Back to GatefoldIssue #41 by Bryan Locke
|
"THREE'S COMPANY"
“A stunning development today in the investigation of the murder of Doctor Gilbert Wiles, leading futurist at Empire State University. For those of you just joining us, chief of police Carl Gainey and District Attorney Blake Tower have issued an arrest warrant for Doctor Curtis Connors. However, they are dismissing any notion of the involvement of the so-called ‘Lizard’ persona, an almost Hulk-like alter ego of Doctor Connors. An hour ago, Tower issued this statement…
“There is no doubt Doctor Connors is a brilliant man. There is no doubt that whatever project he was working on with Doctor Wiles—and we will reveal that information when prudent—was worth billions of dollars. And considering the chemicals used to suffocate the corpse in such a manner, only a man with an intricate understanding of biology could have produced it.”
“But didn’t Doctor Connors give an eye-witness account of the killer? Wasn’t he himself injured in the murder?”
“Doctor Connors has indeed given a sketch and an eye-witness account to investigators. We will see if that story can be proven in court, under oath, as the sketch has not turned up any real leads—”
“Morons!”
A remote control was ripped from where it was nailed on the bedside table. It was flung with incredible accuracy, blinking the television off in the loudest manner possible.
For Peter Parker, who had been taught against verbal outbursts, it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. “Doc saw his face! He saw the Foolkiller’s face! How could they not have caught him yet? New York cops…never the same since Arthur was killed…”
“So do you always talk to yourself like this?”
Peter’s head whipped toward the doorway. Agent Charlene Bronson of the Aladdin Agency was leaning there, in a plain tee and ripped jeans. A government issue badge hung by a thin chain from around her neck, a revolver hung loosely around her shoulders.
“I’ve got this big hospital room all to myself.” Peter shrugged sarcastically. “No one’s been in here to visit me in the six hours I’ve been awake. I don’t even know how I got back from Russia! You realize I’ve been gone from my daughter for four days now?!”
Bronson didn’t even flinch. “That was your idea. Not ours. Probably would’ve been easier if we’d handled it, instead of giving it to a flake in a mask.”
Peter was about to launch something else from the bedside table. But he relented. He felt so weak, so sick. Peter knew he had been without food or water, that much was evident by the plastic tubes entering his forearms. And he stank. Badly.
“Look,” Peter’s tone was calm now, “I don’t care. It was stupid. I know that now. I never should’ve gone. I just want to see my daughter, okay?”
Charlene’s frown eased a little, “I know. And you can leave any time you want now that you’re awake. You were trapped for forty hours real time before rescue. It took our agents hours to get used to the time displacement. Danny found you personally…you were in shock. But the mission was a disaster…well, not completely I guess, we got some valuable intel and…well, anyway, Danny’s in Washington right now, begging to keep up our sponsorship of you.”
Peter heaved and rubbed his eyes. He was finally being rewarded for being Spider-Man, but his free ride was endangered by his irresponsibility. He had to keep this up for May.
“I’m sorry.” Peter said simply, “I…really thought MJ might’ve…” He suddenly laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Nevermind. I just need to get home to my little girl.”
Peter looked up again and saw that Charlene Bronson was now at his bedside. He was kind of shocked that she had moved so far, so quickly, so quietly. But there was something…comforting about it too. She leaned on the iron bars of Peter’s hospital bed, pushing her chest out. A strand of hair fell from around her ear, and was caught between her lips. The look in her eyes matched the look in Betty’s eyes just a week before…
And Peter still felt so weak…
When Charlene Bronson kissed him, Peter didn’t fight her. She kept her lips there for what felt like hours. When she finally stepped back, Peter exhaled.
“Why did you do that?” were the first words out of his mouth, but then he added, “I mean, you didn’t even bring flowers.”
“Don’t play, Parker.” Bronson stood up straight. “I gave you more than flowers just now. You need to be reminded that not everybody on the planet hates you. Some admire you more than you think.” She actually cracked a smile then. “You’ve done a good thing. There were vast terror networks connected with the World’s evolved technology, stretching from Pakistan all the way to Maine.”
Peter didn’t know what to say, so he just blurted, “So, is this a conjugal visit? Because I just don’t have that kind of time. Right about now, my roommate is spending his tip money on diapers and he has no idea where—”
“He knows where you are.” Charlene said, “We called him. While in Boston on your school field trip, you contracted a rare and very treatable strain of bird flu. It’s why we’ve asked for a wing of the hospital all to you. It’s why no one could visit you, it’s why no one else will know you’re—”
“Peter!”
Peter’s eyes widened when he saw who appeared from around the doorway. “Betty?”
She was really there. Peter wasn’t used to seeing Betty outside of her professional attire, but she stood there in loose, white cargos, and a tight black tee emblazoned with the words ‘I LUV NY’ across her chest. Her sandals smacked her heels when she walked.
“You are a hard man to track down, Parker.” Betty folded her arms. “Even for a journalist like me.” There was a small, blue duffel bag in her hands that Peter recognized as his own. “Randy says hi.”
Betty tossed the bag onto Peter’s bed. It landed right on his crotch. “Oof,” he grunted.
“Excuse me.” Bronson also had her arms folded and was giving Betty a snarl that would’ve scared Peter more than the Scorpion. “Who let you back here? Only CDC personnel are allowed in this wing.”
“Then why are you here?” Betty responded, peering at Bronson’s badge. “Aladdin Agency? What’s that? A branch of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?”
“Daily Bugle?” Bronson peered at Betty’s own press badge, clipped to her sleeve. “A tabloid magazine gets ‘Avengers Press Access’? Are you sure that’s not stolen? I could get NYPD up here to check…”
Peter raised his hands. “Okaaaay. Let’s all take a deep breath.” He met both their eyes, but he settled on Bronson. “Charlie, thank you for all your help. I mean it. I wouldn’t have been able to handle this without you.”
Betty cocked an eye at that choice of language.
Bronson visibly softened, then raised her own hands. “Fine. I’ll get the nurse to help you out.” Then, she spun on her heel and started to march out the door, but paused for only a moment to call back to Betty, “Don’t get too close, honey. He’s contagious.”
Betty looked like she was about to retort, but Bronson was already out the door. Instead, she turned to Peter. “Have a nice stay, huh?”
Peter sighed, “She has her heart in the right place.” Peter fumbled with the duffel bag on his lap and saw some old sweats from his closet. “So you met Randy?” Peter was relieved he’d brought all his Spidey costumes and shooters with him. They rested at the foot of the bed in a locked suitcase.
“Yeah.” Betty stood with her hands on her hips. “You know, it’s been almost a week since I last talked to you, and in that time you have managed to get a roommate, leave for Boston, and come back with bird flu. You make it really hard for a girl to like you.”
Now, Peter cocked his eyes at that language. “Uh, yeah. Look, Betty, about the last week—”
Betty interrupted, “Save it for the cab. The meter’s running downstairs. But don’t lose that thought. I want to hear this.”
The double doors to the vast office swung open, crashed into the walls behind them, leaving divots from the doorknobs. Everybody turned their heads. When they realized who he was, there was an audible gasp, then silence.
“Mister Kingsley!” one of the women—who knew what her name was?—stuttered.
He paid her no mind and continued marching through the offices, past people fiddling on computers or drawing on easels, toward the next set of double doors in front of him.
When he crashed through these, Roderick Kingsley stopped. “This is my office.”
Across from him was a mirror image, except for the hair, as Roderick wasn’t balding. Daniel Kingsley cringed when he saw his twin brother. He rushed and closed the soundproof double doors, then turned back.
“Rod?” Daniel squinted. “I don’t believe it! You’re a wanted criminal! The Hobgoblin is believed dead, but if you step foot back in the country, the NYPD is gonna reopen the investigation! You realize how much money I had to give them to drop it—”
Daniel didn’t get the chance to finish before Roderick nailed him straight in the nose with a fist. Daniel was falling to the floor, but Roderick grabbed his collar, shaking him furiously.
“This is my company!” Roderick yelled, “This is what I built! It took years of blood, sweat and tears, toil and trouble! I had my finger in every pie! I leave for Oslo for just ten weeks, and you sell the company! We’d declared Chapter Eleven! We were in the clear! You just needed to clean up the books a bit more—”
Now Daniel interrupted, “It’s too late for that, Rod! There are people who know all about us! They know all about the shady deals, the illegal tech, the trial formulas of the Osborn serum…they’re gonna kill us, Rod! We need to get out while we—”
Roderick viciously slapped his brother across the face. “You crying, little wimp! I can’t believe you were born two minutes earlier than me! That’s it then? You’re going to cash out our chips, after I’ve looked Wilson Fisk in the eye and challenged his throne?”
Daniel shook his head. “No…Spider-Man made sure that was never going to happen—”
Another backhand ripped across Daniel’s cheek. Roderick spit in his face. “You make me sick! Who are these people threatening you? Show some backbone, dammit!”
“Not against these people.” Daniel said, panic behind his words, “They’re after everything. They want our connections, they want the mask, the formulas, the gliders…”
Roderick’s face literally turned purple in rage. Daniel was expecting another lashing, but Roderick simply dropped him to the floor.
“They want masks?” Roderick’s scowl turned upward. “They want gliders, and formulas? Then I’ll be sure to give it to them.”
Daniel stammered, “No…don’t…it’s hopeless. They’ll kill you…”
“A name.” Roderick demanded, standing tall over his brother.
“It’s a…a subsidiary of Oscorp…or at least it was until recently. They’ve been pulling hostile takeovers left and right; it was only a matter of time before we were next.”
“A name!”
“Kronas.” Daniel said quickly, “The Kronas Corporation.”
Roderick eased his stance and the color faded from his face. “They’re as good as dead.”
With another slam, Roderick had left the office and his brother behind. Daniel slowly picked himself up off the ground.
“There. I did as you said. I can’t believe you were right about Roderick coming back…”
“It was inevitable.” The voice belonged to one who had always been in the room, a third party that Roderick was never privy to knowing. “People like him always go back to the masks. It’s sick, really.”
The light around a corner of the room seemed to twist and take shape. The Ghost stepped out of nothing. He sneered, “Kronas versus the Hobgoblin. Excellent. And you, Mister Kingsley, will finally get that big payoff you deserve.”
There was a briefcase in the Ghost’s hand, and he set it on top of Daniel’s massive, cherry desk. Daniel’s worried face seemed to ease at the sight of it.
“Take care, Mister Kingsley,” the Ghost said simply, before fading out of sight again.
Daniel stiffened as his guest was no longer viewable. But, he breathed easier when he saw a wide window open at the end of the room, then close by itself. Daniel briefly wondered how the Ghost expected to get anywhere from there being twenty stories up, but the thought didn’t linger.
Rubbing his sweaty hands together, Daniel sat down to open the briefcase. It clicked open with no problem. Daniel swung the briefcase upward, eager to see the contents.
He barely had time to watch the timer click to ‘00:00’.
His eardrums shattered just before flame and heat engulfed him and half of his office. The reinforced windows cracked, but didn’t break. The sonic boom set off the fire alarm, and the sprinkler system.
In the controlled panic that ensued outside the locked, soundproof double doors, it was easy for the Ghost to reenter the room. Magnetic repulsors had been enough to keep him suspended in mid-air outside, away from the blast.
One, two, three, the Ghost dropped them into the wreckage: razor bat-wings, a common signature of the Hobgoblin.
“Look, kids,” the cabbie interrupted, his voice too rough from too many cigars, “you’ve been yakkin’ an’ laughin’ since we left the hospital, and now we’ve been at your apartment for half an hour. Is this something ya really can’t finish upstairs?”
“Oh.” Betty put her hand over her mouth to help her stop laughing, “I, uh, I can’t go up. I’ve got some place to be. You know, work with Urich.”*
(yeah, right, Betty! We know you got inside info from the Prowler last ish! – Bryan knows what’s up)
“Geez, sorry, man.” Peter slowly ceased his chuckling. It was true he had Betty laughing from the elevator ride back at Empire State General, through the long drive in rush hour traffic. Mostly it was stories about him and Randy, or May or old Bugle adventures or even Ned Leeds. “The lady certainly can’t come up! What kind of guy do you think I am? Cab rides do not count as first dates, Miss Brant.”
“No,” Betty said, “but I am paying for this sixty dollar cab ride—that isn’t over yet, by the way”—she glared at the cabbie—“and I am giving you this.” She took an envelope out of her pants pocket and handed it to Peter.
Peter recognized it, and frowned. “You can’t be serious. You’re taking me to a Stacy Foundation dinner? There’s one like every other day for some cause or another—”
“It’s in a week.” Betty shoved him. “You can be my shutterbug. After that, we’ll see if you get a second date.”
Peter tucked the invitation into his jean jacket pocket. “I’ll talk it over with Mayday.”
Betty laughed after him as he got out of the cab, “You do that. Now get out of the cab. I never spend this much money on a man. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Tell Randy I said hi, and take a shower—for May’s sake!”
“Sheesh. Pushy.” Peter whisked his locked suitcase out of the cab with him.
He waved, shut the door and watched the cab speed off toward more metro traffic.
“Well, that went better than it had any right to.” Peter sighed, and he started to walk up to his apartment’s lobby, then he thought, No kidding. It went well because she wanted it to go well. She didn’t even mention my botched ‘trip to Boston’. So now what are you gonna do?
Whaddaya mean ‘what are you gonna do’? You’re gonna go upstairs and you’re gonna spend some time with your daughter and you’re going to have that long talk you’ve been putting off with your new, overburdened, roommate.
The real question is…what are you gonna say?
Wait…
Spider-sense? It was true…he had felt a slight tingle at the top of his scalp…
Peter gazed up at the rooftop of his apartment, Hamilton Heights. No…just a light tingling…yeah, just a bit anxious, that’s all…that’s all…
“So, that’s all?” Randy was plainly skeptical. “Bird flu? What, are you gonna sprout feathers and start laying eggs?”
Peter shrugged. “At least you’ll have fresh breakfast every morning.”
“That’s funny,” Randy said, looking at May, who was sitting in between the two guys on the sofa. “Now, you wanna tell me what really happened?”
The television blared the evening news behind them, “…Doctor Connors came along quietly at his offices at ESU, after finding out about his warrant around lunchtime…”
Peter sighed, “Randy…I’ve told you. I’m sick, exhausted, and you have no idea how sorry I am for putting you and May into this position. I really don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you both.” He tenderly rubbed at May’s cheek.
“Pete,” Randy sighed too, stroking at Smoke on his lap. “I don’t know much about bird flu. I ain’t a doctor. So, whatever. But one thing I do know?”
Peter knew the question was rhetorical, and he let Randy go on.
“I know what the Aladdin Agency does.” Randy said simply, “After you were missing for twenty-four hours, I called ESU and they had never heard of a study trip to Boston—”
“Crap.” Peter’s shoulders slumped.
Randy continued, “—so I called the Daily Bugle. I didn’t want to alarm my dad, so I talked to a nice young girl named Betty Brant instead—”
Peter put his face in his hands, even as May tugged gently at his sleeve. “She says hi.”
Randy kept on, “—and she was more than eager to help. When she told me you were checked into the hospital by the Aladdin Agency, it was clear she doesn’t understand what those people do for a living. I decided not to tell her about the faked science trip either.”
Peter said nothing. He stared at his daughter, laughing and chewing on her blanket.
“Super-heroes.” Randy said, “They’re the CIA. But for masks. My dad works for a hero-bashing newspaper…the Aladdin Branch of the CIA made a few visits to my house when I was a kid.”
Peter had to say something. He didn’t know what so he just opened his mouth, hoping that he could form words and run with them. “Randy…”
Randy raised his hands quickly. “Hey, man. It’s my fault. I barged in here uninvited and maybe I interrupted a good thing for you, I dunno. But, after Jill…and I can’t find Eugene for the life of me…and I’ve still got bruises from when I went to the ICU*…and it’s clear from your spontaneous child that you’re into something pretty shifty here and I already got problems—”
(*-how long ago was issue 20?- timelessly Bryan)
SPIDER-SENSE!
Oh no, of all the times…“Randy, look, I need—”
“Pete, let me finish—”
“No, Randy, I’m being completely serious right now—” Spider-sense was making Peter’s ears burn a bright red. I should’ve listened to it earlier…
“I’m being serious too, so just listen—holy shit, what was that?” Randy jumped from where he was on the couch, startling May. He pointed at the window. “Please tell me you just saw that! What the fuck! There was somebody at the window!”
Peter looked at the window, but hadn’t seen anyone. “I saw it. Take May into the bedroom and I’ll check it out. But keep May safe. Don’t come out until I’m back.”
Before Randy could respond, there was a thunderous SLAM! from the roof. It shook Peter’s walls, and his ceiling lights flickered. Smoke, their cat, ran under the futon.
“No way, man!” Randy stood up, and Peter could see the sweat starting to glisten on his forehead. “This is crazy, Pete! What was that? Am I going to the hospital again?”
“Randy…” Peter tried to talk slowly, his spider-sense blaring to get May to safety. “Take my daughter into the bedroom, shut the door, close the curtains, don’t sit next to the window.”
“And you’ll ‘check it out’? What does that mean? What if it’s some crazed psycho like Carnage or the Sandman, looking for Spider-Man?”
“Just do it, Randy.” Peter was trying to focus on his spider-sense…but he kept looking at May, on her back, chewing gently on her blanket, staring hard at the ceiling…
Randy gulped, “Peter, how can you live like this?”
“Now, Randy!”
May started crying. Randy picked her up briskly. Without so much as another look at Peter, Randy rushed the child into the bedroom, whispering, “Hey, hey, Mayday. It’s a’ight. We’re gonna watch some Spongebob…and everything’s gonna be chill.” His voice diminished after the door was shut.
Spider-sense! Get a move on, Parker…you are skating on such thin ice right now, and the spider-sense will not stop ringing! Who knows who could be stalking my apartment? Do they want Spider-Man or Peter Parker? Who am I kidding?
Peter walked to his locked suitcase, and pulled out his costume.
When he slipped out the window, he could hear the television blaring from his and May’s bedroom. The blinds were tightly shut. Peter was trying to take his time, to do this delicately…and his spider-sense had calmed considerably.
Who could this be? The Foolkiller? Just more Aladdin agents, spying on me? Maybe Felicia’s back? No…my spider-sense doesn’t warn me of friends…does it?
Lithely, Spider-Man was on the roof. “Okay. Come out. I know you’re here.”
Nothing yet. Only the slight tingle that meant danger could be anywhere…or everywhere.
“Or maybe…” Spider-Man said aloud, “you’re right here!”
With a flick of his right wrist, a strand of webbing flew from under his left arm. It connected to something in the shadows, just past the wailing, oversized air vent. An arm flashed in the moonlight, clad in purple, wrapped in webbing. It pulled.
Spider-Man, still weak from Russia, was pulled forward a few steps, but even in his state, he steadied himself and pulled back on the webbing. His assailant jumped fully into the moonlight.
Another hand came out of the darkness, came down across the webline slicing it in two. The figure stepped farther into the moonlight.
“The Prowler.” Spider-Man said quietly.
Across the roof, a long purple cape was draped over the Prowler’s shoulders, down past his ankles, making him almost invisible in the darkness. But clawed hands reemerged from the cape, empty.
The Prowler said, “I’m not here to fight.” The voice was light, full of adrenaline.
“Fight?” Spider-Man crouched. “I’ve got better things to do this evening than fight a kid wearing a suit two sizes too big for him. I don’t know who you are, or how you knew to come here, but I’m giving you a chance to just—”
“Just listen to me!” The Prowler yelled over him, “You haven’t been home, so I haven’t been able to tell you about this.” He held out a thin sheet of paper. “I have to be quick, because I think I was followed. There might be someone listening close by…”
Spider-Man heard the desperation in the Prowler’s voice, along with something else that he couldn’t place. He flung a webline that grabbed the paper from across the roof.
“A shipping manifest?” Spider-Man’s eyes scanned the piece of paper. “What is this supposed to tell—oh.”
12:00 AM – Kronas – Freight – “The Burden of Atlas” – Russia
“It’s the Tinkerer.” The Prowler said simply, “A shipment of his weapons is coming later tonight into the New York Harbor. Something called—”
“The World.” Spider-Man grimaced, then he peered over at the Prowler. “But why? Who are you? Why do you care? You know my face…”
The Prowler was hesitant. He shook a bit, like he wanted to move, but he didn’t. Finally, he said, “I’m a friend. Your secret is safe with me. We’ve both lost a lot and—”
Bingo! Peter finally placed what was familiar in the Prowler’s voice.
“Eugene?”
The Prowler froze.
“Is that you?” Peter took a couple steps forward on the roof. “Do you know what you’re doing? You stole that suit, you’re bumbling around my roof, bringing who knows what kind of attention to my daughter and my apartment—”
“Not so loud, Peter. I said there might be someone—”
“I know how guilty you feel about Jill. I’ve told you about MJ and my uncle—”
“Then you know why I can’t sit and do nothing!” The Prowler hung his head, then suddenly stepped back into the darkness of the far roof.
It was so dark…Spider-Man wasn’t going to be able to track him. He picked up his pace and ran toward the shadows, where the Prowler had stood. In a much softer voice, he heard the Prowler speak, “I’m just trying to do what I thought you’d do.”
Gone. Spider-Man thrust his hands through the darkness, trying to grab hold of his friend, but his friend was gone.
Or was he? The spider-sense tingled at the back of Peter’s neck!
Spider-Man spun around on his heel. Sure enough, on the other edge of the roof, there was someone standing there.
No…this wasn’t the Prowler…in the moonlight, his suit was black, but there were reflective gold splashes around the edges of his mask and his robes. He was a ninja; Peter had watched enough of the Discovery Channel to know that.
“Hey!” Spider-Man called, “I don’t remember calling for a chimney sweep, buddy!”
Too late. The ninja made a simple, cat-like stretch with his leg, and jumped off the roof. Spider-Man bounded across the roof and, a second later, was in the exact spot where the ninja had been just before. There was no sign of him.
Eugene had said he saw someone…Spider-Man was starting to feel the ache in his bones.
Peter crouched there for a few minutes longer, waiting for any twitch of his spider-sense. There was none. Wearily, he crawled down from the roof, into his living room window.
Wonderful…my identity may be revealed to some yahoo with a Bruce Lee fixation. Peter quickly took off his mask, boots, shooters and gloves. He pulled on the sweats he was wearing earlier. He quickly threw the other bits of his costume into his locked suitcase.
The door to his and May’s bedroom clicked open not a second later, and Randy rushed into the room. His eyes were wide when he spoke.
“Who was it? Is everything cool?”
Peter moved past Randy and into the bedroom. When he saw that May had crashed, snoozing loudly in her crib, thumb lazily hanging from the edge of her lips, Peter responded, “It was…uh, Spider-Man.”
Randy frowned and lifted an eyebrow. “Spider-Man? Are you serious?”
Peter nodded slowly, looking Randy right in the eye. “But that’s not important. I’ve got some info on Eugene.”
Randy’s face perked up. “You know where Eugene is? Is he hurt? How did Spider-Man find him?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Peter shook his head. “It’s complicated. Eugene’s in some trouble, and…and, well, I gotta go.” He prepared for Randy’s reaction.
“Go?” Randy’s face soured. “No way! Pete, you can’t keep doing this to me! I’ve missed work, sleep…dates with gorgeous girls! And you don’t understand…there’s a reason I came looking for you…I—I…” He trailed off.
Peter grabbed his shoulder. “What, man? You need to get something off your chest?”
Randy looked down at his feet, and shook his head, “Nevermind. I’ll tell you later. Eugene…yeah, I do want you to save Eugene. You and Spider-Man, I mean. He’s a hero after all.”
Peter smiled. “I promise Eugene will be safe.”
Randy nodded again, then forced a smirk. “Then do what you gotta do. You know I’ve got your back when it comes to your girl, bro, but we really…gotta talk, you know?”
Peter smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”
“And I’m crashing on your awesome bed.” Randy threw himself on Peter’s bed, across from May’s crib. He kicked off his shoes and stuck his hands underneath his head.
Peter chuckled, “Understood.” He turned and started to rush out of the apartment.
Randy called after him, before the door shut, “And take a shower. You reek, dude!”
Peter felt a smile creep across his face. He grabbed his locked suitcase and headed for the open window again.
It looked like another long night for J. Jonah Jameson. He reclined in his chair, behind his massive desk. It was the same cigar he had been chewing on at seven AM that morning, when he had arrived back at the Bugle. It was just a damp stub now, but Jonah kept chewing it.
Jonah examined the Daily Bugle that he was going to run the next day: ‘Spider-Man secretly aids Liberty Island Dozen!’.
He hated it. He wanted to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. But he couldn’t. There was no loved lost between him and that wallcrawler, and he needed his family to be safe. Jonah put his forehead in his palms. His rationale was not making him feel better.
The phone on his desk rang. His neck whipped up.
The phone was in his hand. “Hello? Who is this?”
“You’ve been expecting my call, Jameson. You know, I’ve loved the last week of the Daily Bugle. It’s like watching episodes of an old TV show that you’ve seen over and over and over…those episodes that just never get old. Three’s Company was always my favorite—those girls were so funny—what was your favorite, Jonah?”
“Shut up, you bastard. I’ve done what you want. I’ve drunk the punch; now let me off the hook. It’s not me you really want anyway, right? It’s Spider-Man—”
“Don’t think you know what I want! The only person you’ve ever thought about is yourself! You didn’t even have the brass to stand up for your own professional morality, Jameson! Nobody gives a damn what a fool like you thinks!”
“You son of a bitch.” Jonah grit his teeth. “Just tell me when this is going to be over.”
“It’s over when I say it’s over! That’s all you need know! Now, keep up the good work.”
There was a loud click in Jameson’s ear, just before Jonah slammed the phone down hard on the desk.
He could only stare at the phone, wide-eyed, fuming, huffing, and wishing he had a fresh cigar. What else could he do? He felt like a marionette, with his pride, his paper, and his family hanging by thread. Sweat dripped down the bridge of nose, until he could taste it on his upper lip. God, he needed a cigar.
Then, Jonah’s eyes widened…and he picked up the phone again.
NEXT ISSUE: What awaits at New York Harbor? Ben, Eugene, Spidey and the Ghost will be there…plus, a couple someones a bit unexpected.
“There is no doubt Doctor Connors is a brilliant man. There is no doubt that whatever project he was working on with Doctor Wiles—and we will reveal that information when prudent—was worth billions of dollars. And considering the chemicals used to suffocate the corpse in such a manner, only a man with an intricate understanding of biology could have produced it.”
“But didn’t Doctor Connors give an eye-witness account of the killer? Wasn’t he himself injured in the murder?”
“Doctor Connors has indeed given a sketch and an eye-witness account to investigators. We will see if that story can be proven in court, under oath, as the sketch has not turned up any real leads—”
“Morons!”
A remote control was ripped from where it was nailed on the bedside table. It was flung with incredible accuracy, blinking the television off in the loudest manner possible.
For Peter Parker, who had been taught against verbal outbursts, it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. “Doc saw his face! He saw the Foolkiller’s face! How could they not have caught him yet? New York cops…never the same since Arthur was killed…”
“So do you always talk to yourself like this?”
Peter’s head whipped toward the doorway. Agent Charlene Bronson of the Aladdin Agency was leaning there, in a plain tee and ripped jeans. A government issue badge hung by a thin chain from around her neck, a revolver hung loosely around her shoulders.
“I’ve got this big hospital room all to myself.” Peter shrugged sarcastically. “No one’s been in here to visit me in the six hours I’ve been awake. I don’t even know how I got back from Russia! You realize I’ve been gone from my daughter for four days now?!”
Bronson didn’t even flinch. “That was your idea. Not ours. Probably would’ve been easier if we’d handled it, instead of giving it to a flake in a mask.”
Peter was about to launch something else from the bedside table. But he relented. He felt so weak, so sick. Peter knew he had been without food or water, that much was evident by the plastic tubes entering his forearms. And he stank. Badly.
“Look,” Peter’s tone was calm now, “I don’t care. It was stupid. I know that now. I never should’ve gone. I just want to see my daughter, okay?”
Charlene’s frown eased a little, “I know. And you can leave any time you want now that you’re awake. You were trapped for forty hours real time before rescue. It took our agents hours to get used to the time displacement. Danny found you personally…you were in shock. But the mission was a disaster…well, not completely I guess, we got some valuable intel and…well, anyway, Danny’s in Washington right now, begging to keep up our sponsorship of you.”
Peter heaved and rubbed his eyes. He was finally being rewarded for being Spider-Man, but his free ride was endangered by his irresponsibility. He had to keep this up for May.
“I’m sorry.” Peter said simply, “I…really thought MJ might’ve…” He suddenly laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Nevermind. I just need to get home to my little girl.”
Peter looked up again and saw that Charlene Bronson was now at his bedside. He was kind of shocked that she had moved so far, so quickly, so quietly. But there was something…comforting about it too. She leaned on the iron bars of Peter’s hospital bed, pushing her chest out. A strand of hair fell from around her ear, and was caught between her lips. The look in her eyes matched the look in Betty’s eyes just a week before…
And Peter still felt so weak…
When Charlene Bronson kissed him, Peter didn’t fight her. She kept her lips there for what felt like hours. When she finally stepped back, Peter exhaled.
“Why did you do that?” were the first words out of his mouth, but then he added, “I mean, you didn’t even bring flowers.”
“Don’t play, Parker.” Bronson stood up straight. “I gave you more than flowers just now. You need to be reminded that not everybody on the planet hates you. Some admire you more than you think.” She actually cracked a smile then. “You’ve done a good thing. There were vast terror networks connected with the World’s evolved technology, stretching from Pakistan all the way to Maine.”
Peter didn’t know what to say, so he just blurted, “So, is this a conjugal visit? Because I just don’t have that kind of time. Right about now, my roommate is spending his tip money on diapers and he has no idea where—”
“He knows where you are.” Charlene said, “We called him. While in Boston on your school field trip, you contracted a rare and very treatable strain of bird flu. It’s why we’ve asked for a wing of the hospital all to you. It’s why no one could visit you, it’s why no one else will know you’re—”
“Peter!”
Peter’s eyes widened when he saw who appeared from around the doorway. “Betty?”
She was really there. Peter wasn’t used to seeing Betty outside of her professional attire, but she stood there in loose, white cargos, and a tight black tee emblazoned with the words ‘I LUV NY’ across her chest. Her sandals smacked her heels when she walked.
“You are a hard man to track down, Parker.” Betty folded her arms. “Even for a journalist like me.” There was a small, blue duffel bag in her hands that Peter recognized as his own. “Randy says hi.”
Betty tossed the bag onto Peter’s bed. It landed right on his crotch. “Oof,” he grunted.
“Excuse me.” Bronson also had her arms folded and was giving Betty a snarl that would’ve scared Peter more than the Scorpion. “Who let you back here? Only CDC personnel are allowed in this wing.”
“Then why are you here?” Betty responded, peering at Bronson’s badge. “Aladdin Agency? What’s that? A branch of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?”
“Daily Bugle?” Bronson peered at Betty’s own press badge, clipped to her sleeve. “A tabloid magazine gets ‘Avengers Press Access’? Are you sure that’s not stolen? I could get NYPD up here to check…”
Peter raised his hands. “Okaaaay. Let’s all take a deep breath.” He met both their eyes, but he settled on Bronson. “Charlie, thank you for all your help. I mean it. I wouldn’t have been able to handle this without you.”
Betty cocked an eye at that choice of language.
Bronson visibly softened, then raised her own hands. “Fine. I’ll get the nurse to help you out.” Then, she spun on her heel and started to march out the door, but paused for only a moment to call back to Betty, “Don’t get too close, honey. He’s contagious.”
Betty looked like she was about to retort, but Bronson was already out the door. Instead, she turned to Peter. “Have a nice stay, huh?”
Peter sighed, “She has her heart in the right place.” Peter fumbled with the duffel bag on his lap and saw some old sweats from his closet. “So you met Randy?” Peter was relieved he’d brought all his Spidey costumes and shooters with him. They rested at the foot of the bed in a locked suitcase.
“Yeah.” Betty stood with her hands on her hips. “You know, it’s been almost a week since I last talked to you, and in that time you have managed to get a roommate, leave for Boston, and come back with bird flu. You make it really hard for a girl to like you.”
Now, Peter cocked his eyes at that language. “Uh, yeah. Look, Betty, about the last week—”
Betty interrupted, “Save it for the cab. The meter’s running downstairs. But don’t lose that thought. I want to hear this.”
The double doors to the vast office swung open, crashed into the walls behind them, leaving divots from the doorknobs. Everybody turned their heads. When they realized who he was, there was an audible gasp, then silence.
“Mister Kingsley!” one of the women—who knew what her name was?—stuttered.
He paid her no mind and continued marching through the offices, past people fiddling on computers or drawing on easels, toward the next set of double doors in front of him.
When he crashed through these, Roderick Kingsley stopped. “This is my office.”
Across from him was a mirror image, except for the hair, as Roderick wasn’t balding. Daniel Kingsley cringed when he saw his twin brother. He rushed and closed the soundproof double doors, then turned back.
“Rod?” Daniel squinted. “I don’t believe it! You’re a wanted criminal! The Hobgoblin is believed dead, but if you step foot back in the country, the NYPD is gonna reopen the investigation! You realize how much money I had to give them to drop it—”
Daniel didn’t get the chance to finish before Roderick nailed him straight in the nose with a fist. Daniel was falling to the floor, but Roderick grabbed his collar, shaking him furiously.
“This is my company!” Roderick yelled, “This is what I built! It took years of blood, sweat and tears, toil and trouble! I had my finger in every pie! I leave for Oslo for just ten weeks, and you sell the company! We’d declared Chapter Eleven! We were in the clear! You just needed to clean up the books a bit more—”
Now Daniel interrupted, “It’s too late for that, Rod! There are people who know all about us! They know all about the shady deals, the illegal tech, the trial formulas of the Osborn serum…they’re gonna kill us, Rod! We need to get out while we—”
Roderick viciously slapped his brother across the face. “You crying, little wimp! I can’t believe you were born two minutes earlier than me! That’s it then? You’re going to cash out our chips, after I’ve looked Wilson Fisk in the eye and challenged his throne?”
Daniel shook his head. “No…Spider-Man made sure that was never going to happen—”
Another backhand ripped across Daniel’s cheek. Roderick spit in his face. “You make me sick! Who are these people threatening you? Show some backbone, dammit!”
“Not against these people.” Daniel said, panic behind his words, “They’re after everything. They want our connections, they want the mask, the formulas, the gliders…”
Roderick’s face literally turned purple in rage. Daniel was expecting another lashing, but Roderick simply dropped him to the floor.
“They want masks?” Roderick’s scowl turned upward. “They want gliders, and formulas? Then I’ll be sure to give it to them.”
Daniel stammered, “No…don’t…it’s hopeless. They’ll kill you…”
“A name.” Roderick demanded, standing tall over his brother.
“It’s a…a subsidiary of Oscorp…or at least it was until recently. They’ve been pulling hostile takeovers left and right; it was only a matter of time before we were next.”
“A name!”
“Kronas.” Daniel said quickly, “The Kronas Corporation.”
Roderick eased his stance and the color faded from his face. “They’re as good as dead.”
With another slam, Roderick had left the office and his brother behind. Daniel slowly picked himself up off the ground.
“There. I did as you said. I can’t believe you were right about Roderick coming back…”
“It was inevitable.” The voice belonged to one who had always been in the room, a third party that Roderick was never privy to knowing. “People like him always go back to the masks. It’s sick, really.”
The light around a corner of the room seemed to twist and take shape. The Ghost stepped out of nothing. He sneered, “Kronas versus the Hobgoblin. Excellent. And you, Mister Kingsley, will finally get that big payoff you deserve.”
There was a briefcase in the Ghost’s hand, and he set it on top of Daniel’s massive, cherry desk. Daniel’s worried face seemed to ease at the sight of it.
“Take care, Mister Kingsley,” the Ghost said simply, before fading out of sight again.
Daniel stiffened as his guest was no longer viewable. But, he breathed easier when he saw a wide window open at the end of the room, then close by itself. Daniel briefly wondered how the Ghost expected to get anywhere from there being twenty stories up, but the thought didn’t linger.
Rubbing his sweaty hands together, Daniel sat down to open the briefcase. It clicked open with no problem. Daniel swung the briefcase upward, eager to see the contents.
He barely had time to watch the timer click to ‘00:00’.
His eardrums shattered just before flame and heat engulfed him and half of his office. The reinforced windows cracked, but didn’t break. The sonic boom set off the fire alarm, and the sprinkler system.
In the controlled panic that ensued outside the locked, soundproof double doors, it was easy for the Ghost to reenter the room. Magnetic repulsors had been enough to keep him suspended in mid-air outside, away from the blast.
One, two, three, the Ghost dropped them into the wreckage: razor bat-wings, a common signature of the Hobgoblin.
“Look, kids,” the cabbie interrupted, his voice too rough from too many cigars, “you’ve been yakkin’ an’ laughin’ since we left the hospital, and now we’ve been at your apartment for half an hour. Is this something ya really can’t finish upstairs?”
“Oh.” Betty put her hand over her mouth to help her stop laughing, “I, uh, I can’t go up. I’ve got some place to be. You know, work with Urich.”*
(yeah, right, Betty! We know you got inside info from the Prowler last ish! – Bryan knows what’s up)
“Geez, sorry, man.” Peter slowly ceased his chuckling. It was true he had Betty laughing from the elevator ride back at Empire State General, through the long drive in rush hour traffic. Mostly it was stories about him and Randy, or May or old Bugle adventures or even Ned Leeds. “The lady certainly can’t come up! What kind of guy do you think I am? Cab rides do not count as first dates, Miss Brant.”
“No,” Betty said, “but I am paying for this sixty dollar cab ride—that isn’t over yet, by the way”—she glared at the cabbie—“and I am giving you this.” She took an envelope out of her pants pocket and handed it to Peter.
Peter recognized it, and frowned. “You can’t be serious. You’re taking me to a Stacy Foundation dinner? There’s one like every other day for some cause or another—”
“It’s in a week.” Betty shoved him. “You can be my shutterbug. After that, we’ll see if you get a second date.”
Peter tucked the invitation into his jean jacket pocket. “I’ll talk it over with Mayday.”
Betty laughed after him as he got out of the cab, “You do that. Now get out of the cab. I never spend this much money on a man. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Tell Randy I said hi, and take a shower—for May’s sake!”
“Sheesh. Pushy.” Peter whisked his locked suitcase out of the cab with him.
He waved, shut the door and watched the cab speed off toward more metro traffic.
“Well, that went better than it had any right to.” Peter sighed, and he started to walk up to his apartment’s lobby, then he thought, No kidding. It went well because she wanted it to go well. She didn’t even mention my botched ‘trip to Boston’. So now what are you gonna do?
Whaddaya mean ‘what are you gonna do’? You’re gonna go upstairs and you’re gonna spend some time with your daughter and you’re going to have that long talk you’ve been putting off with your new, overburdened, roommate.
The real question is…what are you gonna say?
Wait…
Spider-sense? It was true…he had felt a slight tingle at the top of his scalp…
Peter gazed up at the rooftop of his apartment, Hamilton Heights. No…just a light tingling…yeah, just a bit anxious, that’s all…that’s all…
“So, that’s all?” Randy was plainly skeptical. “Bird flu? What, are you gonna sprout feathers and start laying eggs?”
Peter shrugged. “At least you’ll have fresh breakfast every morning.”
“That’s funny,” Randy said, looking at May, who was sitting in between the two guys on the sofa. “Now, you wanna tell me what really happened?”
The television blared the evening news behind them, “…Doctor Connors came along quietly at his offices at ESU, after finding out about his warrant around lunchtime…”
Peter sighed, “Randy…I’ve told you. I’m sick, exhausted, and you have no idea how sorry I am for putting you and May into this position. I really don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you both.” He tenderly rubbed at May’s cheek.
“Pete,” Randy sighed too, stroking at Smoke on his lap. “I don’t know much about bird flu. I ain’t a doctor. So, whatever. But one thing I do know?”
Peter knew the question was rhetorical, and he let Randy go on.
“I know what the Aladdin Agency does.” Randy said simply, “After you were missing for twenty-four hours, I called ESU and they had never heard of a study trip to Boston—”
“Crap.” Peter’s shoulders slumped.
Randy continued, “—so I called the Daily Bugle. I didn’t want to alarm my dad, so I talked to a nice young girl named Betty Brant instead—”
Peter put his face in his hands, even as May tugged gently at his sleeve. “She says hi.”
Randy kept on, “—and she was more than eager to help. When she told me you were checked into the hospital by the Aladdin Agency, it was clear she doesn’t understand what those people do for a living. I decided not to tell her about the faked science trip either.”
Peter said nothing. He stared at his daughter, laughing and chewing on her blanket.
“Super-heroes.” Randy said, “They’re the CIA. But for masks. My dad works for a hero-bashing newspaper…the Aladdin Branch of the CIA made a few visits to my house when I was a kid.”
Peter had to say something. He didn’t know what so he just opened his mouth, hoping that he could form words and run with them. “Randy…”
Randy raised his hands quickly. “Hey, man. It’s my fault. I barged in here uninvited and maybe I interrupted a good thing for you, I dunno. But, after Jill…and I can’t find Eugene for the life of me…and I’ve still got bruises from when I went to the ICU*…and it’s clear from your spontaneous child that you’re into something pretty shifty here and I already got problems—”
(*-how long ago was issue 20?- timelessly Bryan)
SPIDER-SENSE!
Oh no, of all the times…“Randy, look, I need—”
“Pete, let me finish—”
“No, Randy, I’m being completely serious right now—” Spider-sense was making Peter’s ears burn a bright red. I should’ve listened to it earlier…
“I’m being serious too, so just listen—holy shit, what was that?” Randy jumped from where he was on the couch, startling May. He pointed at the window. “Please tell me you just saw that! What the fuck! There was somebody at the window!”
Peter looked at the window, but hadn’t seen anyone. “I saw it. Take May into the bedroom and I’ll check it out. But keep May safe. Don’t come out until I’m back.”
Before Randy could respond, there was a thunderous SLAM! from the roof. It shook Peter’s walls, and his ceiling lights flickered. Smoke, their cat, ran under the futon.
“No way, man!” Randy stood up, and Peter could see the sweat starting to glisten on his forehead. “This is crazy, Pete! What was that? Am I going to the hospital again?”
“Randy…” Peter tried to talk slowly, his spider-sense blaring to get May to safety. “Take my daughter into the bedroom, shut the door, close the curtains, don’t sit next to the window.”
“And you’ll ‘check it out’? What does that mean? What if it’s some crazed psycho like Carnage or the Sandman, looking for Spider-Man?”
“Just do it, Randy.” Peter was trying to focus on his spider-sense…but he kept looking at May, on her back, chewing gently on her blanket, staring hard at the ceiling…
Randy gulped, “Peter, how can you live like this?”
“Now, Randy!”
May started crying. Randy picked her up briskly. Without so much as another look at Peter, Randy rushed the child into the bedroom, whispering, “Hey, hey, Mayday. It’s a’ight. We’re gonna watch some Spongebob…and everything’s gonna be chill.” His voice diminished after the door was shut.
Spider-sense! Get a move on, Parker…you are skating on such thin ice right now, and the spider-sense will not stop ringing! Who knows who could be stalking my apartment? Do they want Spider-Man or Peter Parker? Who am I kidding?
Peter walked to his locked suitcase, and pulled out his costume.
When he slipped out the window, he could hear the television blaring from his and May’s bedroom. The blinds were tightly shut. Peter was trying to take his time, to do this delicately…and his spider-sense had calmed considerably.
Who could this be? The Foolkiller? Just more Aladdin agents, spying on me? Maybe Felicia’s back? No…my spider-sense doesn’t warn me of friends…does it?
Lithely, Spider-Man was on the roof. “Okay. Come out. I know you’re here.”
Nothing yet. Only the slight tingle that meant danger could be anywhere…or everywhere.
“Or maybe…” Spider-Man said aloud, “you’re right here!”
With a flick of his right wrist, a strand of webbing flew from under his left arm. It connected to something in the shadows, just past the wailing, oversized air vent. An arm flashed in the moonlight, clad in purple, wrapped in webbing. It pulled.
Spider-Man, still weak from Russia, was pulled forward a few steps, but even in his state, he steadied himself and pulled back on the webbing. His assailant jumped fully into the moonlight.
Another hand came out of the darkness, came down across the webline slicing it in two. The figure stepped farther into the moonlight.
“The Prowler.” Spider-Man said quietly.
Across the roof, a long purple cape was draped over the Prowler’s shoulders, down past his ankles, making him almost invisible in the darkness. But clawed hands reemerged from the cape, empty.
The Prowler said, “I’m not here to fight.” The voice was light, full of adrenaline.
“Fight?” Spider-Man crouched. “I’ve got better things to do this evening than fight a kid wearing a suit two sizes too big for him. I don’t know who you are, or how you knew to come here, but I’m giving you a chance to just—”
“Just listen to me!” The Prowler yelled over him, “You haven’t been home, so I haven’t been able to tell you about this.” He held out a thin sheet of paper. “I have to be quick, because I think I was followed. There might be someone listening close by…”
Spider-Man heard the desperation in the Prowler’s voice, along with something else that he couldn’t place. He flung a webline that grabbed the paper from across the roof.
“A shipping manifest?” Spider-Man’s eyes scanned the piece of paper. “What is this supposed to tell—oh.”
12:00 AM – Kronas – Freight – “The Burden of Atlas” – Russia
“It’s the Tinkerer.” The Prowler said simply, “A shipment of his weapons is coming later tonight into the New York Harbor. Something called—”
“The World.” Spider-Man grimaced, then he peered over at the Prowler. “But why? Who are you? Why do you care? You know my face…”
The Prowler was hesitant. He shook a bit, like he wanted to move, but he didn’t. Finally, he said, “I’m a friend. Your secret is safe with me. We’ve both lost a lot and—”
Bingo! Peter finally placed what was familiar in the Prowler’s voice.
“Eugene?”
The Prowler froze.
“Is that you?” Peter took a couple steps forward on the roof. “Do you know what you’re doing? You stole that suit, you’re bumbling around my roof, bringing who knows what kind of attention to my daughter and my apartment—”
“Not so loud, Peter. I said there might be someone—”
“I know how guilty you feel about Jill. I’ve told you about MJ and my uncle—”
“Then you know why I can’t sit and do nothing!” The Prowler hung his head, then suddenly stepped back into the darkness of the far roof.
It was so dark…Spider-Man wasn’t going to be able to track him. He picked up his pace and ran toward the shadows, where the Prowler had stood. In a much softer voice, he heard the Prowler speak, “I’m just trying to do what I thought you’d do.”
Gone. Spider-Man thrust his hands through the darkness, trying to grab hold of his friend, but his friend was gone.
Or was he? The spider-sense tingled at the back of Peter’s neck!
Spider-Man spun around on his heel. Sure enough, on the other edge of the roof, there was someone standing there.
No…this wasn’t the Prowler…in the moonlight, his suit was black, but there were reflective gold splashes around the edges of his mask and his robes. He was a ninja; Peter had watched enough of the Discovery Channel to know that.
“Hey!” Spider-Man called, “I don’t remember calling for a chimney sweep, buddy!”
Too late. The ninja made a simple, cat-like stretch with his leg, and jumped off the roof. Spider-Man bounded across the roof and, a second later, was in the exact spot where the ninja had been just before. There was no sign of him.
Eugene had said he saw someone…Spider-Man was starting to feel the ache in his bones.
Peter crouched there for a few minutes longer, waiting for any twitch of his spider-sense. There was none. Wearily, he crawled down from the roof, into his living room window.
Wonderful…my identity may be revealed to some yahoo with a Bruce Lee fixation. Peter quickly took off his mask, boots, shooters and gloves. He pulled on the sweats he was wearing earlier. He quickly threw the other bits of his costume into his locked suitcase.
The door to his and May’s bedroom clicked open not a second later, and Randy rushed into the room. His eyes were wide when he spoke.
“Who was it? Is everything cool?”
Peter moved past Randy and into the bedroom. When he saw that May had crashed, snoozing loudly in her crib, thumb lazily hanging from the edge of her lips, Peter responded, “It was…uh, Spider-Man.”
Randy frowned and lifted an eyebrow. “Spider-Man? Are you serious?”
Peter nodded slowly, looking Randy right in the eye. “But that’s not important. I’ve got some info on Eugene.”
Randy’s face perked up. “You know where Eugene is? Is he hurt? How did Spider-Man find him?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Peter shook his head. “It’s complicated. Eugene’s in some trouble, and…and, well, I gotta go.” He prepared for Randy’s reaction.
“Go?” Randy’s face soured. “No way! Pete, you can’t keep doing this to me! I’ve missed work, sleep…dates with gorgeous girls! And you don’t understand…there’s a reason I came looking for you…I—I…” He trailed off.
Peter grabbed his shoulder. “What, man? You need to get something off your chest?”
Randy looked down at his feet, and shook his head, “Nevermind. I’ll tell you later. Eugene…yeah, I do want you to save Eugene. You and Spider-Man, I mean. He’s a hero after all.”
Peter smiled. “I promise Eugene will be safe.”
Randy nodded again, then forced a smirk. “Then do what you gotta do. You know I’ve got your back when it comes to your girl, bro, but we really…gotta talk, you know?”
Peter smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”
“And I’m crashing on your awesome bed.” Randy threw himself on Peter’s bed, across from May’s crib. He kicked off his shoes and stuck his hands underneath his head.
Peter chuckled, “Understood.” He turned and started to rush out of the apartment.
Randy called after him, before the door shut, “And take a shower. You reek, dude!”
Peter felt a smile creep across his face. He grabbed his locked suitcase and headed for the open window again.
It looked like another long night for J. Jonah Jameson. He reclined in his chair, behind his massive desk. It was the same cigar he had been chewing on at seven AM that morning, when he had arrived back at the Bugle. It was just a damp stub now, but Jonah kept chewing it.
Jonah examined the Daily Bugle that he was going to run the next day: ‘Spider-Man secretly aids Liberty Island Dozen!’.
He hated it. He wanted to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. But he couldn’t. There was no loved lost between him and that wallcrawler, and he needed his family to be safe. Jonah put his forehead in his palms. His rationale was not making him feel better.
The phone on his desk rang. His neck whipped up.
The phone was in his hand. “Hello? Who is this?”
“You’ve been expecting my call, Jameson. You know, I’ve loved the last week of the Daily Bugle. It’s like watching episodes of an old TV show that you’ve seen over and over and over…those episodes that just never get old. Three’s Company was always my favorite—those girls were so funny—what was your favorite, Jonah?”
“Shut up, you bastard. I’ve done what you want. I’ve drunk the punch; now let me off the hook. It’s not me you really want anyway, right? It’s Spider-Man—”
“Don’t think you know what I want! The only person you’ve ever thought about is yourself! You didn’t even have the brass to stand up for your own professional morality, Jameson! Nobody gives a damn what a fool like you thinks!”
“You son of a bitch.” Jonah grit his teeth. “Just tell me when this is going to be over.”
“It’s over when I say it’s over! That’s all you need know! Now, keep up the good work.”
There was a loud click in Jameson’s ear, just before Jonah slammed the phone down hard on the desk.
He could only stare at the phone, wide-eyed, fuming, huffing, and wishing he had a fresh cigar. What else could he do? He felt like a marionette, with his pride, his paper, and his family hanging by thread. Sweat dripped down the bridge of nose, until he could taste it on his upper lip. God, he needed a cigar.
Then, Jonah’s eyes widened…and he picked up the phone again.
NEXT ISSUE: What awaits at New York Harbor? Ben, Eugene, Spidey and the Ghost will be there…plus, a couple someones a bit unexpected.