Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job Part 4: The Daily Bugle!
Twenty-one years young, short brown hair, and tight rear-end. She was hot. At least in Betty Brant's own humble opinion of herself. She was the beautiful, calm mermaid amidst the chaotic sea that was J. Johan Jameson's rants and raves that shook the walls and made tremble the souls of her lesser compatriots.
How the Hell did she go from a degree in English to being a secretary at the Daily Bugle?! Betty sighed, toying with a lock of hair wound around her finger. It wasn't the worst job she could have gotten stuck with after college. It was defiantly better than that gig in that nasty greasy spoon dinner she had during college.
Her boss was better than Roger was, but not by much. Didn't grope her, at least. Betty's coworkers were more numerous and far more pleasant, but didn't really stop to chat that much. Either hulled up in cubicle's or hunched over laptop computers, the reporters of the Daily Bugle were almost always busy, hoping to break the big new story and get out of a newspaper that was more regarded as a conspiracy magazine with a slightly higher distribution rate than other tabloid's.
Oh, it dealt with hard news, that was for sure, but the thing that was more often than not front page news, was a conspiracy ranting on about the Avengers, or the Fantastic Four, and even the X-Men, all typically written by Jolly J. Johan himself. He wasn't a bigot, as often claimed by his (many, many, many) critics. It had more to do with the fact that they-
"MASKS! ALWAYS WITH THE MASKS!" Blistered John Jameson, his plump cigar still clamped firmly between his pearly whites, the glowing red tip bobbing up and down with each word. "WHY CAN'T THOSE SUPER POWERED SHOWOFFS STAY OUT OF THE WAY OF ACTUAL POLICE?"
A calmer, far more practiced voice countered Jonah's near psychotic rant. "Now J.J., you need to calm down, remember your blood pressure!" Joe "Robby" Robertson spoke softly.
"MY BLOOD PRESSURE, BE DAMNED!" Johan countered, slamming his hands down on his desk, rattling the piles of paper and pen. "PEOPLE ARE APPLAUDING THOSE FANTASTIC FREAKS!"
Robby leaned his weight on Jameson's desk, fixing his stern eyes upon his old friend. "They stopped giant bug's from destroying Madison Square Gardens!"
"Where did those bug's come from, eh Robby? Eyewitnesses saw strange lights emanating from the Baxter Building just three minutes prior to the bug's appearance! Can you honestly tell me that isn't the least bit suspicious?"
"It is odd, but that doesn't mean automatic guilt. Remember, the government does a lot of experiment testing there."
J.J.J. merely grunted a replay before sinking back into his chair and knocking the tip of his cigar into an ashtray.
Twas not the end of their argument, just a small pause before Jameson could form more accusations whether they be true or not.
Betty rolled her eyes. They could go on and on like this forever if it was not for the fact that they were both over the hill, had arthritis, and the thought of food could quell even the most heated of fights between them!
Chuckling ever so softly, she went about typing up her TPS Report barely noticing the door to her left open up. She did notice fully when a boy, looked like a College student, stepped through the door.
She forced herself from snapping her head at him feeling like her neck was about to snap from the strain. Just slightly shorter than her, his hair was thick and curly brown, enhanced by bright baby blues. He was thin, and dressed in baggy, well-worn clothes. He was cute, not hot, but damn cute with a charming, anxious smile on his lips.
Well Betty, time to put out…err…turn on…uh use the old Brant charm. She followed the boy's carefully, sheepish progress toward her desk, clutching a vanilla envelop in his hands.
"What can I do for you?" Betty asked sweetly, a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes as she leaned toward the handsome guest, her fingers laced together under her chin.
His pupils dilated as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, holding the package up nervously. "I…um I got some pictures of…uh…Spider-Man. Y-you have a…reward posted for some, right?"
"I'll buzz you in. Careful, J.J.J. tends to bite." She hovered her finger over the P.A. box on her desk and looked back at the nervous photographer. "I don't, though. Much." The box crackled and spit furiously at being activated. A gruff, powerful voice sliced through the static.
"What is it, I'm busy!" Jameson roared, his voice in stereo, penetrating the glass walls of his office.
"A…um, what's your name? A mister Peter Parker is here too see you, he said he has photos of Spider-Ma-" The brunette felt a strong gust of wind rush past her, followed by the slamming of a door, with Peter Parker nowhere in sight.
Betty stared into the endless void of reality as her finite mind slowly processed what had transpired. "Damn that man is fast!"
Peter's world became a blur as something tight wrapped itself around his left arm and pulled away with tremendous force. The next instant, he found himself in a cramped, foul smelling office with two older gentlemen, one of which was sitting behind a desk with a lit cigar clamped in his large teeth.
"All right kid," the man with the cigar began, "you better not be yanking our leg here or else I'll have your ass out on the street faster than you can say-"
Almost as fast as he had been pulled into the office, Peter handed a bundle of eight-by-tens to him with a diabolical smile. "Five hundred dollars?"
John Jonah Jameson grabbed the photos and burned holes through each one with the intensity of his judgment. He handed the photos to the other man with a grunt. "Do you think these are real, Robby?"
The older man, Robby looked at each photo with placid, but focused, eyes. After about three minutes on each photo, Robby handed them back to Jameson. "Well, they aren't photo shopped. If they are they are darn good ones!"
Jameson scratched his chin and sighed. Peter felt uncomfortable, as he looked the science wiz and part time superhero over with the plump cigar still clenched in his jaws. They were calculating eyes, hungry and predatory in nature, poking and prodding him to find any weakness.
Finally, he took the cigar from his mouth and opened a desk draw and took out a wad of cash, making Peter smile once more. He threw it down on his desk and growled out something unintelligible.
Peter gingerly reached for the money, picking it from the desk as tiny beads of perspiration dotted his brow. He deposited it in his pants pocket, still fidgeting under Jonah's glare.
The older black man looked between the two for a second and stepped forward and took him by his shoulder. "Ah, son lets step outside." He led Peter out of the office, closing the door gently and let out a breath of relief.
"Sorry about all that." Robby said apologetically rubbing the side of his neck. "Johan isn't normally like that, it's just all the other pictures we've got in are rather…"
"Poorly done hack jobs?" Betty piped in.
"Exactly! But those photo's were just…to BAD to be fake!"
Peter's face fell. "Bad?"
"Now don't take it the wrong way! They're expectable, but if you want to make more money, get a better camera, and take some classes."
"Wait…'make more money'? Are you saying you're going to hire me on!?" Peter exclaimed wide-eyed.
"Calm down son, it's not set in stone yet, but if can bring us some better pictures of Spider-Man, you could have a job lined up." Robby smiled. "What are, eighteen, nineteen?"
"Sixteen."
Robby coughed for a second but regained his composer. "Well, we couldn't hire you on full time, but as freelance…look just get a better camera and take some lessons, and we'll talk. I'm not going to ask you how you got those photo's and neither is Johan, it's your own business, but just be safe, okay?"
Peter grinned and nodded furiously and laughed. "S-sure, Mr. ah…"
"Just call me Robby, I hate formalities."
"Right, Robby! Thank you, thank you so much!" Peter said waving as he rushed out of the office, practically skipping away.
Chuckling, Robby folded his arms. The kid was a little weird, but good. He'd have a future around here. He turned his head to Betty, and opened his mouth, about to speak, but was taken back by here expression which was a cross between being hit in the stomach with a Mac truck and walking in on your grandparents making whoopee.
"Um…Betty are you okay?"
Betty hid her face in her palm, muttering something incomprehensible.
Parker Residence
Electricity, gas, water, heating. May dropped the bills on the table, sighing. They had been fine until this point Ben's life insurance had been able to cover them for a few months after the funeral, but that could only go so far.
She had unable to find work. Her medical history alone spoke volumes against her.
Sighing, May sipped her tea somberly. Her biggest chance had been with the Nelson and Murdock Law Firm, but they had already found a far more qualified secretary just before she came in for her interview!
"Really up a creek without a paddle, May." Muttering to herself, May Parker paced back and forth across the cramped little kitchen, head hung low. "The only thing that could help us now would be-"
"A freaking miracle!" Harry exclaimed, counting the bundle of cash Peter had handed him. "What did you do, hold up a convince store?"
Peter chuckled and leaned against the wall of Pirelli's Ice Cream Parlor, enjoying the cool temperature of the room. "Just took a few pictures."
The Osborn Heir pushed up his sunglasses and pocketed the money in his coat pocket. "Of what?" He snorted, "Lucy Lawless naked? Really Pete, what are you pulling here?"
"Nothing! There was a reward for pictures of that…ah…Spider-Man at the Daily Bugle so I decided to see if I couldn't cash in." Peter explained, pulling out a chair and sitting down in a rather rickety metal chair.
"You took pictures of yourself in a costume, didn't you?"
The corners of Peter's lips twitched. "No, I took photo's of the real Spider-Man!"
"Yeah right!" Harry retorted. He sat down across from Peter and singled a waitress who was across the parlor and ordered a butterscotch milkshake and a vanilla ice cream cone for Peter.
Slightly offended that Harry had made such a presumption about what he wanted, Peter growled, "Who says I want a vanilla cone? Maybe I wanted a pistachio and coconut sundae!"
"First, yuck, and second, that's what you always get!"
Peter chewed his right cheek, and glared at his best friend. "True, but maybe I wanted something different!"
Harry rolled his whole head in annoyance. "Did you happen to grow a vagina over the weekend?"
"Did you happen to grow a chest hair over the weekend?"
"Oh! Touché!" Harry laughed, almost losing his dark shades. "Anyway, on another topic…one that I'm less than thrilled about, my dad has invited us to go with him to see the Mets play off-"
Harry was cut short by Peter's sudden cry of absolute joy. "Are you serious! Dude, you better not be messing with me! If you are a swear to God, Zeus, Thor, Ra, and Bob Almighty that I will throw you off a bridge if you are!"
"Geez! Man, my head is pounding alright, keep it down." Harry groaned, massaging his forehead. "Yes, I'm serious. The jackass has season tickets to pretty much every major sporting event all over the planet!"
The waitress returned, looking a might bit disturbed and handed the teenagers their dairy based refreshments. Peter quickly went to work on his cone, barely noticing the taste in his excitement. "Why's he doing this?"
"Said it's to repay you for sticking with me while I was in the hospital." Harry slurped up his milkshake, a hint of disgust on his face. "Trust me Pete, this is just a show. He's a snake!"
"Maybe he's trying to change?"
The Osborn heir placed the cup down and the table and lowered his head. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table before Harry raised his head once more and spoke in a bitting tone, "My dad is not one to change."
Power was something that one could not afford to loose, especially if you were the Kingpin of Crime. Osborn had cost him much. Because of his failure to deliver a satisfactory product, Adrian Toomes was in a position to squeal and put Fisk at great personal risk.
It didn't matter if they did try to pursue whatever lead, that the bumbling assassin would give them the police and judges that weren't in his pocket could be easily coerced into complying, but it would still be time and energy wasted.
However, if, Adrian was to die prior to giving a, confession he would not have to spend the time and money on bribes and lawyers. The matter Norman's failure was still a problem. Norman could be used for the time being. Most of his enemies were now dead, and Silvermane was in a coma! Like it or not, Osborn's technology was still an asset to his Empire.
Something new, however, had caught his eye. One of the new costumed adventurers, Spider-Man, had been the one to defeat The Vulture. Little was known about this mystery man. If Fisk was able to convince Spider-Man to work with him, the problem of Dare Devil may very well vanish, not to mention having a bodyguard of superhuman class would be very good to have, if he had any brains that is.
Suddenly, Fisk's office door flew open with a crash that almost startled the crime lord. In the doorway was a man dressed in a red and black skintight suit with flared cuffs and countless packs of ammunition and handguns strapped all over his body, topped off with twin katana's strapped to his back.
He walked across the posh floor with a swagger, clutching a grown bag with a discolored, moist bottom.
"Ohh! That sounds like a double entendre! Wow! Didn't take you long to spell it right." He spoke in a gruff voice, tossing the sack on the Kingpin's desk with a squelch. He pulled out a chair a plopped down in it, resting his feet on the desk.
Resisting the almost over welling urge to strangle the costumed mercenary for his impudence, the Kingpin but his bottom lip. "I…take it…that…the sack contains…Mr. Toomes head?"
"Yep! To bad you couldn't see me do it! The first idea in mind was to show me breaking into the prison, killing a bunch of guards, blow his cell door open and then cutting his head off! But, still better than the original draft. Kraven was supposed to break in an shoot him in the head and then get eaten by gators at a zoo after fighting Spider-Man, so SUCK IT LOINCLOTH BOY!" By this point in time, the red and black Merc had jumped up on the desk and was giving the bird with both hands to the air.
Wilson Fisk was trembling with rage, clutching his diamond-topped cane in his paws. "Deadpool…will you…get…DOWN!"
"Huh? Yeah, sure. So, about that money…"
"It has been wired into your offshore account. However…" Fisk opened a desk draw and deposited a small folder before the red clad Merc. Deadpool riffled through the pages of documents and blurred pictures of a man performing various acrobatic stunts in the air. "His name is Dare Devil. I want him dead. I don't care how, I don't care where, and I don't care how clean, I just want it done! An extra five thousand was added to your account, you will receive five thousand more once you kill him."
Folder under arm, Deadpool sprung to his feet mock saluting the crime lord. "Eye-eye Skipper! You want this guys head too?"
"I was speaking metaphorically."
"Oooh! Well you should have said something!" Deadpool quickly retreated from the plush office, slamming the doors behind him.
Wilson Fisk massaged a throbbing temple, pressing the P.A. Button. "Debbi, could you send in the custodian…and an antacid?"
Curt Conner's home was a simple flat in a relatively safe neighborhood with two bedrooms, a single bath, kitchen and den. Sparsely furnished was it, but still comfortable with plenty of places to rest weary feet.
Family portraits hung on flowery wallpaper showing Curt, Martha a blonde woman just a few inches shorter than he, and a their young son Billy, some brief snap shots from at the park or coordinated attempts to get the family in one room together.
The door opened and Curt, lugging a heavy looking suitcase in his hand, came bumbling through red in face.
"Really Curt, you didn't have to carry that." Said Otto plainly, following the science professor in.
The one armed man shook it off, leaning the suitcase against the wall. "Nonsense! It's been years since we've seen each other! It would be rude of me not to help you." Curt looked behind him, hearing the sounds of hurried footfalls and cringed, muttering something under his breath that Otto was unable to understand.
There was a blue blur that streaked toward Curt, slamming into his torso and bowling him over, hitting the floor with a painful sounding thud.
Straddling Curt was a short, bouncing child in a blue shirt with a single black strip cutting across the middle, and thick brown hair. "Daddy!" he screamed joyfully.
" 'Cough' hey Billy. Could you get off my chest?"
"Oh…right, sorry!" Billy hopped off of his father, still bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then, he caught sight of the stocky man in dark sunglasses behind his father. With a yelp, he darted back into his room via a door down a short hallway.
Otto helped Curt to his feet, grunting at his surprising weight. "I take it your son doesn't like me?"
Curt laughed, waving it off. "No, no! He's just nervous around strangers. He'll warm up to you." He walked behind an island bar some three odd yards from the front door and opened what Otto assumed was a mini fridge and produced twin cans of beer. He point one down on the bar and tossed the other one to his friend who had to lean forward at the last second to catch the cool beverage.
"So, tell me about this 'big project' you mentioned on the way over." Curt said, taking a sip from his beer.
A smile creped onto Otto's stony, features. "Ah, but you will have to wait and see Curt!" He popped the tab and took a large gulp. "But I can tell you this, it will be revolutionary!"
"I see we have similar goals." Curt walked out from behind the bar and plopped down on the loveseat with a groan. He raised his can back toward Otto, looking over his shoulder. "To the betterment of mankind!"
"Here, here." Otto toasted, clinking his can against that of Curt. Otto moved beside Curt and leaned on the sofa's arm as he chewed the inside of his left cheek. "Willing to share anything about yours?"
Curt snickered. "I suppose…" He said coyly. "I get crap funding and the assistants I work with are idiots! They couldn't tell an amino acid from a nitrilotriacetic acid! I mean, Jesus, I have a student in my biology class a hundred times more intelligent than the monkeys I have to work with!" Curt tipped his head back violently and gulped down the rest of his beer, trying his hardest to forget about last Saturday's little incident with nitroglycerine and a class four laser.
"Then why don't you get him to work with you?" Doctor Octavius joked.
Curt straightened his posture and tilted his head. "Actually Otto, that is brilliant idea."
Forest Hills, Queens. A cesspool of crime and corruption prostitution on every, corner and crooked cops in every back ally. You'd be lucky to go two blocks without being shot dead over the cheap watch on your wrist.
"Well okay that is extreme hyperbole but come on! Give me break! I've been swinging around in, my jamies for three hours trying to find a someone that looks like a dealer. And now, I'm talking to myself! I've officially gone insane!" Spider-Man sighed, gliding through the warm night air by a thin silvery line of webbing.
He arced around a corner, far to high for any of the very few people still active to see, and released the web-line and sailed across the gap between buildings that would normally be called a street, but he so high up, there was no street about it, and grabbed hold of a long flag pole with both hands and allowed his speed to bleed off as he spun around the pole twice before coming to a rest, squatting on the top of the pole.
He scanned the ground far below him noting the presence of a handful of scantily, clad women and a handful of pedestrians talking to them before disappearing into back alleys or cars. Spider-Man raised a hidden eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure that one guy was a cop. Yep, that's a cop."
Peter slinked down the flagpole to the side of the building and began climbing its smooth surface. Spidey had a sneaking suspicion that this area would provide little in the ways of information on the location of any drug dealers.
He once more leapt into the air, leaving the flagpole jiggling from the release of mass, and swung off into the night.
"I mean, seriously, how can it be so hard to find a drug dealer in New York?" Spider-Man barked mid swing, "This is freaking ridiculous! I can never catch a freaking break!" He took a sharp turn to the left quickly followed by another down an alley on his right and released the line, letting himself glide across the end of the alley and sprint up the side of a grungy building using his sticking abilities.
Huffing when he reached the top, he pushed upward on the ledge with his right foot, sending himself higher. Spider-Man attached a web-line onto a, rooftop two buildings away and gave it a powerful tug, careening toward the roof at high speed.
Absorbing the impact this his right shoulder, he rolled across the rough surface and jumped the small divide between that roof and another, ricocheting off the side of an air conditioning unit and over the streets below.
Firing off another web-line, this time from his left wrist, the young superhero sped down lower, weaving between lanes of traffic, his spider-sense giving him a proper sense of how to get through it without being turned into street pizza.
Finally, Spider-Man adhered himself to the trailer of a large truck and lifted himself to the top. Right now he didn't really care what direction it was going, so long as he could catch his breath.
"Maybe I should just call it night? I mean, it's not something super-important or anything and I have date with Gwen in the morning so…" Spider-Man's musing was interrupted by a powerful blast of spider-sense. With spider-like reflexes, he twisted his body over, raising the whole of his left side into the air as a sharp steel blade broke the top of the trailer.
He could only think god that he had used the bathroom prior to going out.
The blade was quickly retracted, leaving a noticeable wound in the metal trailer. Gingerly, Spider-Man planted his left side back down, holding his breath as he brought his ear to the hole, hearing faint voices from within. One voice was heavy and gravelly while the other was higher and more strained in tone.
"Did you fucking have ta stab the roof?" Hissed the higher voice.
"I thought something might be crawling around there! Jeez, crucify a Merc for trying to impale a possible superhero!"
"Yeah, yeah whatever just watch that big ass knife around the, product, okay? I don't want to explain to Tombstone why we got two-hundred kilo's o' skag all over the floor, 'kay?"
Spider-Man's eyes narrowed under his mask. What the heck is 'skag'? And who's Tombstone? Carefully, he crawled forward and over the side, making sure he made no noise as he did, and slipped onto the underside of the trailer drawing his body close against the base. But if they hired a Mercenary, 'skag' must be some pretty pricey stuff they want kept safe. Well, this is probably as close to getting a lead on the drug dealings, so I guess I'm sticking around for a while!
Sighing, he tightened his grip on the trailer bottom, digging his fingers into the metal itself for extra reassurance.
Okay, yes I know, I'm cutting this chapter short, but I felt that this really needed an update. Well, this marks the end of Get a Hair Cut and Get a Real Job, and the beginning of the next story arc, The Gathering, which will essentially be one really long fight scene.
My reboot of Superman Unlimited is getting under way, and the next chapter in Danny Phantom Unlimited will star production very soon. What? I have a life outside of these stories all right!
Next Chapter: Spider-Man finds himself in the belly of the beast, surrounded by gun totting foes and a mercenary with incredible power while Dare Devil races to the scene to put a stop to the drug trafficking. But even with the addition of The Man Without Fear, will Spider-Man survive the night? Needle Point Part One: One of Those Nights