Eddie Brock — Roleplayer Guild

Ostensibly, the Big Sky Lounge is a billiard hall catering to Manhattan's working class. Much to their dismay, the NYPD have never been able to prove the truth known to everyone from Hell's Kitchen to Yancy Street: that the billiard hall serves as a front for all manner of illicit activity, from proprietor Blackie Gaxton's bookmaking business to fencing stolen goods to contracting freelancers for heists, shakedowns, and worse. In a single night at the Big Sky Lounge, an observant listener could overhear details from more than a dozen indictable offenses. It's a wire-wearer's dream, if only they could establish probable cause. Of course, New York is a big city, and not everyone in pursuit of justice is beholden to due process. A silent figure prowls the rafters on the hunt for information. Unbeknownst to the seedy clientele below, the Big Sky Lounge plays host tonight to Peter Parker, better known in these parts as the Spectacular Spider-Man!

*          *          *

As it turns out, starting a new crusade can sometimes be deathly monotonous business. Ever since Spoiler shut me out -- a second time, no less -- I've taken it upon myself to offer my help in bringing down Cluemaster, whether she wants it or not. Of course, I'm not just doing this out of the goodness of my own heart; Arthur Brown's been carving out a little empire for himself, and worse, he's been offering his services to help pond scum like Hammerbuild build their own would-be crimelord portfolios. He's got to be stopped, and if I can do it before Stephanie gets hurt, all the better. Unfortunately, Cluemaster has been frustratingly sparse with regards to the whole "clue" thing. His crew consists solely of hired professionals, mercenaries who would rather be strung up by their ankles than turn on their employer and lose their reputation. Believe me, I've tried.

Fortunately, I may not need to go through Cluemaster's men to get to the man himself. No one of his magnitude can move in on this turf without making waves. And if there's one thing I've learned in my short time as a New York crimefighter, it's that nothing happens in this city that Blackie Gaxton doesn't know about. Getting Blackie to talk is, of course, its own hassle, but I'm running out of patience and leads. So I've come to Blackie's place of employment for an unannounced visit. Slipping inside from the back was easy enough, and now I've made a little spot for myself on the ceiling where I can overlook the place. Blackie's seated at the end of the bar, helping himself to a dark stout and occasionally exchanging words with passers-by.

As my boredom reaches peak levels, I'm about to drop down and make my presence known when Blackie actually starts to move. I crawl along the ceiling in pursuit of my target, following him to the back door. Before the door closes behind Blackie, I silently flip through the opening and into the alleyway behind the lounge. Blackie wanders a few steps away from the door as he pulls a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. Just as he's about to light one up, I snatch it away with a quick web-line, saying, "You should really take better care of yourself, Blackie. Your lifestyle is already high-risk enough before you factor in COPD."

He turns to me, his face a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and a hint of contempt. "I knew you cared about me deep down, Webhead," he says flatly as he smacks a second cigarette out of the carton and sticks it in his mouth.

"That's me, alright; a regular bleeding heart," I answer. "Got any idea why I'm here, Blackie?"

At that, he chuckles, a hoarse and bitter sound. "I got no idea why you do anything you do, pal." He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. "I'm betting it has something to do with the warpath you've been on lately, though. Way I hear it, you've been barking pretty hard up a certain tree, lookin' for answers."

"You flatter me! I didn't know you kept such keen interest in my affairs." I lean back against the brick wall behind me, letting my feet keep me adhered a few feet above the ground while I cross my arms. "Well, let's hear it, then; what do you know about the Cluemaster? How do I find him?"

After another drag, Blackie taps his cigarette to knock away the ash. "Here's what I want to know: even if I were inclined to help you -- and I certainly am not -- why would I sell out the Cluemaster to you? Guy's got nothing to do with me. He hasn't hurt my business any. I stand to gain nothing if you take him down. I'm not in the business of favors, especially not to wall-crawling pests."

"You've got a point. You're just a businessman, driven by self-interest," I begin. "Well, how about this for self-interest: if you don't want to cooperate, I'll just go back inside and knock around some heads until I find someone more interested in playing nice. Imagine how light business'll be once word gets out that Spider-Man makes a habit of raiding the Big Sky Lounge!"

He sneers. "Fine. I'll tell you what I've heard. But only because I doubt you'll survive the firepower at Cluemaster's disposal, anyway. He'll fix you like he did your little purple girlfriend."

As soon as I realize what Blackie's saying, I hop down off the wall and charge him. Putting one hand on his chest, I lift Blackie off his feet and pin him against the wall. With my free hand, I reach up and flick away his second cigarette. "What are you talking about? What did he do to Spoiler?"

Blackie shrugs. "Who knows? All I know is that his men nabbed her the last time she stuck her nose where it didn't belong." Even as I keep my strength pressed against him, he leans his head forward to add, "There might be a lesson in there for ya."

Cluemaster has Spoiler. If she's been such a thorn in his side, I can only imagine the twisted revenge he must have cooked up for her. I press a little harder against Blackie's chest, just enough to push a little air out of his lungs and get his attention. If Stephanie's in real trouble, then I don't have time for subtlety anymore. "Tell me where he is."

"Alright, alright! Word is he set up shop in an abandoned factory on the Lower East Side. Place is guarded like a damn fortress. You want my advice--"

"I don't."

"--sit this one out. Even you will have trouble getting in there."

"Well, that's the fun part, isn't it?" Before releasing Blackie, I reach into his coat pocket and retrieve the half-empty carton of cigarettes. As I let Blackie fall to his feet, I crumple the carton in my palm. "Sorry, bud, but the intervention was necessary. You already reek of stale smoke. And, just since we're good pals..." I flick my wrist and web his one leg to the pavement. "Now if someone finds you in the next hour, you've got plausible deniability. You can say I forced the information out of you!"

He stares at me bitterly. "I really hate you sometimes."

"Only sometimes? I'm getting rusty." I give a mock salute before leaving Blackie to stew. I can only hope that I find Stephanie before her father does anything irreversible.
Eddie Brock Member

Status

Bio

Most Recent Posts
