by David Liss
“Then I’ll be on my way,” Fleisher said. He stood up and waited a moment to see if Fisk would do the same. He did not, and a look of relief crossed his face. Perhaps he had some sense now of how close he had been walking to the edge of the abyss.
Long after he left, Fisk sat very still. That Maya might betray him was unimaginable. She had never been anything but loyal, but her loyalty was based on an image he had crafted very carefully. He’d intended, of course, to let her know more about what he did, what he had to do, in order to succeed. The time wasn’t yet right, though. After the project, he had told himself. Let her get a taste of what it is to succeed, let her see the spoils for which he was fighting. Once she understood what could be achieved, she wouldn’t balk at the price.
Had she learned of some of the more unsavory elements of his work? He didn’t think so. Nor did he think she would move against him—not without offering him the chance to explain.
Still, he told himself, he would have to be careful. He would not shut her out, but he would watch her with new eyes.
PETER was walking into the lab when MJ called.
“I thought you’d want to hear about this,” she said.
A few weeks had gone by since the murder of the assistant district attorney. There had been no major incidents with the false Spider-Man since then, but life was no easier. The media still hotly debated whether the original Spider-Man had gone bad, or if there was an imposter. Morning news shows were full of discussions about why, if the real web-spinner was out there, he didn’t speak out. Peter felt like he was aging a year for every week this went on.
Jameson, meanwhile, hammered home his notion that Spider-Man had always been bad.
“What’s worse,” he shouted from the airwaves, “is that he has help on the inside. I have a source—an eyewitness—who tells me that Spider-Man has regular meetings with a rogue detective within the police department. There’s someone working to cover up the evidence, to make sure the wall-crawling menace is never brought to justice. I’m here to tell you, the people of New York won’t stand for it.”
Watanabe hadn’t exactly abandoned her partnership with him, but they were forced to be more careful. It would only take one incident, she said, one hint of exposure to bring it all crashing down. They met less frequently and in more secluded places, always careful to be clear of prying eyes. Peter continued to run missions for her, but more than ever it felt as if they would never nail Fisk.
“You still there, Tiger?” MJ said.
“I’m here,” he grunted.
“Well, the last time I went to Fisk Tower—”
“How often do you go there?” he demanded.
“Focus, Peter,” she said. “The point is, I keep seeing Wall Street guys there, and some others who seemed to be from the mayor’s office. Flunkies, for sure, but they’ve been there often enough that it can’t be a coincidence.”
“That may not be such a big deal,” Peter replied. “Wall Street types have always been cozy with the Kingpin, and Norman’s probably looking to get political mileage out of Fisk’s new philanthropic image.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It feels like something more. It’s hard to put my finger on it exactly, but I get the sense that Fisk wants something from the mayor. Either that or the mayor wants something from him. Maybe it goes both ways, and someone in the financial sector is about to make a killing.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “It’s always seemed like Norman would work with just about anyone if it meant advancing his own agenda.”
“That’s a safe bet,” MJ agreed. “Look, I’m supposed to be shadowing Fisk next week at a fundraiser. It’s for the Fisk Foundation, which I’ve been covering. The amount that goes to charity is pretty hard to nail down. Charitable types tend not to want to give money to a guy who was accused of being the biggest crime lord in history, so most of it comes from foreign sources with ties to places like Russia, Ukraine, and China.”
“You’re going to this thing with him?”
“Again, you’re not focusing on the right facts.”
Peter felt pretty sure his focus was where it ought to be. MJ seemed to think hanging out with Fisk was perfectly fine. It wasn’t fine. Violence followed him like a storm cloud. If she was digging into the financial shenanigans of his bogus charity, she might as well have a target painted on her back.
“What does your editor think about you digging into the Fisk Foundation?”
“I haven’t told her,” MJ replied. “Of course. I need to find the story first, and then I’ll pitch it.”
“MJ, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really think you should back off. Even going to this fundraiser is a bad idea. Things happen to people near Fisk, and they definitely happen to people who are trying to uncover his secrets.”
“Are we actually having this conversation again?”
“Not if you do what I tell you.” He paused for a second. “Okay, that came out wrong. I meant something like ‘not if you heed my sound advice.’ I’m not ordering you around, MJ. I’m worried about you.”
“I know you are,” she said, though there was an edge to her voice. “But your concern is smothering, Peter.”
He struggled to think of something to say. He got it. He understood what she was saying, totally, but he didn’t think she understood where he was coming from. He’d faced guys who were bigger and more powerful than he was, but he had advantages of speed and skill and technology. If Fisk came after MJ, what could she do?
“MJ, please just talk to your editor. Talk to Robbie. They know what they’re doing, and they’ll give you sound advice. Keep you safe.”
“If I do that, they’ll tell me to stand down,” she argued. “I have to take chances if I’m going to succeed. I’d expect you to understand that.”
Peter did understand it, but he hated it. There was nothing else he could say without starting another fight, though, so he told her he had to go.
* * *
ALL he could do was try to lose himself in his work. At the lab, the boss was developing some new theories about how to speed up the encoding of synthetic neuron electrochemical responses, and he was dumping data on Peter faster than the models could be run. Almost all of the tests resulted in failure, but that didn’t seem to bother the boss in the least.
“Experimentation is all about failure,” he liked to say. “You learn as much from what doesn’t work as from what does.”
Peter doubted he could be so cheerful if it weren’t for the small percentage of tests that succeeded. Those yielded an incredible amount of key data, and they were making strides faster than ever before. If what his employer said was true, they were only months away from creating a working prototype—an artificial limb with the same functionality as an organic equivalent.
* * *
THEY’D been going for more than twelve hours, but there was a lull in the work. They had a television in the lab, and though it was muted, Norman Osborn’s face filled the screen. Peyton noticed it, and his expression darkened considerably.
“You don’t like Osborn?” Peter asked. “He told me you used to work for him.”
“You know Norman Osborn?” Peyton asked. He looked like a dog had just claimed to be emperor.
“His son is my best friend,” Peter explained.
“I hear he has difficulties with his son.”
“That’s kind of an understatement. It’s a pretty chilly relationship.” He figured it was a good idea to play up the distance. If Peyton was going to talk about Osborn, he’d probably want to know Peter wasn’t going to repeat everything he heard.
Peyton looked grim. “Let’s just say I don’t like the way he does business.” It was as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “However, as you are friends with the son, I’ll say no more.”
Peter laughed. “Believe me, if Harry were here, he’d be dying to hear all the dirt you have on Norman.”
“Well, you can’t be around someone like that a
nd not see how they operate,” Peyton told him. “Osborn’s got a brilliant mind—I won’t deny that for a second—but it’s how he uses it that bothers me. He’s unscrupulous, and I worry how that will apply to his being mayor.”
“Unscrupulous how?”
“A lot of this is rumor and innuendo,” Peyton admitted. “But I’ve heard things far too many times not to think there’s some truth to them. Osborn will work with anyone who can advance his agenda, and if someone has an advantage over him, he’ll stop at nothing until he reverses the balance of power. He also has a history of setting honey traps, luring someone in with an offer they can’t refuse, but the honey trap will always turn out to be a poison pill.”
That seemed like a good opening.
“I keep seeing him on the news with Wilson Fisk,” he prodded. “You think he’d get cozy with someone like that?”
Peyton snorted. “He wouldn’t hesitate. If he thinks it will bring him greater power, influence, or profit he’ll make deals with anyone, including Wilson Fisk. Yet running with a man like that isn’t like taking down competitors in the tech industry—and most likely Osborn knows it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He never simply does business.” Peyton shook his head, as if he was remembering something. “Norman Osborn has a way of turning things around. He wouldn’t strike a deal with Wilson Fisk unless he was sure that he could—if he had to—eliminate the person as a rival while simultaneously keeping his own nose clean. If he’s dealing with a man who has a history of eating his competitors alive, then he’ll be sure he has a way of outsmarting him.”
Peter thought about that. He’d always known that Osborn could be ruthless in his pursuit of power. Yet he’d never thought about what it would mean for Osborn and Fisk—two master manipulators—to try to use each other. Norman would certainly be in a position to give Fisk something, political favors or something like that, but could even he somehow make the Kingpin “too big to fail”?
He considered everything they’d uncovered in recent weeks—the extortion, the military contractors, the radio broadcasts, the doppelgängers, the Wall Street connections. They couldn’t put a finger on his endgame, but one thing that stood out was the financial element, just as MJ had said. Maybe, he thought, that was the key.
He looked up and saw that Peyton was staring at him.
“Sorry… what?”
“I said, break time is over,” the lab administrator said acidly. “Back to work, chop-chop.”
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “Just give me a minute, okay? I need to make a quick phone call.” Before Peyton could respond he rushed outside and pulled out his phone. He was afraid she might not pick up, though.
“Watanabe here.”
“What do we know about Fisk’s Wall Street connections?”
She snorted. “Which ones? You can’t work in New York real estate without having serious ties to the various banking firms. He’s totally tangled up with lots of those people.”
“Is there anything unusual,” Peter said. “Hints that he might be trying to exert pressure on the city’s government?”
“Hold on,” she replied. “I’ll see if anyone in financial crimes has heard something. Can you give me a minute?”
Peter looked back at the building. He didn’t want to keep the work waiting long, but this seemed important.
“Yeah, I can wait, if it won’t be too long.”
Watanabe put him on hold.
* * *
SHE was back after five minutes, though it felt much longer.
“So, there is something,” she said. “The NYC commissioner of finance is stepping down. They say it’s because of health problems. It was very sudden, and he doesn’t look sick at all.”
“Maybe he’s stepping down so he doesn’t develop health problems?”
“Such a possibility has been suggested,” she acknowledged. “Anyhow, Fisk is on the advisory board that will name his successor. Osborn has been dropping hints that the next commissioner should be someone with real-world experience, not just another government bureaucrat. He’s set to announce the appointment at a gala honoring Fisk for his charitable work.”
“What if he just happened to announce that the recipient was Fisk?” Peter said. “What better way to distance Fisk from his sordid past than to make the announcement just as they’re celebrating his overwhelming generosity?”
“What will Osborn get out of this?”
“No clue,” Peter said, “but let’s forget that for a second. He’s got his own motives, we can be sure of that, but we’re focusing on Fisk. What would he be able to do, what advantage would he gain, if he were appointed to this position?”
“I’d hate to even think about it,” she said. “He’d have access to information about the finances of every city employee, every city agency, including the police department. And he’d be in a position to gain from the city’s investments. It could be a huge conflict-of-interest issue.”
“Provided the people who investigate that sort of thing weren’t threatened by him,” he countered. “Extortion is his thing, and with the right leverage, he could operate without any real oversight.”
“Damn straight,” she said.
“And while he’d be in a position to benefit from the city’s finances, he’d be able to hurt them too, right?” He suppressed a shudder as the implications sank in. “Like, he could tank the city’s investments, causing chaos if he wanted to?”
“I suppose,” she said. “It’s never come up before. The commissioner of finance isn’t usually someone who’d want to hurt the city—but if it’s Fisk, then we’re in uncharted waters.”
“More like shark-infested,” Peter said. “So, if he was appointed to the post, that might make him too big to fail, right? I mean, that’s what they say about banking houses, not because they’re super-powerful, but because the government can’t let them go under because their failure would destroy the economy. If Fisk were to become commissioner of finance, and he went down, he could take the city with him.”
“That could be it,” Watanabe said in a whisper. “He would be as close to bulletproof as a criminal can get. Cops and DAs would be afraid to touch him. Even journalists might hesitate to bring the city’s financial structure tumbling down. No one would want to be responsible for that level of destruction.”
“This has to be it,” Peter said. “So how do we stop it?”
“Is that a serious question?” she asked. “We may not like it, but by law, the mayor has the right to perform the duties of his office.”
“Okay, that was the wrong way to put it,” he said. “But we have to stop him, or find a way to expose it before Osborn can act. We have to make sure Fisk doesn’t get the appointment.”
Watanabe groaned. “Usually I have to tell you to simmer down and take things slowly, but in this case I think you’re right,” she said. “But we can’t be sloppy. Let me go over my notes and see if I can come up with a plan. We still have a few weeks, so let’s not go crazy.”
“You know me.”
“I feel better already.” She ended the call.
Peter put the phone away and went back inside, where Peyton turned from a computer to glower at him.
“Was I gone a long time?” Peter asked.
“This job isn’t a hobby,” Peyton said. His round face looked unusually pinched. “Break time is over, and we have important things to do. The director, for whatever reason, is depending on you, and once again you are holding up our progress.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Peter said. “It was something important. I’m sorry. Let’s get down to business.”
Peyton frowned and began opening up programs. Luckily for Peter, he was easily distracted by his research. He was right to be angry, and Peter didn’t know how long he could keep getting away with being himself.
“I need to see you ASAP,” Watanabe said. “This is code red.” Peter growled inwardly. It was the first time she’d contacted him in days, despi
te several frustrated messages he’d left on her phone.
He had just walked into his apartment after a twelve-hour shift at the lab. Toward the end of the day, the lab director had made a breakthrough and come up with a new theory about how to increase the simulated synaptic integrity in the prosthetic relays. But Peter’s mind had been turning to mush, and he was sent home—told to eat something and shower and be back in two hours.
“What’s going on?” he asked Watanabe.
“Just get over here. It’s important.” She gave him the location, and Peter immediately began to change.
* * *
HE showed up twenty minutes later, which was close to a personal best. From the vantage point of the rooftop, he could see Manhattan spread out all around him. Avengers Tower lit up the night in the distance. Car horns honked and people laughed and shouted and cried, and it all echoed through the canyons of buildings. He felt like he was supposed to watch over it all, and it was too much.
Watanabe was waiting for him. “There’s a fundraiser at the Manhattan Museum of Contemporary Art tonight,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” Spider-Man told her. “Fisk is supposed to be there.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Maybe she was impressed that he knew their target’s schedule. He wasn’t about to tell her that he knew because his girlfriend was following said target around. He’d been worried about it all day, and he’d planned to do some patrolling tonight to keep himself distracted.
“Well, we got a tip that it’s going to be hit by Tombstone,” she said. “Apparently Fisk has been muscling him out of a lot of business lately, and he’s looking for payback. My source tells me he doesn’t care if civilians get caught in the crossfire. In fact, he’s hoping for it.”
Tombstone was bad news. Lonnie Lincoln was an uptown crime boss whose territory had been shrinking since Fisk returned to town. With his pale complexion, superhuman strength, and those crazy sharp teeth, he was also a pretty scary dude. Feuding with Fisk in a public setting was bound to produce a body count.