"I gotta hand it to you, tiger; you picked a good one."
Mary Jane is seated across from me at the Silver Spoon Cafe, a little twenty-four hour diner just around the block from ESU's campus. Its combination of late hours and cheap food has made it the de facto hangout for many ESU students, my friends and I included. So naturally, when Mary Jane asked to grab dinner somewhere nearby, this was the first place I thought of. And I must say, despite my reservations and -- let's call it what it is -- my
nerves about this almost-date, it's actually turned out to be a lot of fun! Effortlessly charismatic, Mary Jane makes an easy conversational partner. We've been trading high school stories with one another, and she's even helped me laugh at some of my own pain. At the time, they felt like the worst years of my life, but now I see how silly it all was.
I poke at the remains of my scrambled eggs with a fork, looking up as I say,
"Yeah?""Yeah," MJ smiles. She leans back in the booth, craning her neck as she gets a good look around. "I like this place. It's got
character. I'll take a good dive over a 'five-star' establishment any day."
"Well, good, because I can't afford any five-star establishments," I answer with a smirk.
She laughs. Why is it whenever she laughs, I actually feel like I'm funny? In any case, she takes her spoon out of her coffee and points it at me. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Parker. Contrary to all appearances, I'm actually a low-maintenance girl." She holds my gaze for a second longer before returning her attention to her coffee. Transfixed, I watch her pick up two packets of sugar and add them to the cup. "So, what
do you do for money? I mean, are you on work-study? Part-time job?"
"Freelance, actually," I reply.
"I take photos for the Daily Bugle."At that, MJ raises an eyebrow. She bites her lip, an almost imperceptible movement that nonetheless draws all my attention. "You're a photographer?" she says, surprised. Holding her cup with both hands, she raises it to her lips. "Well, well. I can't say I pegged you as the artistic type. Taken any shots I might've seen?"
As she takes a sip of her drink, I rub the back of my neck.
"I've... made the front page. Once or twice," I answer modestly. In reality, it's been much more than that, but only because Jonah insists on using the
Bugle as his personal soapbox to smear my alterego. Unfortunately, it turns out taking the photographs doesn't give me any say over their editorial use.
"Honestly, I don't think I possess much technical skill. I've just been lucky enough to catch a few shots of Spider-Man."MJ swallows suddenly, covering her mouth. "Spider-Man?" she repeats. "Like, the
original Spider-Man?"
I nod. Then, I realize what I just heard in the second part of her statement and ask,
"Wait, what do you mean 'orig--'?"Before I can finish my thought, the door to the Silver Spoon opens, and the air is filled with boisterous -- and all-too-familiar -- laughter. Because of course: I was having far too good of a time, right? My prayers that I might go unnoticed are short-lived, as it's only moments later that the voice of Eugene "Flash" Thompson calls out, "Parker?" Grimacing, I turn to see my high school nemesis turned tenuous friend flanked by Mal Duncan and Karen Beecher. Flash's brow furrows as he looks past me at Mary Jane, and I can tell what few wheels he has in his head are turning. He begins to walk over.
Mary Jane gives me a curious look, and I explain,
"Remember that guy Flash I was telling you about?" She nods, and I half-heartedly return the gesture.
Flash claps me on the shoulder strongly and says, "Have you been hiding this girl from us, Parker? I'm offended." He turns to MJ and flashes his trademark smile. "Hi, I'm Flash Thompson. Who might you be, darling?"
"Mary Jane Watson," she answers, offering a hand. She glances at me then back at Flash. "So, you're the quarterback."
Flash straightens slightly and shakes her hand. His ego's being petted. "That I am," he replies. Without asking, he slides next to me in the booth, pushing me aside with his not-inconsiderable mass. "So, what's going on here?" He eyes my plate greedily, helping himself to an untouched slice of toast. As he takes a bite, he guesses, "Tutoring session?"
MJ laughs. "No, Peter was just treating me to dinner."
Full mouth and all, Flash says, "Like... a date?" He can hardly contain his shock at the thought of it. To emphasize his point, he raises a finger in my direction. "With him? Oh, sweetie, you can do
so much better. No offense, Parker."
"Sure."Mal appears at the edge of the table, ready to defuse the Flash bomb. Mal's a good guy. I attribute a good portion of Flash's softening to his influence. "Couldn't help but overhear. I'm Mal, that's my girlfriend, Karen." Mary Jane waves to them both. "We were stopping in for a quick bite, but we're actually going to check out this club opening down the street if y'all are interested in coming along."
Mary Jane looks at me expectantly. I make a face.
"I shouldn't." MJ deflates a bit, and I continue,
"I've got this huge lab report due on Monday, and I was going to use tonight to get a head start." The part about the lab report
is true, and I really should get started on it. However, the truth is that in my last encounter with the Enforcers, I slipped a spider-tracer inside Montana's stupid hat, and the battery's due to give out soon. If I want to track them down and find out what they're up to, I need to go on patrol. Tonight. Besides, going clubbing with Flash is
not my idea of a good time, even if Mary Jane is there.
Flash makes no attempt to hide his disdain at my excuse. "Pfft. You know, you're gonna end up missing the best years of your life, pal." Giving the table a pat, Flash stands up from the booth. "Alright, Parker's out."
MJ leans across the table towards me. "Come on, Peter. It sounds like a lot of fun." She stares at me with those emerald eyes of hers, and I know I'll be powerless to resist if I hold her gaze.
Much as it pains me to say, I utter,
"I can't." I look up again.
"Look, you should go with them. I can vouch that they're good people. Well, most of them, anyway." Flash gives me a light smack to the back of my head, but I still keep grinning.
"Seriously, go. Have fun. You can tell me all about it."She frowns but then says, "Alright. But only because that sounded suspiciously like an offer for a third date." Giving me a quick wink, she grabs her coat. I begin to take out my wallet to pay our check. As Mary Jane rises, I hear Flash continuing to make disapproving noises beneath his breath. If I didn't know better, I'd think he
wanted me to come. Instead, he'll probably just try to move in on MJ in my absence. Knowing
my luck, they'll probably end up married. Mary Jane wanders over to Karen and begins saying, "You and me are gonna have to talk about where you got those shoes," as I place the money on the table.
** ** **
You probably think I'm an idiot for passing up a night of dark rooms, loud music, and close spaces with Mary Jane, and you're probably right. Fact is, as much as I'd love to live in the moment and make decisions for myself, I have an obligation -- a responsibility -- to uphold. The Enforcers may not be a Gozer-level threat to the city, but they're no small-timers, either. At one time, they were the right-hand men of the enigmatic Big Man, an up-and-coming boss who threatened to plunge all of Manhattan into a violent crime war. The Big Men's since been taken out of the picture -- quite gruesomely, in fact -- but the Enforcers survived long enough to find a new boss to follow. He and I haven't had the pleasure to meet yet, but I eagerly await our eventual face-to-face. And then, my fist-to-face.
Usually, my patrolling's pretty aimless, but tonight I'm swingin' with a purpose. As I mentioned earlier, I managed to plant a small tracking device on Montana. It's a device of my own design, programmed to emit a silent pulse that triggers my Spider-Sense. I call it a spider-tracer. Its size makes it incredibly easy to conceal, but it comes with a tradeoff: a built-in battery that can only hold so much juice. By tweaking the tracer's output, I've gotten its effective battery life to just about a week, but it dies pretty suddenly after that. Tonight's my last good night to track this one down. After this, I'm just gonna have to wait for the Enforcers to show their faces again, and by then it may be too late to disrupt whatever they're planning.
After nearly an hour of swinging, I get my first ping. It's faint, almost imperceptible. It feels a bit moving into a room that's just a bit too chilly, the kind that makes your hair stand on end. What proceeds then is like the world's oddest game of Warmer or Colder. I swing this way and that, feeling for the changes in magnitude of the pulse. At some point, though, the signal is clear enough to be like a beacon. I follow it to its source, arriving unsurprisingly at the docks. Criminals are
always hanging out at the docks. It's like the Starbucks of seedy malcontents.
Finding a stack of shipping containers to perch on, I survey the scene. Sure enough, my boys are here. "Fancy" Dan Crenshaw, a gunslinger with a pinstripe fetish. Raymond "Ox" Bloch, a wall of a man as strong as he is stupid. And Jackson "Montana" Brice, the ringleader whose wide-brimmed hat hides the tracer that brought me here. Standing across from them are three men I don't recognize, general goon types. The central thug carries a large briefcase. No one says a word. Ox hocks a loogie. Boy am I glad I missed dancing with MJ for
this.
Mercifully, a black sedan pulls up moments later. Out steps a stocky man with an abnormally flat forehead. Like Fancy Dan, this guy looks like he gets all his fashion trips from
The Great Gatsby. The newcomer approaches the nameless thugs, who all straighten at his approach. This must be the new boss. "Gentlemen," he begins in a gravelly tone, "Glad you could make this meeting." After a moment, he looks around and asks, "Is your boss running late?"
"The Cluemaster sends his regards," the goon with the briefcase answers.
The mafioso grits his teeth and clenches his fist. "You're joking, right? Who does this guy think he is?" He turns to the Enforcers, looking for some validation, but their faces remain flat and focused. The flat-headed man takes another few steps forward, closing the distance between the two groups. "Meeting's over, boys. You tell your boss that Hammerhead only deals with the man in charge, not his lackeys." Turning sharply, he starts heading back to the sedan, signaling for the Enforcers to follow.
The so-called lackey clears his throat. "So, you renounce your claim to the merchandise?" he calls out. This stops the other party in their tracks. Smugly, the lackey continues, "If so, that's not a problem. There are other parties interested." He gives his briefcase a soft pat.
Hammerhead snarls and turns back around. "Merchandise," he scoffs. "These would be the unmarked painkillers that your boss happened to 'stumble' across? What were his words, a 'clerical error?' Gimme a break. I came here to see if this 'Cluemaster' was worth my time." He spits on the asphalt. "I guess not."
The thug balances his briefcase on his knee and pops it open. Reaching inside, he produces a small orange bottle and tosses it to Hammerhead. As he lets the mafioso inspect the container, the goon explains, "The rest of the batch is inside this case, and that's just the first shipment. The Cluemaster is prepared to cut you a
very generous deal for the rest."
Hammerhead holds the bottle to the light, rattling the little white pills inside. With furrowed brow, he looks back at the lackey. "Alright, there ain't no such thing as a free lunch, so what's the catch? What's your boss want?"
"A seat at the table."
"That table got room for one more?"I leap into action, firing a web-line at the briefcase in the goon's arms. With one quick tug, I pry it loose. I land opposite the two groups of thugs with the briefcase of stolen meds under my arm. "It's Spider-Man!" one of them cries out. As if called to action, they all draw their guns. Hammerhead sneers.
"Hammerhead, right? I don't believe we've had the pleasure. I'm the guy who ran your predecessors out of business.""I ain't making the same mistakes," he assures me.
I tilt my head.
"You sure? I mean, you hired those clowns," I point out, motioning to the Enforcers who all give me a death stare.
"Although, I will give you this: 'Hammerhead' is a way better name than the 'Big Man.'""Fifty thousand to the one who puts a new hole in his head," Hammerhead barks.
Before the bullets start flying, though, the ground is littered with little white orbs. Each begins spewing clouds of gray smoke. The criminals all move to cover their eyes and mouths, but luckily my mask provides me with a bit of natural protection. A figure moves through the cloud, gliding in on an extended cape. One of the goons gets dropped, and the others begin shooting wildly into the smoke. Just when I've lost sight of everyone, a shape of purple and black bursts through the cloud. We nearly collide, but I get close enough to see that it's... a girl?
"What's going on?" Ox calls out.
Another voice answers, "There's two of 'em!"
"Waste 'em both!" Hammerhead roars.
"Thanks for the save," I tell the mysterious girl.
"You idiot!" she barks.
"You just blew my surveillance!"Dumbfounded, I don't have time to formulate the proper response before the smoke clears and my Spider-Sense tells me it's time to move.
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