Chapter 30: Everett Ross III
It was the penultimate moment. The act to start the domino effect surrounding everything they had worked hard to solve. Late nights, early mornings, stressful situations, constant anxieties and never-ending sense of danger kept Everett Ross and his team of agents on the go every, single day. And now, they came upon the final effort of their work. Upon review of documents and linking all evidence together, they caught their culprit. Culprits to be exact. It was an over-arching network that expanded far before Everett ever joined the department. Nonetheless, that did not mean the crime committed should be forgotten nor forgiven.
They received their warrant, but before Everett stormed ahead, he made a call. An important call.
The phone rang only once before answered. "Hey, Everett," replied May Parker and he thought he heard a smile in her voice. "How are you?"
He didn't quite know how he felt. Relieved, stressed, happy and sad all in one. "I'm fine," he answered. "I called to inform you that we were granted a warrant."
"A warrant?"
He nodded, but realized May could not see him. "We're arresting Norman Osborn," he informed her. "Tonight."
He heard her suck in a deep breath. "Tonight?" she uttered. "Now?"
"Yes."
He heard a few disturbances in the background, feet shuffling and doors opening and closing. "I, um, Peter's not here," she said, worried. "He's out with his friends. They're at a school dance. He's... tonight? You're arresting him tonight?"
"He bought a plane ticket to Europe for this Sunday," Everett said in hopes that it would explain the necessary to go tonight. If they wait, Osborn may escape forever.
He heard May breathe in sharply. "I-I... I have to let the others know," her voice muffled. "Do you want them to come with you?"
"No," Everett replied. No need to drag the Avengers into the situation quite yet. "Let us handle the arrest and if back-up is necessary, I'll give a call."
"Okay," May responded in a constricted voice. "Everett?"
"Yeah?"
"Be careful."
He smiled at her words. "Always," he returned and they said their goodbyes.
Agent Sharon Carter joined him in the car as they drove off into the city, weaving through traffic to reach the apartment complex Osborn coveted as his home. There was a van behind them, full of officers ready as back-up and to assist in escorting Norman Osborn to prison. Still, there was a sense of dread lingering in the air, like something unexpected was about to occur.
"You okay, boss?" Sharon asked.
Everett nodded. "Yeah, yeah," he answered, clutching the warrants. "It's finally happening."
"He deserves it."
Everett knew he did. All the evidence they have gathered against Osborn was disturbing enough to keep Everett paranoid. How deep did the conspiracy go? Too many connections coincided with the Parker family. Too many interactions that could not be viewed as accidents or mere coincidences. It made Everett sick to think Osborn had such dark plans for someone as kind-hearted as Peter.
They pulled up right outside the Central Park West apartment. The doorman looked confused as Everett and the others hopped out of the car, storming to the apartment entrance. The greeter at the desk looked wide-eyed as they made their approach into the marble-flooring, tall ceiling lobby. Their shoes clattered as they approached and the doorman stood at attention, doing his best to hide any emotions he felt at the moment.
Everett's team took care of the doormen. They got the spare keys and gathered up into the elevator. The light on the PH button bright. They went up and up. Not stopping at all.
Norman Osborn was home. The doorman confirmed. His son was out though. That was fine with Everett. Better to not have the kid around to see his father arrested.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. They clambered out and Everett knocked loud on the door. "Mr. Osborn?" Everett called out. "Mr. Osborn? It's the authorities—open the door. Please."
Sharon shot him a questionable look, but Everett shrugged off her expression. Nothing wrong with being civilized. They waited with bated breaths, but no response followed. Not a single sound could be heard from the other side.
Time for civility was gone. Time to invade. Everett gave permission to unlock the door and his fellow agent unlocked it the granted key. Everett entered first, as always. As a focal leader of the task force, he believed it was his duty to lead the charge into danger.
To Everett's surprise, the penthouse was not dark or menacing as he imagined. The lights were on, the hallway cleaned and precise. No clutter or obnoxious displays of the man's wealth. The décor was rich and plain, nothing stood out except the chandelier that hung right above their heads.
Everett scanned around him. Too odd. Osborn couldn't have known they were coming unless one of his own betrayed them. Still, the warrant came in tonight. No time for him to race to the airport and get on a plane. Not only that, but the doorman said he hadn't left. Unless the doorman lied, which was a possibility.
Sharon came up beside him. "You think he ran?"
"I don't know," Everett said. "Search the penthouse. Keep up your guard."
Everett didn't reach for his gun. Sharon had hers out. Always ready to fire, but Everett held off. He had his hand on the weapon, ready to be drawn if necessary. Spreading out, the team searched the penthouse. Everett silently glided his feet over the hardwood floors, checking room to room. Sharon was close behind him, covering his back as they proceeded to the next room.
"WE GOT A BODY!"
Everett and Sharon picked their heads up. A body?
They raced across the first floor, straight to the source of commotion. A group of agents already huddled around something sprawled in the middle of a lounge-like room. Everett pushed his way through as his agents fell off to the side to make room. When he reached the front, Everett breathed.
It wasn't Norman Osborn. Or Harry. It was an older gentleman, dressed in a butler's uniform. Everett squatted, examining the body. Something hit the man's chest as blood seeped through his shirt and grey vest. His black coat sprawled off his shoulder, soaking in the blood that pooled underneath him. There was nothing they could do for the man. He was dead.
Everett rose up and pulled out his gun. "He's armed," he said. "Everyone keep a look out."
Everyone proceeded with caution. Everett took to the winding staircase. Sharon followed. The lights on the second floor were on and; yet, he heard no noise. They split up, each talking a corridor. Everett slinked down his corridor, back pressed against the wall as he tip-toed across the floor. His senses on high alert, ready to react if danger approached.
He checked each door, looking down at the gaps between the floor and the door for any shadow or light. Each door he came across were dark. Lights off and doors closed. Except one.
It wasn't too far from the stairs. A warm glow appeared in the gap, signaling someone was behind the door. Everett tightened his fingers around the gun. His pulse didn't rise. It stayed steady. But it sounded louder than normal.
He breathed as he opened the door. Like in all the exercises and drills he performed, Everett kept his backside protected and front at an angle to ensure survival as he entered the room. Though, it proved pointless when the cool touch of a gun's barrel was pressed against his temple.
"Welcome to the party, pal!"
Everett groaned at the sight of head-to-toe, red tight spandex nut-case standing beside him. He tried to glare at Deadpool, but the muzzle of his gun forced Everett to look straight ahead where he saw Norman Osborn.
Osborn looked pissed. Brows furrowed to the point deep crevices formed along his forehead and his eyes blazed with deep fury at the direction of Deadpool. The man showed no signs of injury or even a single bruise. Deadpool must have shortly arrived before Everett and his team.
Everett took a breath. He needed to tread carefully. Deadpool may be an ally, but an ally to who was the question. It was clear he loathed the Avengers. His constant mockery of them and lack of hospitality proved it. The only reason Deadpool assisted or even tolerated the Avengers was because of Peter Parker. For some unknown reason, Deadpool obsessed over Peter.
But, Everett didn't know if that obsession extended any safety net to him or his team. Deadpool already killed the butler. He could possibly kill him too.
Deadpool gestured for Everett to enter the room. Not wanting to be shot dead, Everett did. Once the door closed behind him and locked it, Deadpool plucked the gun from Everett's hand.
"Let's keep it in the pants, shall we?" Deadpool said, stuffing Everett's gun right into… argh, gross!
Deadpool motioned Everett to move further into the office. "Well, I have to say I'm thirty-six percent impressed," he said. "I didn't think you guys would come knocking. I mean, you've been weeks behind me for months! And then—pow!—you suddenly show up? What the hell? I do all the work and you piggyback off to beat me to the punch? Yeah. Nope. Not today, Satan!"
Everett stared, befuddled at the lunatic's ramblings. "What?"
"Point is this," Deadpool drew the gun to focus on Everett, "you're not going to get in my way."
It was a threat. A warning on behalf of another. "You know there are other agents in the apartment," said Everett. All he had to do was shout and Sharon would come running.
"I'm aware of your stag party," Deadpool acknowledged, but he didn't act bothered by the revelation he was outnumbered. Almost like was perfectly normal for him to be in a worse situation. "I am also aware that this bullet can travel 1,500 feet per second compared to your shout speed of 1,000 per second. So… the blood is in my favor."
Everett swallowed. Deadpool made it quite clear would not hesitate to shoot him. He shuffled back, hoping Sharon would notice his disappearance. She would, but when?
Deadpool took a seat, lounging his legs over the armrests. "To catch up, Agent," he said, resting his head on the gun. "I was telling Osborn here how I was planning to kill him. You know? Good, old fashion locker room, boy-talk."
Everett arched his brows in Deadpool's direction. "You know I can't let you do that."
Out of principle and morals, Everett couldn't let Deadpool go on a killing spree. Even if Osborn deserved death for his crimes.
Naturally, Deadpool chose to ignore him. He turned his black and white eyes to Osborn. "Let's talk shop," he said. "Now… I thought of different scenarios on how to kill you. Even brought up the idea of dissection like kids do to pigs in science class. I know! Fan-favorite. Good idea and everything, but alas, our time together is ticking faster than expected. Faster for you, of course."
Osborn frowned. His face contorted into an ugly mien that resembled a goblin as he glared at Deadpool. "Who hired you? Huh? Was it Otto?" Osborn spat out. "I'll pay you double! Triple!"
The crazy mercenary laughed aloud. "If I wanted money," he started, "I would have gone to Stark."
That hit a nerve with Osborn. His face pinched even tighter, nose flaring in upset. Everett preferred if the man was silent. Then again, Everett doubted the man's silence would spare him of Deadpool's wrath.
Osborn blinked, eyes glittering in madness. "You're a psychopath," he darkly muttered. "One of those mad-mutants that ought to be—"
"Me?" Deadpool shot to his feet. "I'm the psychopath?" Deadpool sauntered over to Everett, loping an arm around his shoulders like old buddies. "Can you believe this guy, Agent? He calls me a psychopath. Like wearing a red spandex suit and carrying more weapons to count on the hips is considered 'not normal'. Unbelievable! This is the latest fashion-trend! It's in all the films nowadays!"
Osborn stared, dumbfounded by the response. He switched his gaze from Deadpool to Everett, a dangerous glitter in the man's eyes.
"Why else would the EIU be here?" Osborn hissed.
"Oh? Him?" Deadpool jerked the gun at Everett's head, to which Everett flinched. "He's not here for me. He's definitely here for you," Deadpool slides his arm off Everett's shoulder and moves away, gun in hand. "You're the big bad in this series. Not Thaddeus Ross. You.
"Although, I give you props on redirecting the blame to others," Deadpool remarked. "First your partner, then your ally, and then you reached out to mercs to do the job. Keep your hands clean, but your money bloody."
Osborn pursed his lips together in denial. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Every liar's first defense," Deadpool snubbed, stalking up to Osborn. "Well—here's mine!"
Deadpool spun up the gun, aimed right at Osborn. He was going to kill him!
"No!" Everett shouted, not even realizing it was his voice that made the noise. He didn't even comprehend that his legs were moving. All of a sudden, he was there, standing partly in the middle, trying to distract Deadpool to him.
Deadpool didn't fire. Instead, the red, black and white mask turned to him and even though Everett couldn't see the man's face, he knew that Deadpool glared hard at him. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"Don't kill him!"
Deadpool pulled out Everett's gun from his dick and cocked it. "Keep talking and series 4 of Sherlock will definitely be the finale."
Everett didn't know what he meant by that, but the gun in his face made him believe that Deadpool won't hesitate to shoot him dead. Still, he didn't step aside. "Hasn't there been enough violence already?"
"You're fondling my balls."
"No," Everett responded, grossed out by Deadpool all over again. Despite abhorring by Osborn, he needed the man alive. At least to serve his sentences for the crimes he committed. "You can't kill him."
Deadpool's chest puffed. A breath of agitated air followed. "You know what this little, fuckin' cock-sucker did!"
"I know, I know." Everett knew more than he would have liked of what Osborn had done.
"Then shut the fuck up!" Deadpool snapped. His friendly demeanor dissipating quickly. "I'm actually trying to do a decent thing here—which I normally wouldn't ever do—all for Baby Boy's peace of mind."
He meant Peter. Deadpool was going to kill Osborn for Peter. "Killing Osborn won't help Peter," he argued. "It won't make things better."
"I beg to differ."
"Peter is friends with Norman's son!"
Deadpool shrugged, not caring that Peter's friendship was on the line. "Probably sic his son on him," he commented. "Little spy of his own!"
Perhaps, but Everett doubted Harry knew the true meaning behind his enrollment to Midtown. And it was impossible for Osborn to predict that his son would befriend Peter's friends. "That doesn't change the fact that Peter is friends with him," he said. "Killing the father in Peter's name would ruin that friendship!"
Deadpool hardly looked convinced. "Osborn treats his son like shit. I doubt his spawn would care if he died."
"He's still his father," Everett countered. No matter the challenging relationship, a father and son's bond was hard to break, "and if you kill him, then Harry will turn on Peter. Is that what you want? For Peter to feel responsible and lose a friend?"
"He won't be responsible! I'm giving Petey-boy a clear conscious," Deadpool counter-argued. "I'm doing the killing for him. He doesn't have to have his little webbed hands dirty. That's what real friends would do for one another."
Everett lividly shook his head. "Killing in the name of justice doesn't make it justice!" he said, tone heated over the absurdity. "And if you call yourself Peter's friend, then you know he would hate this! Just like he hated you for torturing Secretary Ross!"
Deadpool paused. Everett got through to him… he thinks. "I don't like this man any more than you do," he said, careful and delicate to avoid aggravating the mercenary. "But we have to follow the law. You won't be the hero tonight if you shoot him and Peter… he'll never forgive you for taking another life in his name.
"Put the gun down," he beseeched to the mercenary. "You want to get justice? Then let the law handle Osborn. He'll receive the justice he deserves and Peter can be safe again. There's enough violence in this story. Peter doesn't need any more blood added to his history.
"Please?" Everett made one last appeal to Deadpool. "Put the gun down. Let me arrest Osborn. Let's do it the right way. Okay?"
Deadpool took a moment. He glanced from Osborn's petrified face back to Everett. It was a tense moment of time. Air stiffened. Hearts raced. Eyes focused and time slowed as Deadpool debated to do the right thing.
Everett hoped Deadpool made the right choice.
Deadpool stopped his head swivel on Everett. "Yeah—nope."
And he shot three times. All right into Osborn's chest.
Everett heard Sharon's shouts from afar as Osborn dropped to the floor. The moment the first bullet rang out, Everett leapt at Deadpool, struggling to get the gun out of the mercenary's hands. Deadpool was quite strong and the struggle erupted into grunts and squeaks and some flirtious comments from Deadpool ("Ooooh… harder, man, harder!"). Everett pried his fingers around Deadpool's, trying to rip them away from the gun until Deadpool bonked him hard on the head.
He fell as someone pounded on the door, trying to get into the office. Deadpool looked at the frantic twisting of the doorknob, unafraid that agents were about to storm into the room.
"Think of it this way," Deadpool offered as he stared down at Everett. "I cleansed the world of evil."
The door busted open and Sharon led the charge into the office. Her gun pointed, aimed right for Deadpool. A clicking sound reverberated around the room.
"That's my cue!" Deadpool said. "Toodleoo!"
With that remark, Deadpool saluted Everett and dashed. He sprinted off to the window, smashing right into it, the glass shattering like glitter as Deadpool swan-dived to his death.
Everett stared at the broken window, the biting cold swooping in to reign terror on the warmth. His breaths were ragged, eyes unblinking as he tried to recover from his hit and the fact Deadpool did what he did.
A choked cough jerked Everett's attention away from the window.
Osborn laid a few feet away, his shirt staining red faster with each passing second.
"Shit!" Everett scrambled over to Osborn as Sharon hurried over to join them.
"What happened?" Sharon muttered, too shocked to see Norman Osborn bleeding out. "Was that—"
"Call an ambulance!" Everett shouted as he remembered his medical training from the academy. He ripped Osborn's shirt open, the blood seeping out. None of the wounds looked good. Too much blood. Hard to see.
Sharon was speaking to someone on the phone. A few agents ran out of the office, off to chase down Deadpool. A few stayed behind, one assisting Everett with Osborn's injuries.
Osborn's eyes roamed wildly like they were trying to find anything. Something! Everett silently cursed Deadpool for his rashness. If Osborn died…
Norman Osborn's eyes miraculously locked on Everett. His lips parted, blood dribbling down his bottom lip. "M-My boy…"
Everett remembered Harry. He was at the school dance. With Peter. Both unaware that their lives and friendship dramatically changed. "Stay here, Mr. Osborn," he ordered, if only for Harry's sake. And Peter's too. "Stay alive. For Harry."
Osborn's chest seized. "T-Tell… him…"
"Tell him yourself."
"Tell... P-Peter…"
Everett's heart stopped. All the breath in his lungs froze as he looked from the bloody mess to Osborn's constricted face, pulverized in agony.
Osborn stuttered through the blood. "H-He was all… I hoped."
Ice struck right through Everett. Heart silent. Mind blank. Eyes wide in the horror of Osborn's last confession. The revelation—the lack of remorse!—twisted Everett's gut into an uncomfortable knot. Disturbed, Everett retracted his blood-smeared hands from Osborn's wounds.
The man was far sicker than Everett originally thought. No wonder Deadpool shot him.
Osborn's eyes flickered as the other agent continued to assist, keeping him alive as long as possible. Everett could only stare.
"Boss?"
Everett twisted his neck up, spotting Sharon kneeling down beside him. "Boss?" she repeated. "Medic is on their way up."
He numbly nodded. "Okay."
"Boss?"
Everett breathed, chest tightening. "Call our friends," he told her. "Tell them… tell them Deadpool was here."