by David Liss
At least that was what it sounded like, when she accidentally listened in on his phone conversation. She was checking on a neural simulator they’d ordered to see if it had been shipped. Peter was sitting on the other side of the terminal she’d been using.
The right thing to do would have been to walk away. Eavesdropping was not admirable behavior. As she wrestled with the conundrum, she heard what she heard. That done, there was no putting that toothpaste back in the tube, so now she had to figure out how best to act, knowing that his girlfriend was totally wrong for him.
Anika chewed on it all day. Most of her tasks were menial, which left her mind free to go this way and that. At times it came back to the work they were doing, which was pretty amazing.
She had a great-aunt who lost a leg in a car accident, years ago. Her aunt was close to eighty now and still got around pretty well with her prosthetic, but Anika loved to imagine what the lab’s research would mean for people like her. The ability to move with the same ease and flexibility that she’d had before the accident—that was some seriously life-changing stuff. She was thrilled to be a part of it.
A lot of what she was doing was data entry and fact checking, but she also helped Peter run some tests. They’d had a number-crunching session when there’d been a problem with one of the formulae for the synthetic neural relay. Anika had been the one to figure out where a number had been transposed—a simple clerical error that had thrown everything off. It would be one thing if she’d just spotted the error through proofreading, but she’d deduced where the mistake had to be and backtracked it to the source.
Both Peter and Theodore had watched her do it, and they’d both been impressed.
Anika could see herself working in the lab for a while. Definitely for the rest of the year, and maybe longer if she decided to take some time off before applying to grad school. There was no way she could stick around all that time if things weren’t comfortable with Peter, and that meant being honest and being his friend. That seemed perfectly reasonable to her.
Maybe she was sort of stalking him, too. But if she knew she was doing something sort of creepy, did it mean she wasn’t really being creepy? That seemed to make sense. She was just… exploring her feelings. That was the best term for it.
Late in the afternoon, Peter headed for the door. Closing up a file she’d been finished with for fifteen minutes anyhow, she grabbed her backpack so she could leave at the same time.
“Good work today,” he told her while they were waiting for the elevator. “You saved us a ton of headaches.”
“Anyone could have done it.” She brushed some hair away from her eyes.
“It didn’t look like that to me,” he said with a grin. “That was some crazy math wizardry there.”
She felt her cheeks burning. “Thanks.”
The elevator doors chimed open, and they stepped in.
No point hesitating, she told herself. Just dive right in.
“Look, I didn’t mean to, but I sort of overheard your fight with your girlfriend.”
“It wasn’t really a fight,” he said. “More of a disagreement with a side of vehemence.” He laughed a little nervously. He probably wished this super-awkward conversation wasn’t happening.
In for a penny…
“Well, I don’t want to pry,” she continued, “but if you need someone to talk to… I mean, we’ve already talked some, right, and it would be more like continuing to talk than starting a new conversation. I’m just saying that I’m a good listener. I’m also rambling, which I promise not to do if you actually talk to me about anything important.”
“Thanks, Anika,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
He didn’t sound like he appreciated it, though. He sounded like he was really uncomfortable and was desperate for the conversation to end. When the doors chimed open, he said good night and bolted off.
Now she’d done it. Now he was going to be super uncomfortable around her. She wished there was some way to figure out the right approach, but she had no idea what that might be. If she had some insight, knew how things really were with his girlfriend, it would probably make things easier. But there was no way for that to happen.
Unless…
They were going to the sandwich place—the one he’d mentioned. It was in Times Square. A fact-finding mission. Gathering data.
This wasn’t, she knew, the sort of thing normal people did. She certainly couldn’t make a habit of it, but if it was just this once, and she never did it again, she figured she could live with herself. A one-time incident could be filed as “enthusiastic” rather than “creepy.”
She waited a few minutes. The last thing she wanted was to run into him on the subway. Then, walking slowly so she would be on the train after his, she began her research.
* * *
IT had been a particularly contentious meeting with a neighborhood association. Not everyone was pleased with the idea of mixed-income housing, and it had required a great deal of self-control to keep from knocking heads together. Fisk’s third-shift secretary hadn’t yet arrived, or had gone to relieve himself or some other excuse, so he had no idea if there were any important messages.
On top of that, Michael Bingham was in his office when he walked in.
Fisk supposed he ought not to be surprised that a man who had nearly identical abilities to Spider-Man should be able to get past security, but this was a serious breach of protocol. It wasn’t at all what Fisk had agreed to.
If the man had been sitting and waiting patiently, that would have been one thing. It would have been outrageous, certainly, but perhaps not beyond the pale. As it happened, Bingham was rifling through his desk drawers.
“Wilson,” Bingham said as he looked up. He wore faded jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed off his physique. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.” He took a handful of paperclips, slipped them into his pocket, and closed the drawer. “You’ll want to sit at your desk, I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never had a desk, but it seems like people like to sit at them.” He nodded toward the big chair.
Fisk approached him. He was so accustomed to intimidating people with his size he hardly even noticed he was doing it anymore, but he noticed it now. This insignificant worm was attempting to assert dominance. Over Wilson Fisk. It would have been laughable, had Bingham not been so dangerous.
It was important not to show too much concern.
“What is it you want?” he asked as he lowered himself into his desk chair.
“Just thought I’d drop in,” he said, “to give you a progress report. We don’t really chat so much, and I guess maybe it’s my fault. I’m not as social as a lot of guys. People make me uncomfortable.”
Fisk simply stared, making a point of not inviting Bingham to sit.
He made a point of sitting anyhow.
“I’m not entirely certain this relationship is working to our mutual benefit,” Fisk said. “You’ve acted on several occasions without my consent. It may be time to rethink our terms.”
“You can do all the thinking and rethinking you want,” Bingham said, “but I’m going to show that phony who the real Spider-Man is. Keep your TV on tonight, Wilson. There’s going to be some great entertainment.”
“I haven’t approved any action for tonight,” Fisk replied. “Any more than I approved what happened at the construction site. What was the point of fighting him in that ridiculous outfit? And why there?”
That truly rankled Fisk. No one knew the building site was his property—it was registered in the name of a satellite company—but even the most complicated labyrinth of shell companies and LLCs could be unraveled by someone with enough time and determination. How had Bingham lured Spider-Man there in the first place? How had he hired those henchmen? This project, though only just begun, already seemed to be spiraling out of control.
“It was a dry run,” Bingham said. “I wanted to make sure I could take him, but I wasn’t ready yet to show the world that he ain’t the
real deal. Soon they’ll know, though. I’m Spider-Man. That’s what they’ll see.”
“I think that before you act again,” Fisk said, “you had better submit any plans you have to me for approval.”
Bingham leaned back again.
“We both know I don’t work that way, Wilson,” Bingham said. “I’m a free spirit. I told you that from the beginning. Maybe you think I’m, I don’t know, too loony to remember what we talked about, what we agreed.” He twirled his finger around his ear. “Maybe you don’t think I’m playing with a full deck, and you can just say whatever you want, but it ain’t how it works.”
“Then why are you here?” Fisk asked, his voice turning into a growl.
“Like I said, I wanted to let you know what was going on.” He stood up quickly. “Professional courtesy, let’s call it.”
“I could keep you from ever leaving this building.”
Bingham grinned again. “You could try.”
He turned and moved toward the door.
“Stop,” Fisk said. “This can’t continue.” He needed to sound calm, even agreeable. If he pushed, Bingham would push back. Most people could be intimidated, but not everyone. “If we are to be successful, we must work together.”
Bingham turned. “I thought that’s what we were doing.” Then he kept going. He opened the office door and walked past Maya Lopez. She stopped in her tracks to watch him pass. Bingham put a hand alongside his mouth, and cupped it.
“Good evening, miss!” he said loudly, enunciating slowly. Then he cackled happily and made his way to the elevator.
Fisk clenched his fists and observed Maya for a moment, holding his temper by dint of great effort. She watched the disgusting individual leave, then continued into his office and closed the door.
“What was he doing here?” she asked. “Who was he?” she added hastily.
“Someone who needed to provide me with some information,” Fisk said in a flat tone that meant he didn’t want the conversation to continue. He was clenching and unclenching his fists and blinking rapidly, all signs that he knew that he was losing his temper. He needed to get himself under control. He needed to get this situation under control.
“It didn’t look congenial,” she said. “Are you sure you can trust him?”
“I will decide that!” Fisk snapped. His rage was a living thing beneath his skin, trying to break free. He had never let himself loose, not fully, around Maya. There had been some minor incidents, of course, but nothing serious. He could feel himself slipping, though. He could imagine his fists pounding down on his desk, breaking it in half while she looked on in horror.
Maya was one of the few genuinely good things he had to show for his life. Not simply successful, but good. Her loyalty to him, her devotion, was like a testimony to what he hoped to achieve. Not this ridiculous business with giving apartments to poor people. That was just for show. It hardly mattered. All the handouts in the world wouldn’t eradicate poverty. The only way the city would ever improve was with better leadership. Not elected fools like Osborn, but real leaders.
Fisk had done things in pursuit of this goal that had crossed lines from which he could not go back. Yet there were two people who saw him for who he really was. Vanessa, his wife, and Maya, who was not his daughter, but she was as close to it as anyone in this world. He did not like to let the beast loose while she watched.
Something else troubled him.
Something he had seen.
How had Bingham known she was deaf?
He turned to Maya. “That man who left my office,” he said. “Have you had any dealings with him?”
“I’ve reviewed his file,” she said. “Nothing more.”
Fisk had no reason to doubt her. And yet…
“If you have, tell me now,” he said. “I will forgive you if you are honest, but if you hide the truth from me, then we will have… difficulties. Tell me.”
Abruptly he realized he was towering over her. He hadn’t meant to approach her, to menace her. Now he took a step back.
“Tell me,” he said, this time more quietly.
Maya shook her head. “I haven’t…” she said, her voice quavering. “I wouldn’t.” She sounded afraid, but of course she was afraid. She had seen him hurt people when he was like this. She had to fear that he might hurt her, if he lost control. He hated that.
Even more than he hated that, had she answered the wrong way, he might have given her reason to fear.
“I need to go,” she said.
“Then go,” he told her, his voice controlled. “Close the door on your way out.” He waited until she would be far away from his office, then he looked at his desk.
Fisk raised his fist.
He should hold back.
He should constrain himself.
Then rational thought was gone, and he let his true nature take command.
PETER had pastrami on his mind.
Yes, he was also a little worried about how things were going with MJ, but he knew they would work things out. They’d been together for a long time, and each had to bend if they were going to grow together. She’d already put up with things that were beyond what any girlfriend should endure. Whatever she needed from him, he’d find a way to make sure she got it.
She was already waiting for him and on line when he walked through the door. He checked his wristwatch just before he gave her a quick kiss.
“You’re living dangerously,” he said, “showing up early.”
“And you’re on your best behavior, showing up almost on time.”
“Exactly on time,” he said, tapping his watch. Wearing one made him a bit of a relic, he knew, but it had belonged to Uncle Ben, and he liked having it close.
The line ahead of them was pretty long, and it only took a few minutes for it to begin snaking behind Peter. He looked around, hoping they’d be able to find a place to sit.
“So,” he said, “maybe this isn’t the best place to have a serious conversation, but since we’re going to work things out anyhow, maybe we should talk about it now.”
“So your sandwich pleasure isn’t in any way diminished?”
“It’s a good sandwich,” he admitted. “I’d hate for anything to ruin it.”
“I’m glad you have your priorities straight.”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” she began. “Well, I think you’re right that it doesn’t have to be a big deal, as long as you actually hear what I’m saying. But this is serious, Peter, so you really have to hear me—not just agree, but hear what I’m saying and make changes based on it.”
“Right,” he mumbled, but he was already distracted.
Looking annoyed, MJ glanced around and saw why. There were a pair of cops ahead of them on line. They were, in fact, about to get their sandwiches, but one of them said something into his radio and they rushed out, leaving dinner behind. Another pair of officers ran down the street past the shop’s windows.
“Something big is going on,” Peter said.
“You want me to order you something?”
“Would you mind? Put it in your fridge. I’ll come by later if I can.”
“Not too late,” she said, “or it might not have survived the wait.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He gave her a kiss and rushed out the door. Something hovered quickly in his peripheral vision, like a familiar face, but he didn’t have time to sort it out. This wasn’t exactly the moment to say hi to whomever it might have been. If it was someone he should have recognized, they’d have to deal with it. One of the advantages of being famously flakey was that no one was surprised when you flaked.
* * *
THE moment she stepped into the sandwich place, Anika felt sure she was making a mistake. Then she looked at the menu posted over the counter and decided she could probably live with the consequences.
To the far right, people were collecting the sandwiches they’d ordered—some to-go orders in bags, others on trays—and once she caught sig
ht of them, there was no way she was turning around. This place really did look good.
There was Peter, talking to a woman with red hair. She really was pretty. Anika had hoped she would look mean, but she didn’t. There was no sign of them arguing, either. They seemed entirely comfortable with each other. Just a normal couple having normal couple problems.
Anika decided she needed to get out more. She’d worked so hard at school that she’d lost perspective on how normal people lived. She’d get her dinner, go spend some quality time with her cat, and rethink her life. She needed more time with the menu, though. The line wasn’t moving fast, but she wanted to be prepared when her turn came.
Then she noticed a commotion. Policemen started shouting into their squawking radios and dashed out of the restaurant, joining up with other officers running past outside. A few seconds later Peter took off, running right past her but not even noticing her.
Why would he do that? she wondered. What does he have to do with the police? She’d have to run some theories by her cat when she got home.
Anika sighed. At least now she didn’t have to worry about being spotted.
* * *
WOULDN’T it be nice, Peter thought, if I could actually spend a little quality time with my girlfriend and a delicious sandwich? It was as if the city was conspiring against him. He hadn’t been patrolling or listening to a police radio. He’d even had his phone turned off.
But no, the crisis had to go waving its arms right in front of his face, and of course he couldn’t just ignore it. If anyone ended up getting hurt, just because he’d wanted to enjoy some time with MJ—well, no point in even thinking about it. Peter didn’t work that way.
Ducking into the shadows of a niche between buildings, he dodged a pile of trash and clambered up a wall and onto the roof. Once there he changed into his spider-suit and monitored the police chatter through his mask. West of Central Park, over at an auction house called Rosemann’s, some nuts had taken a bunch of people hostage. There were children in there—or there might be children in there. There were conflicting reports about the number and type of hostages, as well as the perpetrators. Someone said it was a lone wacko with a gun. Another said it was someone with super-powers.