“Perhaps not, but I shan’t be the only one to die then this day, my silver-haired friend. My people outnumber yours, and once they find your no-longer-secret entrance down here, they will kill you.” He chuckled. “Unless you would prefer to go back now and save them the trouble, hmmm?”
Silvermane laughed harshly. “You don’t think I’m a fool, do you? There’s another way out of here, you know. Your thugs’ll never find me once I choose to disappear.”
“But you are a fool, Silvermane,” the fat man roared with laughter. “You sought to confound my project, but you became far too greedy for your own good. You should have been satisfied with your share of the profits rather than trying to have it all. But now, alas, it is too late!”
“For you, maybe. Maybe you don’t know it yet, but you and your men aren’t leaving here unless they’re either dead or captured by the cops.
“Spider-Man’s here!”
“I know about your costumed lackey,” Kingpin said, shifting his considerable weight on his feet and waving his hand through the air.
“I’m not talking about him, fat man. The genuine article is here. Even as we speak, he’s probably mopping up everybody left alive upstairs.” He gestured with the gun. “Stand still, Kingpin!”
The Kingpin looked at Silvermane through veiled eyes, smiling. “Enough of this farce,” he said at last. “I’m afraid the time has come for you to die.”
Silvermane raised his weapon. “You’re only partially right, Kingpin. It’s time for a death, all right, but not mine.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “Sure as hell not mine!”
He fired.
The small projectile exploded from the gun’s barrel, streaking unerringly toward Kingpin’s vast expanse of chest. But the fat man was moving even as the deadly explosive homed in on him, throwing his bulk to the floor and rolling quickly out of harm’s way.
Silvermane had time to curse loudly only once as the explosive bullet flew over the head of its intended target and buried itself instead in a large crate containing four dozen hand grenades. With a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light, it detonated amongst the shipment of grenades, setting off a chain reaction among the thousands of pounds of explosives stored there.
And then the sky fell in on both Silvermane and the Kingpin.
Twenty-Two
“Okay, kiddies, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is here! Everybody who wants my autograph line up in place along the wall!”
The gunfire ceased for the briefest of instances as Spider-Man charged into the midst of the raging battleground that had once been Silvermane’s living room. Both sides lowered their weapons and stared at the Web-slinger, but their astonishment was short-lived, and within seconds they had started shooting anew, this time aiming for Spider-Man rather than each other.
“See that, boys? Once you find a common goal, you can work together like brothers!”
He sprang over the hail of bullets and attached himself to the ceiling by his fingertips and toes. The thugs turned their aim toward him there, but by the time they had pressed their triggers, he had scampered upside down along the ceiling, then sprang to the wall. He continued moving, bouncing from wall to ceiling to wall like a human pinball, too fast for the gunmen to follow.
Bullets drilled holes through the plaster all around him, some ricocheting off the silver ornaments hung about the room, but, miraculously, the fast-moving Wall-crawler evaded them all. Then, fixing a strand of webbing to the ceiling before the door to the room, he swung himself straight into the faces of the gunmen seeking cover there.
He rammed into one feet first, sending the man toppling backward to the floor. He landed in their midst. “I’m sure a certain orange-skinned super-hero buddy of mine wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his favorite battle cry just this once gentlemen, so . . .
“It’s clobberin’ time!”
In the close quarters of the small hallway leading to the living room, the Kingpin’s men could not risk firing their weapons at Spider-Man for fear of accidentally shooting one of their own number, so many reversed their guns to use as clubs. Spider-Man ducked under a forcefully swung rifle butt, wrenching it from its owner’s hands as he drove a foot into the man’s stomach. He pivoted on the balls of his feet in time to bring the rifle up to block another blow from behind and then rammed the butt into his attacker’s chin. He grabbed yet another gunman by his shirtfront and swung him to one side to take one of his comrade’s punches intended for Spider-Man.
Another man rushed toward the super-hero, his hand holding a knife over his head. Spidey kicked one man out of the way and fired his webbing at the other, adhering both knife and hand to the wall. Then he spun again, delivering a vicious backhand slap to another thug’s face, using his momentum on the return swing to knock still another charging man down and out for the count.
Spider-Man stood now with his back braced against the wall, facing the four remaining gunmen. But by reducing the gang’s numbers so drastically, the Web-slinger had cleared the way for them to use their guns against him once more. Spider-Man propelled himself from the wall and landed on top of the quartet of closely grouped gunmen, his arms flailing seemingly without rhyme or reason. He immediately knocked aside one man, who fell with a low moan to the floor. Then he pushed another man in the chest and, arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, he tripped backward over his fallen comrade, cracking his skull loudly against the wall.
The remaining two men backed off quickly.
“Better say good-bye, creep,” one of them muttered as they both leveled their pistols at him.
“Why? You guys planning to leave?”
Spider-Man’s hands shot out before him as he fired his webbing, plugging the barrels of their guns as they pulled the triggers. From the first man’s gun, nothing happened save for the click of the hammer striking an empty chamber, but the second man’s gun exploded as the bullet struck the already-hardened webbing obstructing the barrel. With a cry of pain and alarm, he dropped the bent, smoldering gun to the floor, clutching his shattered hand to his chest. But his pain lasted only a moment before Spider-Man knocked him into unconsciousness even as his foot lashed out into the second gunman’s face.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I guess you were planning to leave at that.”
Spider-Man spread a thick layer of webbing over the unconscious and semi-conscious men scattered about the floor.
“I know you boys would never dream of trying to cut out on me while I take care of your playmates, but why take chances, right?”
Not surprisingly, nobody bothered to answer the Web-slinger.
The gunmen in the living room had fallen silent in the half-minute or so it had taken Spider-Man to defeat Silvermane’s forces, and they waited tensely behind their antique sofa shield, all guns aimed at the doorway. The sounds of struggle in the vestibule beyond the door had ceased and they knew that the man they had thought to be a comrade in costume would soon turn his wrath on them. But they, unlike the rival gang members, were prepared.
Thus, when the man-sized shape flew through the doorway, they immediately began emptying their weapons at it. The figure thudded to the silver-carpeted floor only ten feet in front of their shelter and jerked spasmodically as dozens of bullets riddled it, nearly tearing it apart.
Except the figure was not Spider-Man!
The Wall-crawler was on the ceiling directly over their heads, emptying his web-shooters over them to form a strong, impenetrable net from which there was no escape. Chuckling, Spider-Man dropped to the floor in front of the overturned sofa and strode to the bullet-ridden form on the floor.
“Guess the joke’s on you, huh, guys?” he laughed. He picked up the shredded figure he had formed from his webbing and tossed it into the room as a diversion. He shook his head at it and tsked loudly. “Fella,” he said to it, “you’re a mess!”
Spider-Man rubbed his hands together and addressed the horde of Silvermane’s men who struggled futilely to
break free of their chemically created prison. “I want to thank you boys for the warm-up,” he said, bowing from the waist. “But I’m afraid I can’t stick around any longer and play. After all, If I left now without letting Kingpin or Silvermane in on the fun, they’d be real hurt, don’t you think?”
“Do not worry yourself about Silvermane, Spider-Man!”
The Web-slinger whirled suddenly at the sound of that deep voice which emanated from the doorway behind Silvermane’s trussed-up thugs.
“What the . . .?”
He faced the large, barrel-chested man who stood in the doorway, his clothes hanging in tatters from his vast body, covered by dust and dirt but looking as fierce, as powerful, as ever despite the very obvious struggle he had just endured.
“I said, Spider-Man, you need not concern yourself with that fool Silvermane,” the Kingpin said. “He is dead.
“It is just you and I now, hmmm?”
Twenty-Three
The sudden silence was deafening.
For long moments after the roof of Silvermane’s secret arsenal had collapsed around the heads of the rival criminal bosses in the aftermath of the exploding ammunition, not a sound could be heard in the artificially created underground cavern. Tons of rocks and dirt had fallen on top of the two men, burying them seemingly forever underneath it. Had anyone been there to see this disaster, they would have sworn that no man could live through it.
They would have been wrong.
Slowly at first, the rubble near the cavern’s entrance stirred, sending a small avalanche of debris tumbling, echoing in the enclosed confines of the area. Then, as if a powerful digging machine was attacking the tons of rock from beneath, something gave way and there was a sudden, veritable geyser of rocks, big and small, flying upward into the air.
And with a roar of defiance to waiting death, the Kingpin was free!
The fat man staggered from the cavern and into the tunnel that led to Silvermane’s mansion. He was torn and battered, yes, but the Kingpin was still alive.
Alive!
When at last the Kingpin reentered Silvermane’s study, the sounds of gunfire could still be heard emanating from the rooms beyond, but as far as he was concerned, the battle had ended with the death of Silvermane, crushed beneath tons of debris in the cavern below. For, when the dead man’s hired gunmen realized their leader was no more, they would suddenly lose their reason for fighting and, perhaps, join forces with this day’s victor.
But then, the closely spaced shooting abruptly ceased and it was only then that he remembered what Silvermane had said just before the sky fell in on him forever: Spider-Man was here!
He was weary and his whole body seemed to be a single, massive bruise that ached with his every step, but the battle was not yet done, after all—not while the accursed Web-slinger still breathed!
But that could be easily remedied.
Oh, my aching back!
Spider-Man looked into the eyes of the battered man and in them he saw a fire of rage that burned brighter than any he had ever seen. In the past, he had always come out the winner in his battles with Kingpin, but now . . . ? There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there, Mr. Parker?
“You have interfered with my plans for the final time, Spider-Man.” The man’s voice was barely audible, but there was no mistaking the menacing tone of his words.
Jeez, I almost believe him.
“What plans, butterball? Ian Forester’s daughter is safely back in the bosom of her family, and even as we speak, the cops are on their way here. To tell the truth, I think you’re finished.”
“Then so are you, insect!”
The Kingpin stepped forward and grasped the bullet-ridden antique sofa, lifting it above his head with a grunt and heaving it at Spider-Man. The Web-slinger leaped out of its path as it crashed into and through the wall behind him.
“Temper, temper, fatso,” he admonished, springing to his feet. Whew! That could’ve been me instead of the wall.
He brought his hands up and pressed the buttons in his palms to tie up the Kingpin in a web-cocoon that even the crime king’s great strength would be unable to break.
Fssstt! Fssstt!
Just bully. I used up all my webbing fighting the hired help, and it’s a sure thing I can’t call for time out to replace the empty cartridges.
With a roar, the Kingpin charged across the room, his head down like an enraged bull. Spider-Man side-stepped the mountain of flesh and bone at the last possible instant, bringing his left elbow down with all his might on the man’s exposed neck. A wave of agony shot through his shoulder and Spider-Man gritted his teeth beneath his mask to keep from crying out. Unnh! I forgot about that shoulder of mine! Hurts like the dickens!
But the Web-slinger’s blow had driven the Kingpin to his knees, momentarily dazed, a vulnerable target for maybe another second until he regained his senses. Still, neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor a dislocated shoulder will stop this Wall-crawler from his appointed job, namely beating the bad guys. He leaped onto the Kingpin’s back, wrapping his legs around his thick torso and covering the fat man’s eyes with his gloved hands.
“Peek-a-boo, Porky. I see you.”
With a growl of rage, the Kingpin reached behind his head and grasped Spider-Man’s shoulders in his meaty hands. The Web-slinger tightened his hold as the Kingpin pulled at him and rose, staggering slightly, to his feet. He dug his powerful fingers into Spidey’s upper arms, applying numbing pressure. Spider-Man gasped as his arms loosened around the Kingpin and the fat man bent forward suddenly at the waist, tearing the clinging hero loose and sending him flying through the air.
Spider-Man twisted his body in midair and landed on his feet several yards away from the Kingpin. He rubbed his numb arm, feeling sensation slowly returning. “Is it something I said, maybe?”
The two men circled each other, slowly making a circle in the middle of the living room floor.
“You fool!” Kingpin spat. “The damage you have caused can never be repaired! You have destroyed my final chance for a normal life!”
“What’d I do? Tear up your diet book by accident?” Spider-Man’s tone was light, but beneath the red mask, his face was deadly serious, taut with strain. His eyes shifted quickly behind the opaque lenses searching for an opening in his opponent’s defenses. There was none. The Kingpin was well versed in the art of hand-to-hand combat.
The Kingpin’s right arm shot out, almost too fast to be seen, but Spider-Man was faster still. His fingers closed tightly around the thick wrist and he stepped in close to the huge man, tossing him in a single, fluid motion over his hip and into a table. The antique wooden coffee table gave way as the Kingpin slammed heavily into it.
Spider-Man sprang at his fallen opponent but was stopped when the Kingpin’s foot lashed out, catching him squarely in the chest and pushing him roughly back. Before he could recover, the Kingpin was on his feet, rushing toward him. He grabbed the Web-slinger by the front of his costume and yanked him bodily into the air, lifting the struggling hero over his head like a child.
“It would have been perfect, damn you, perfect!” the Kingpin growled through clenched teeth. “Those cretins believed every word I said! They believed I was actually trying to get our man into City Hall as our puppet-mayor so we could loot this city clean!”
He heaved Spidey through the air, sending him tumbling out of control into a tall, silver-plated pole-lamp in one corner of the room. Spider-Man landed on his left shoulder with a sickening crash, this time almost blacking out from pain that shot through his entire arm. He knew, through the haze of pain, that that arm would be useless for the duration of the fight.
“Their problem was they were too greedy. I dangled the possibility of billions before their eyes in exchange for a paltry few million dollars a man, but in their greed they never realized the plan could not work! Forester would have been elected, yes, but there was no way to hold him after that, you see. He would have merely had to go to the federal auth
orities and they would have provided protection for his family!”
Spider-Man groaned and tried to stagger to his feet. He fell back, clutching the pole-lamp. What’s this guy babbling about?
“Forester is no fool, insect,” Kingpin said, stopping just outside of Spider-Man’s reach. “Once his daughter was returned to him after the election, he would have figured it out before long. And all the dreams of untold riches would have died then and there.”
“T-then what the hell was a-all this for?” Keep on talking, butterball. It just gives me more time to get my head on straight again.
“For me, you dolt, and for my wife.” Kingpin’s voice softened suddenly as he thought of the tall, regal woman who he loved. “For my dear, dear Vanessa. She could no longer tolerate the uncertainty of my criminal life, you see, and wanted me to leave it behind. And I wanted to, if only so I would not lose her.
“The money I had deceived my rather gullible colleagues into contributing for the execution of my plan would have been more than adequate to finance the new life I envisioned for us both abroad, where no one would know who or what I was. But now . . .”
You said it, fats . . . NOW!
Without warning, Spider-Man used his good right arm to pull the silver pole-lamp free of the clamps that held it moored securely to the ceiling and floor. He rammed it into the Kingpin’s stomach and the crook doubled over in pain as the air exploded from his lungs. In the same motion, the Wall-crawler brought the tip of the lamp up into the fat man’s jaw, snapping his head back. Yet still the Kingpin stood, his eyes glazed. Spidey dropped the lamp and followed his one-two punch with a right cross to the other’s face. Grunting in pain, the Kingpin stumbled backward but did not fall.
“What are you, anyway, Clothespin? Second cousin to an oak tree? This is the part where you’re supposed to fall down and get unconscious.”
The big man shook his head violently, clearing the cobwebs from his muddled thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to do as the Web-slinger said, but he would not, could not, while the possibility of escape still existed. What would Vanessa do if he were . . .
Marvel Novel Series 08 - The Amazing Spider-Man - Crime Campaign Page 14
