Spider-Man

by Stefan Petrucha

  “I thought he was being a little weird about Jonah, but maybe he’s just in a good mood,” Leeds said.

  “Yes,” Betty mused. “He does look happy for a change.”

  * * *

  AT HOME, after adding up the bills three times, Peter let out a whoop of joy. He not only had everything covered, there was enough left over to send Aunt May to Florida for some well-deserved sunshine.

  An hour ago I thought my life was over. Man, things can change fast.

  His eyes wandered over to the tablet.

  Some things, anyway. Don’t know what made me think I’d know what to do with that thing, but the talk with Robbie gave me a good idea who would.

  Spidey’s still wanted, though. As long as I’m trying to be smart, I should lay low until my pictures are out. That should help clear me with the police.

  He spent the afternoon trying to catch up on schoolwork and hoping for a call from a certain blonde coed.

  I’d call myself, but she was so angry.

  By late afternoon, the photos were all over the internet. With no word from Gwen and no official declaration of Spider-Man’s innocence (did they even make official innocence declarations?), he decided he’d waited long enough. He donned his uniform and headed out. After slipping some overdue papers into the mailboxes of his ESU professors, he made his way to the precinct house. Despite the quiet surrounding the building now that the protests were over, he perched in the shadows of an overhanging elm and waited.

  His patience was rewarded when a trenchcoated figure exited and looked in his direction. Spider-Man worried he’d been spotted, but after briefly admiring the few visible stars, the figure covered his white hair with a fedora and nodded a farewell at the officer standing by the door.

  “Good night, Captain Stacy.”

  I trust Gwen’s dad as much as I do anyone. Just want to be sure we’re alone first.

  When Stacy turned onto an empty tree-lined street, Spider-Man followed. Catching up, he lowered himself in front of Stacy, upside down on a web-line, and held out the tablet.

  “I hear the police are looking for this.”

  The semi-retired detective looked more pleased than surprised. “Spider-Man?”

  “You know it. I’ve been trying like crazy to protect this thing. The Kingpin’s got a lot of informers, but I figure if anyone can get it into the right hands, it’s you.”

  Stacy took the stone, but kept his eyes on the webslinger. “Why not come in yourself? The Bugle photos made your role plain, but there are a few things I’d like to speak with you about.”

  No. I don’t even dare talk for long or he might recognize me. He’s too sharp.

  “Sorry, Captain. My relations with the police haven’t exactly been cordial.”

  “You have a point. But that works both ways. Obviously I can’t stop you…”

  “Thanks!”

  As he swung off, Peter swore he could feel the detective’s gaze on his back.

  * * *

  CAPTAIN Stacy wasn’t the only one keeping his eyes on Spider-Man’s departure. The dark car parked at the corner looked empty, but the Schemer sat at the wheel.

  When the web-slinger was out of sight, the Schemer turned his attention to the man with the tablet. Stacy took off on foot—headed away from the precinct house. It was a smart move. If the captain hadn’t already suspected that some of his officers couldn’t be trusted, the slow response from certain units during Fisk’s escape would have given him pause. In fact, the Schemer knew that the Kingpin had one paid informer on staff at the precinct. The Maggia had two.

  The Schemer knew a lot of things.

  Once Stacy crossed the next avenue, the Schemer started the engine. He circled the block, spotting him again on the other side. Keeping his distance, he followed as the captain strolled along, turned onto a street of townhouses, and entered one.

  He’s brought it home. A perfect hiding place—if no one else knows it’s there.

  * * *

  IN THE upper floors of the gothic-revival Galby building, in a plush office large enough to hold a small army, Silvio Manfredi grabbed the ringing phone. Recognizing the number, he waved everyone out of the room. The hired guns left at once, but Caesar Cicero lingered. Hand on the old-style receiver, Manfredi glared at him until he got the idea he wasn’t welcome.

  “I’ll be right outside, if you need me.”

  “I won’t,” Silvermane croaked.

  “Suit yourself.”

  When the door shut, he removed his palm from the phone. “Schemer, no one’s seen the Kingpin since he tangled with Spider-Man. Tell me you know where he is.”

  “I don’t, but I may have something better.”

  “There ain’t nothing better, but I’ll bite. What?”

  “The ancient tablet he was after? Spider-Man just handed it to Captain Stacy. Seems the old detective doesn’t trust the precinct house anymore, so he brought it home. He’s probably calling the feds now, so it won’t be there for long. If you want it, you’ll have to move fast.”

  “Want it for what? A paperweight? You can’t move something that hot unless you’ve already got a buyer.”

  The Schemer’s contemptuous sigh immediately soured Manfredi’s mood. Soon as this arrogant cafone outlives his usefulness, he goes missing, too.

  “This isn’t about money—none of it is,” the Schemer explained. “It’s about the Kingpin. He stole the tablet to make himself look good. Once it’s in your hands…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’ll make us look better.”

  He cut off the line, tapped the phone to his chin and stared across the cool dark of the empty space.

  Where the hell is everyone? Oh, right. I ordered them all out.

  “Cicero!”

  The lawyer appeared so fast, he must’ve had his ear pressed against the door.

  “You read the Arts Section. What do you know about that tablet the Kingpin stole from ESU?”

  The squat man shrugged. “It’s supposed to hold some kinda great secret. But hey, the dirt under my fingernails holds some great secrets, too.”

  Silvermane nodded. It seemed like a waste of time. Still, the Schemer had been right so far—and if Fisk was so interested, maybe he had a buyer set up.

  “What kind of secret? Like a magic incantation that makes unicorns fly out of your butt?”

  “That’s the thing: Nobody knows. They only ever managed to translate a couple of words.”

  “Like what?”

  Googling the question on his phone, Cicero skimmed the entries. “Let’s see. ‘Those who know the’ something-something ‘will drink the’ something-something. Smart quotes before Those, after the, before will, and after the. That’s it.” He laughed. “I know I could use a drink of something.”

  Silvermane’s eyes clouded over. All at once, he was a weak, terrified child, hiding in the shadows and listening to a song his grandmother thought she’d kept to herself.

  Those of us who know the truth,

  Will drink, drink, the nectar of youth.

  “Get Michael Marko up here now.”

  * * *

  SITTING in the cozy bedroom above her father’s study, Gwen Stacy tried to get down another few lines of her biophysics paper on her laptop. It wasn’t due until next week, but she preferred having time to revise her work. It helped clarify her ideas and clear her mind.

  And her mind certainly needed clearing.

  After all, it was better than staring at the phone and debating whether to contact Peter. After her blowup, he’d done his usual vanishing act, leaving her feeling like the magician’s pretty but befuddled assistant.

  Why doesn’t he call? Probably because he thinks I’m still angry.

  I am still angry, aren’t I?

  Sure she was, but at some point that anger had been joined by the nagging little worry a police captain’s daughter always had for her loved ones. It was the same concern that made her so thrilled whenever Peter did finally turn up, that helped her r
ealize how deep her feelings for him were—and that led her to forgive him again and again.

  With her father safely in for the night, Gwen’s missing boyfriend became the sole focus of her concern. As her anger ebbed, the worry grew. She looked at her phone, trying to convince herself she was being ridiculous for not calling him first.

  He’s probably off sulking somewhere. Sulking? More likely celebrating.

  She’d seen his byline on the photos of Spider-Man battling the Kingpin. It was probably the high point of his career. Why hadn’t he called to share the news?

  Because I called him a coward.

  The photos made her as confused as she was proud. Peter would walk through fire to get a good picture. Why wouldn’t he make a stand on real issues? Why couldn’t he open up to her? Was what they had together that frightening?

  And what, exactly, did they have?

  She was about to give in and call, when a crack and thud rattled the floorboards. It sounded as if something heavy had crashed through the window of her father’s study. Grabbing the Taser she kept by her bed, she raced downstairs, but stopped short of the study door. She knew better than to rush in—if there was a break-in, she could just as easily become a hostage as a rescuer.

  Crouching, she crept toward the sliding double-doors.

  Her father’s loud voice brought some comfort. “If I were you, I’d get out now. Even though you cut the alarm system, I’m sure the neighbors have already called the police.”

  Realizing the words were meant for her, Gwen hit the number on her cell that transmitted a silent alert to the precinct house. They’d be here in minutes—but a lot could happen in minutes. As she moved closer, the crisp smell of outside air reached her nostrils. It was so strong she figured the intruder hadn’t just cracked a window pane—they must have completely broken the frame.

  The doors were open slightly, allowing a narrow view of broken glass and splintered wood along the carpet. She saw her father: grim, tense, but thankfully unhurt. Given the intruder’s size, Gwen wasn’t sure how long that would last. At first she thought it was the Kingpin, but this man had a head of thick, black, curly hair. His muscles were more clearly defined, nearly bursting from his ill-fitting clothes.

  “Neighbors, huh? Then I’ll explain things quick.”

  With disturbing ease, he lifted their old Bridgewater sofa, the one they’d owned since she was a child. Since her mom was alive.

  “This is going to be you, unless you hand over that tablet!”

  He broke the sofa in two.

  Her father responded evenly. “I already told you, it’s not here.”

  “I hear different.”

  The trespasser moved toward Captain Stacy. Gwen armed the Taser. She doubted it would have much effect on that giant, but the Stacys weren’t going down without a fight. She was about to rush in when the man veered toward the wall. He pulled away a portrait of Teddy Roosevelt, revealing the small locked safe behind it.

  “Safe behind the only picture? I’m no college grad, but that was obvious even for me.”

  He was right. Her father had talked about replacing the safe, but had never found the time.

  “Combination?”

  “You won’t get it from me.”

  “You got guts, but I don’t need it. I was only trying to save you some repairs.”

  The thief grabbed the handle of the safe and pulled. With a grunt and the loud creak of snapping wooden beams, he tore the safe right out of the wall.

  Afraid as she was, Gwen was also relieved. If the robber got what he wanted, there’d be no reason to harm her father. But old instinct made the veteran police officer grab at the safe. For a moment, they were all surprised. Then the giant back-handed the older man, sending him sailing across the room.

  He crumpled atop the remains of the sofa, motionless.

  Gwen burst in screaming. “DAD!”

  Sirens wailed from the street. The attacker looked at Gwen, at her father, then at the hole in the wall where the window had been. With another grunt, he jumped out through the hole.

  Tossing the Taser aside, Gwen knelt by her father. His quiet moan told her he was alive. His effort to rise to his feet told her there probably weren’t any broken bones.

  But the way his eyes swam in his skull told her he was not all right.

  “Easy. Rest. Help’s on the way.”

  Rallying, he put a shaky hand to her shoulder. “I’m fine, Gwen…just had the air knocked out of me. Make sure they know. That was Michael Marko, works for the Maggia. They call him Man Mountain Marko. If they’re involved, I’m afraid we’re in for a world of trouble. Right now, I have to close my eyes and catch my breath, but don’t worry. You worry too much…”

  She wanted to ask, How can I not?

  Instead, she patted his hand. “Okay, Dad, okay.”

  NINE

  IN THE morning, Peter stretched, showered, and put on clean clothes. As he did, he felt more and more off, as if something important was missing. When he caught himself humming while he made breakfast, he realized what it was.

  Tension. I’m not tense. Is this what being well-rested feels like?

  He glanced at the clock. There was plenty of time before Aunt May’s train was scheduled to leave. So rather than rush off as usual, he sat and ate with his bemused roommate.

  Harry sprinkled sugar on his cereal. “You know, Pete, handing money over to the electric company doesn’t make most people this cheerful.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. I can’t wait to tell…”

  There was that old twinge.

  “You didn’t see Gwen yesterday at all, did you, Harry?”

  His roommate answered as he chewed. “I think she headed home early to get some work done. You two make up yet? No? Man, why haven’t you called that girl already? Or at least texted?”

  Undaunted, Peter wiped his lips. “I’ll do better. Soon as I see off Aunt May, I’ll track down Gwen and talk to her in person. The mood I’m in, I could charm the clouds from the sky.”

  “Bring an umbrella just the same. They’re predicting a downpour.”

  Outside, Peter didn’t understand for the life of him how such a dull, gray Manhattan sky could look so beautiful.

  * * *

  HE WAS at Penn Station five minutes early, waving eagerly as Aunt May’s cab arrived. Grabbing all her bags in one arm, he almost forgot to pretend they felt heavy.

  “Yeow! Didn’t we talk about not bringing along all your barbells?”

  Still sitting in the cab, she laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself, dear. Rent one of those caddies.”

  “No, no, I’ve got it. I won’t drop a thing.”

  Moving to stand, Aunt May wavered, as if she was about to fall backwards into the seat. He quickly set down the bags and reached inside to catch her.

  “Easy, Aunt May! I’ve got you.”

  He let her rest a bit, then helped her up and out of the cab, watching her carefully before letting go of her shoulders.

  “You’re sure you’re okay, now?”

  She pinched his cheek hard.

  “Ow!”

  “See? Strong as an ox. You just have to be careful about getting up too quickly at my age.”

  She marched with him toward the departure tracks, smiling all the way. “Peter, dear, those pictures made me so proud. But you’re certain you can afford this?”

  “With the money Robbie gave me, I could send you to the moon, but I figured Florida was warmer.”

  Once she was secure in her seat, he kissed her forehead. “Remember the sunscreen, and be careful not to overdo the skateboarding.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry!”

  As he straightened, he noticed a vaguely yellow color around the edges of her eyes. As the train pulled out, he wondered how fine she really was.

  Back outside, a cold autumn rain trickled, then picked up, making him feel even better about being able to send his aunt someplace warm. Sunshi
ne would be good for her. Right?

  Finding Gwen was easier than he thought. Arriving back in the Village, he spotted her walking toward the Coffee Bean. Getting her to notice him was another matter.

  He called and waved. “Gwen?”

  Nothing. He tried being louder. “Gwen!”

  But she kept walking.

  Huh. How many times have I done that to people myself?

  Not giving up, he trotted up next to her. “Gwendy, what’s wrong? Are you too miffed to even talk?”

  She looked up. Her pale face held no anger, only vague surprise. “Peter. I’m not, not right now anyway. I was so busy thinking about what happened to my dad last night, I didn’t even hear you.”

  “Your dad? Is he all right?”

  As he walked her into the college dive, she described the attack. With every word, his muscles grew tighter and his heartbeat sped up. Captain Stacy had treated him like a son. Worse, Gwen was involved.

  If she’d been hurt because of my carelessness…

  She was still shaking. “Dad’s trying to brush it all off. He keeps insisting the doctor ordered bed rest for him just to calm me down. He didn’t earn all those medals sitting behind a desk, but he’s not as young as he used to be.”

  I knew the tablet was dangerous. If I’d only followed Captain Stacy, I could have done something!

  “Hey, beauty and the bookworm!”

  The deep timbre of the familiar voice pulled Peter back into the present. Across the café, Flash Thompson rose from his table and headed toward them. Between the self-assured gait and his pristine military uniform, he looked like sunlight against the gray day.

  Arrogant, annoying sunlight. The kind that gives you a headache.

  Ignoring Peter, Thompson fixed on the young woman at his side. “Gwen! I hoped you’d come by here. Man, are you a sight for these eyes.”

  Brightening, she leapt up and pressed her lips hard against Flash’s cheek. “Soldier-boy! Why don’t you tell a girl when you’re stateside for leave?

  Thompson’s eyes twinkled. “How come you don’t write me more often?”

  “I thought Mary Jane was taking care of that department. And…” Still beaming, she turned toward Peter. “I’ve been seeing a lot of Mr. Parker here.”