray and the other had previous experience with the city's costumed protector.
"Awwww. You guys are having a party, and no-one invited me. I'm crushed, really." The disjointed voice seemingly came from nowhere, and the two thug's teary whimpering inside the truck rose several decibels, but Sykes kept his gaze fixed on the far pillar bathed in deep shadow.
There. The shadows shifted for an instant and the light bounced back from a pair of refracted eyepieces, then disappeared again as the darkness returned. But Sykes had seen all he needed, and with a grin raised his gun.
"Uh uh. Playing with guns is a big no-no." The figure jumped, twisting and turning through the air to land gracefully in a crouching position, with one arm outstretched towards Sykes, who with wide eyes realised what was coming next, and at once dropped the gun to the floor.
The next thing he knew, his right hand was covered in the same sticky substance attached to his leg, deceptively strong as he tried without success to break free. Sparing a glance over to the truck he saw Spiderman had secured the doors closed with the same stuff; Ray and King Kong would have trouble getting out let alone driving.
As he spied the webbing on the rear tire, a plan formed. Inching forward, he moved his left hand to the gun on the floor behind him. He'd only get one shot at this, and if the rumours about Spiderman were true, he'd sense it coming. One shot would have to do.
Peter, having sealed the doors, and satisfied the truck wasn't going anywhere, turned to face the fallen man, staring up at him with none of the usual fear and quaking terror most would show, in his position. Shrugging the niggling thought aside, Peter tensed and leapt into a great jump, to land squarely in front of the thug.
"And now for round one… One wrong answer will cost you all your points- Who's behind this?" Although his humour was almost as signature as the costume, there were times when Pete felt the words shallow to the layers of cold steel- angry, impatient towards thugs that thought they were above it all.
This one, thought, seemed less thuggish than the average hired muscle. He titled his head slightly to look at the man, then the truck, a smile forming beneath the mask.
Time for a little show and tell…
Next time: Same Spider time, Same Spider channel (Peter groans off to the side) "I can't believe you said that!"
Oh well...