Spider-Man

by Stefan Petrucha

  If…

  For once in his life, Peter arrived 10 minutes early. Knowing the faculty would discuss the specifics of his case before inviting him in, he expected the door to be closed—but it was open, the attendees already filing out.

  He ran up to the first familiar face, his adviser. “Professor Warren! I know I’m not late. What’s going on?”

  Warren, who’d always been incredibly patient with him, patted Peter on the shoulder. “It’s your lucky day, Mr. Parker. Professor Blanton withdrew his request.”

  Peter immediately looked the gift horse in the mouth. “Really? Why? He was so adamant.”

  “Why not ask him yourself?” It was only when Warren nodded down the hall that Peter noticed Professor Blanton hurrying away. The slouch in the normally straight-backed man had made him tough to spot.

  It was almost as if he were trying to hide.

  “Professor Blanton?” Peter swore the man sped up at the sound of his voice. “Professor!”

  Blanton stopped and forced a smile to his face. “Mr. Parker. Peter.”

  “Don’t want to hold you up, sir. I only wanted to thank you, and tell you I won’t let you down.” He knew he should let it go at that, but Blanton seemed oddly nervous. “Uh…I do have to admit I’m curious about why you decided to give me the extension.”

  He coughed. “Well…I…I, uh…I heard about your aunt. That’s it. You should’ve mentioned her illness in the first place.”

  Makes sense, but why is he looking around like he’s afraid we’re being watched?

  “I didn’t really have a chance, sir.”

  “Of course! I wasn’t accusing you of anything. Take your time with the deadlines, as much as you need. No. Scratch that. Take as much time as you’d like.”

  “Are you feeling okay, professor?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Now, I really have to be going. If that’s all right with you?”

  All right with me?

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. See you in class, then. Or…whenever.”

  Blanton rushed off, nearly at a full run. Peter rubbed his hair and sniffed his fingers. Does the East River have some kind of hallucinogen in it? Because this sure doesn’t feel like reality.

  His day suddenly free. Peter decided to head to the Coffee Bean and study over some caffeine. But as soon as he was off-campus, his spider-sense tingled, alerting him to a large figure emerging from an alley to block his path.

  “Marko?”

  The giant looked pleased that Peter knew his name. “Read about me, huh? Good for you, kid. Then you also know this’ll go a lot easier if you don’t put up a fuss.” He aimed his thumb back at the alley. “Got someone important who wants a word.”

  “With me? Why?”

  “He’ll tell you all about it.”

  Unable to fight back without revealing his identity, Peter allowed himself to be steered into the alley.

  As the muscleman’s broad chest and shoulders blocked the sunlight, a man stepped from the shadows. He was Peter’s age, maybe a little younger. He wore a drab threadbare jacket over a white collarless shirt, topped by a gray cap. It was the sort of humble outfit a European immigrant from long ago might wear. But the smug look on his face sent a shiver down Peter’s spine.

  Silvermane! When I fought Marko at ESU, he looked surprised his old boss could still be around—but I guess they are working together. Didn’t think the big lug could lie that well.

  Manfredi looked past Peter, up at Man Mountain. “Why don’t you take off? I don’t want make our friend here any more nervous than he needs to be. I’ll call you when I need you again.”

  Marko grunted and withdrew, restoring some afternoon sunlight to the alley.

  Eyeing Manfredi’s tommy gun, Peter held up his hands, pretending to be afraid. “Who are you? What’s this about?”

  Silvermane offered an ice-cold smile. “That academic-review thing turn out okay for you?”

  Peter blinked. Blanton’s nervousness was starting to make sense.

  “Was that you? Did you threaten my professor? Why?”

  “Oh, let’s call it a gift. All I want is a little something in return. You give it to me, you never have to see me again. You don’t, well, let’s just say I’m not the kind of guy you want as an enemy.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “No big deal, really. Just some help getting hold of Spider-Man.”

  Peter tried to suppress a smile. Boy, did you come to the right place.

  * * *

  WITH Silvermane busy, Marko felt safe climbing into the rear of the oversized SUV parked down the street. He felt even better when he realized how well the seat fit him, and how close he was sitting to Vanessa Fisk.

  As he pulled the door closed, he felt her eyes scan his large body. Not in shock, or repulsion, the way some did, but with a kind of admiration and sadness.

  “The car was customized for my husband. I trust you find it comfortable, Michael?”

  And she calls me Michael.

  “Yes, ma’am. Very comfortable. Thank you.”

  Spying on Silvermane was the biggest risk Marko had ever taken. Silvio Manfredi had given him his first big break with the Maggia. Since then, he’d thought nothing could ever make him betray that man—in life or in death. But once he’d gotten over the shock of seeing the boss again, it was like visiting a house you used to live in when you were a kid: Everything was the same, but it all looked smaller, less threatening.

  Of course, Silvermane really was smaller. Marko believed him when he said he’d be growing again because of some freaky curse, but it still wasn’t likely that Mr. Manfredi would be running the Maggia again anytime soon.

  And Vanessa Fisk was worth the gamble. He studied her, wondering whether emerald was the right word for the color of her eyes, or what her porcelain skin might feel like against the backs of his fingers. With a start, he realized she was waiting for him to report.

  “Sorry. It’s like I told you: He wants the tablet back so he can stop going from being a baby to an old man over and over. He figured out Spider-Man has it and thinks that college kid can lead him to the wall-crawler.”

  “Michael, are you the only one he’s told all this?”

  “Far as I know.”

  She held his gaze. “I want you to think about this carefully before you answer. If I move against Mr. Manfredi to get the tablet, do you think he’s in a position to be dangerous?”

  The answer was pretty obvious. “Mr. Silvermane’s always dangerous, but not like before. It’s not like he’s going to try to take back the Maggia until he’s ready. And if he ever does come after you…”

  I’ll protect you from him. I’ll protect you with my life.

  “Yes, Michael?”

  “You can count on me.”

  She put her hand atop his. “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you realize. For now, I want you to stay near him, let me know everything he’s up to. Can you do that for me?”

  He stared at her hand. It was so small, so fragile, so pretty. “Sure.”

  “Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time I made some plans of my own.”

  And so sad. So very, very sad.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  GETTING away from Silvermane was easy enough. All Peter had to do was agree to tell Spidey to show up at the same alley at midnight. Things got a little weird when the gangster pinched his cheek, as if Peter were his grandkid—but that was a small price to pay. Now the tricky part was making sure he hadn’t been followed. Then he could change into costume.

  After all, why show up later for some trap if I can nab him now?

  He trotted a few blocks away, weaving among the afternoon pedestrians. Satisfied he was alone, he kicked off his shoes, scrambled to the top of a fire escape, and jumped to an ESU dormitory roof.

  Peter Parkour, that’s me. Shame I can’t ever say that one out loud.

  He checked the street below to make sure no one was following, then put on his
uniform. Despite the water stains, it was perfectly dry. In fact, it had that nice clean-laundry smell.

  Doubt that’ll last.

  Vaulting from roof to roof, he retraced his path. The higher perspective let him keep an eye out for Silvermane. Of course he didn’t expect the gangster to stay in the same alley, so he started making wider and wider circles around it.

  After a whole lot of nothing, he snagged a higher building and scanned a wider area. A few blocks away, he spotted that old-style hat; it looked like a bottle cap moving through the twists and turns between buildings. A few swings later, Silvermane was only a hundred yards ahead.

  Once I find a steady perch, I’ll web up his feet and leave him dangling.

  But the fire escape he landed on squeaked beneath his weight—and Silvermane looked up. Peter shot twin webs toward him, but Silvermane grabbed an empty garbage can and blocked them. With a grunt, Manfredi hurled the can at Spider-Man and ran.

  He was faster than he’d been at the annex.

  Swatting the can aside, Spider-Man called to him. “Where are you going? I thought you were looking for me!”

  He scuttled along the walls of the space between buildings. Silvermane was really booking, dodging obstacles with a creepy, confident ease. Ducking around a rusty dumpster propped up on cinderblocks, he took out a phone and started talking.

  “You kids these days with your devices!” Spider-Man said. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to make calls when someone’s trying to have an actual inperson conversation?”

  By the time Silvermane finished the call, Spider-Man was dangling upside down in front of him.

  “So, what walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?” Spider-Man asked. “You! Get it?”

  “How’d you find me so fast?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I saw a documentary on Ellis Island in grade school, or I’d never have recognized that off-the-boat look you’re sporting.”

  Silvermane didn’t seem to recognize the reference, but that didn’t stop him from swinging the blackjack in his hand. Spider-Man easily pulled his head back to evade it.

  “Boy, are you old-school. I haven’t seen one of those things since…y’know? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those things.”

  Manfredi whirled back the way he’d come.

  “Come on, Silvio! You know I’m going to catch up!”

  Silvermane darted around, searching for a viable escape route. Seeing none, he hit the filthy asphalt like a baseball player sliding into home, and skidded beneath the only cover available: the dumpster.

  “Gross.” Spider-Man dropped to the ground. “Not to mention, how is that going to help you?”

  “Come and get me.”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  The moment Peter lifted the dumpster above his head, the crazed Silvermane swung an old piece of rebar at his kneecap. Spider-Man cried out, and the dumpster nearly slipped from his grasp. Silvermane’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake—the hunk of metal was about to come down right on top of him. Gritting his teeth, Spider-Man regained his grip and tossed the dumpster to the side. Manfredi didn’t wait for his recovery; this time the bar missed Spider-Man’s kneecap, slamming into his shin instead.

  “Ow!”

  Silvermane scrambled to his feet and dashed off again. “I can’t go on like this! I can’t!”

  His leg bruised, but not broken, Spider-Man hopped after him. “Turn yourself in and maybe they can find you some kind of help.”

  “Ha! I’ve been around the block too many times to buy that line.”

  At the sidewalk, Silvermane paused as if expecting something. Spider-Man was on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground.

  “Time to pack it in, old man…I mean young… uh, maybe just man.”

  Manfredi glared at him. The boiling hatred in his eyes was so intense, it took Peter aback.

  It’s like he’s angry with everything—me, himself, life, the world. Whatever’s behind that is way above my pay grade. I’ll web him up and let the prison psychologist deal with it.

  Fingers nearly on his web-shooters, his spider-sense exploded. On the street, a municipal bus sideswiped a parked car, flipping it toward them. Unable to avoid the car, Spider-Man slammed his shoulder against its passenger side, shifting the momentum enough to bring it down sideways against a laundry storefront.

  Down the block, a huge man leapt from the moving bus, rolling when he landed on the street.

  Marko!

  The bus sped toward a packed intersection. Peter could see the unconscious driver slumped over the wheel, and the terrified passengers trying to wake him. Forced to leave Silvermane, he bolted down the street and swung atop the bus.

  As a physics student, he knew he couldn’t simply stop 18 tons in motion. Even if he managed to web it to something solid enough, momentum would only tear part of bus free.

  But there had to be some way to keep it from crashing.

  Hoping to at least change the bus’ direction, he shot a web down to the right-front wheel and anchored it to a fire hydrant. The bus pulled a bit to the right, but was still heading for the intersection. The hydrant cracked and gushed water, about to tear free.

  But the sudden turn also made the bus’ left wheel lift slightly off the asphalt. So he webbed that up, hooked the other end of the line over a lamppost, and pulled. The lamppost bent, his shoulders felt ready to break, but he managed to lift the bus enough to tilt it over. Leaping from the tumbling bus, he laid down a layer of webbing on the street to cushion the landing as best he could.

  Even sideways, the bus slid several yards before stopping. He tore open the door. The passengers were rattled and bruised, but alive.

  Phew! Marko’s more a head-on kind of guy, not smart or cruel enough for this kind of move. He must have been following Manfredi’s orders.

  Of course, both crooks were nowhere in sight. In fact, a gray cap and jacket were waiting near the overturned car where Spider-Man had left Silvermane.

  Guess he was listening to my fashion advice.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  AFTER changing back to his civvies, Peter took a walk to ponder his next move.

  Silvermane’s not the same guy I tangled with last time. He’s still smart, but he’s flailing around, making stupid moves. Reminds me of myself in younger days, except for that psycho-killer thing he’s got going.

  He stopped outside the Coffee Bean, surprised to find it empty. The door was locked, the chairs already stacked on the table. A sign explained: Closed Indefinitely.

  Wow. Speaking of lost youth. I guess everything has to grow and change—or die. Except Silvermane. He gets to do it all over and over again. Not that I’d trade places—but there are a lot of things I’d love go back and undo.

  He touched the glass, thinking about all the times he’d spent at the college dive—good and bad—and the choices he could have made. His mind drifted farther and farther back, until he remembered his uncle’s kindly face and imagined his fatherly presence at his back once more.

  “Keep your mind on the present, Peter. It’s really all anyone ever has.”

  In the coffeehouse glass, Uncle Ben’s visage melded with Peter’s. He realized his own face was looking a bit older lately—old enough that he could see the family resemblance Aunt May was always talking about. He knew from photos that Ben and Richard Parker, his long-dead father, had looked very much alike. The thought that he was part of that connection warmed him.

  Family makes the difference. Norman Osborn had a soft spot for his son. Even the Lizard always wants to protect Martha and Billy. I doubt Silvio Manfredi will ever have that, no matter how many lives he leads. Was he born that way, or did he get damaged somewhere along the line?

  His phone vibrated with a text. He hoped it might be Mary Jane, or Harry, or even Flash, commiserating over the loss of their watering hole. But it was from the hospital, and the five words were cryptic at best:

  Your aunt has a
visitor.

  It wasn’t the usual sort of phrasing the patient ward used. His first thought—Silvermane—sent him running for a secluded spot to change.

  Dammit! What if he’s coming after Spider-Man through Peter Parker’s relatives now?

  He speed-dialed the nurse’s station, then held the phone between his chin and neck as he swung uptown. It was difficult to make himself heard, but the nervous man who answered confirmed that someone was with Aunt May, someone who refused to come to the phone.

  And it wasn’t Anna Watson.

  When Peter arrived, it was all he could do to keep from climbing up the side of the hospital. But he knew that once he was up there, he wouldn’t be able to get in without smashing through the window. Aside from jeopardizing his identity, a move like that would likely create more danger to his aunt and the other patients. Besides, it didn’t sound as if she was under attack.

  So he switched back into his regular clothes. Rather than endure the slow torture of an elevator ride, he bounded up the stairs, jumping the landings. Thankfully there was no one else in the stairwell. He slowed only slightly when he opened the door and stormed toward the ICU.

  He ignored the nurses. His eyes shot toward a tall, thin figure whose long coat resembled an opera cape, hovering by his Aunt May’s bed.

  Whoever that is, she isn’t a threat, or my spider-sense would be tingling.

  Hearing his hurried steps, the figure turned and extended a thin, long-fingered hand. “Mr. Parker?”

  He took it. A dozen questions burned on his lips.

  “My name is Vanessa Fisk. I am Wilson Fisk’s wife.”

  He snatched back his hand. “Listen, I don’t care what—”

  “Please. I understand you were threatened earlier today, and how upsetting that must have been, but I assure you that’s not my way.” She took half a step closer and lowered her voice. “Though, to be clear, I do also want the tablet. Are you aware of my husband’s condition?”

  “The papers say he’s in some kind of coma, but not much else.”

  “For two years now, the best doctors have failed to help him. That tablet is my last hope to make him whole again. I’d like you to speak to Spider-Man on my behalf.”