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| Issue #16 September 2009 |
"Return of the King" Written by Andrew Gabriel |
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“How could I have been so stupid? What the f*** was I thinking.”
As Frank Castle, known to the super-hero and criminal communities alike as the anti-hero the Punisher, ran through the back alleys of lower Manhattan, he continued to utter the same phrase to himself over and over. He turned a corner, and almost ran head-long into a patrol of N.Y.P.D. officers. Cursing to himself, he backtracked and ran down another deserted alleyway.
Only a couple of days prior, the Punisher, after receiving what he had thought, and confirmed, to be accurate information, had landed a killing blow to long time crime boss Silvio Manfredi, known in the underworld as Silvermane. With such invaluable intelligence at his disposal, Castle had then set his sights on another long-time crime lord; Leland Owlsley, known as the Owl.
After ending the Owl’s criminal career by blowing up the man’s caravan of Dodge Durangos, which was escorting Owlsley from the strip club he operated, to his Mid-Town penthouse, with a series of well-placed missiles, the Punisher had discovered an old cassette player lying near where he was perched on a roof. Inside, laid a tape marked ‘For the Punisher. Thank you’.
As the Punisher again barely avoided a patrol of officers, he began to play the tape back in his mind.
“The Kingpin thanks you for helping him out in rebuilding his former empire,” the voice on the tape began. “He suspected correctly that, after finding the information to be unquestionably accurate, you would act upon it without question. Unfortunately, the Kingpin also deduced that you probably wouldn’t think too hard about the acts of murder you were about to commit.”
“By killing the crime lords Silvermane and the Owl, you have left both families headless, and without direction. They now seek revenge for what was done to their leaders. With a little help from the Kingpin, they have been given a direction for their rage; the nudge that they would need to start a bloody turf war with one another. We have supplied them with reasonable suspicion that each family was behind the demise of the other head, each family believing that the other supplied you with the information to find and dispel of each leader.”
“This tape was left by an operative that has been trailing you for many days. If you are listening to it, then we know you have succeeded, and the streets of New York will soon be filled with the blood of criminals, leaving the underworld open and ready for the Kingpin’s return. And please don’t think you will be given the opportunity for revenge. Unfortunately for you, the war is over Frank Castle. The authorities have already been given information implicating you as the prime instigator behind the gang war that is about to erupt. In fact, the manhunt for you has probably already begun. So, good luck!”
As the tape clicked to a stop, a hidden acid tablet within the device activated, melting the tape, destroying any record of what it had contained. As the Punisher stood bewildered, the wail of sirens and the whiz of bullets around him quickly brought him back to reality. The cops were already there!
“DROP YOUR WEAPONS,” they screamed.
Frank Castle didn’t bother firing on them. They were never the enemy, and he knew his time was limited now anyway. He had jumped from roof to roof, before descending into an alley. Now, he ran, cursing at his own stupidity; his own gullibility, racing through these back streets, trying to make his way back to one of his safe houses without killing a police officer or being captured.
“If I make it out of this alive,” the Punisher said to himself. “The Kingpin is going to pay dearly.”
********************
Mary Jane Watson Parker peered out of the hospital window, as she leaned against the cold metal sill. She was exhausted, and as the sun began to rise, it marked the second night that she had spent within the New York Presbyterian Hospital. She turned and looked at the young girl asleep in the bed beside her.
The girl her husband, Peter Parker, had known as Carla Jacobs stirred in her sleep. She had suffered a traumatic head injury and had only recently begun to come out of a coma. Mary Jane continued to stare at the young woman, thinking about the bizarre revelations that had transpired while this girl slept.
This young woman seemingly had no family, which was why Mary Jane had decided to stand by this stranger; to give her the support that she deserved during this distressing time, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. It had come to light that Carla Jacobs wasn’t even this girl’s real name…it was May Osborn…the possible ramifications of which certainly weren’t lost on Mary Jane or Peter.
Still, in all of the years she had stood by her husband, Mary Jane knew never to take things at face value; never to jump to conclusions, because things are never what they seem. This was the only fact that was keeping her calm at this time.
“Who-who are you?”
Mary Jane jumped at the sound of the voice, breaking her brooding daydream. She looked over at May and realized that the girl’s eyes had opened…she was talking.
“Hi there sweetheart! My-My name is Mary Jane,” she began, rushing over to the bedside. “I’m Mr. Parker’s wife…He…He heard you were hurt and wanted me to check up on you.”
May Osborn smiled, and took a deep breath. She took Mary Jane’s hand in hers.
“Thanks,” she said. “I knew Mr. Parker would take care of me.”
“Yeah, he’s good like that,” M.J. whispered with a smile, feeling comfortable with the warmth of May’s hand. “Um…I know we just met and all, but…how come none of your family is here with you? Is there anyone that I can contact?”
May let out a sigh.
“It’s only my Dad and I,” she said. “He’s…kind of secretive, I guess...but he did come to see me last night!”
Mary Jane felt baffled. If this girl’s father existed, how come there wasn’t a record of him? Not to mention that she had been here all last night, and besides a couple of bathroom breaks, she hadn’t left the room.
“Honey, I know you’ve suffered a lot,” Mary Jane said gently, touching the bandages wrapped around May’s head. “But I was here last night…”
“Don’t think I’m crazy,” May said with a smile. “My Dad has a way of coming and going without anyone knowing. He was here, though…last night. He told me that Mr. Parker would probably send someone to come and check on me…”
Her words sent a shiver down Mary Jane’s spine, and she suddenly felt as if she were being watched. Either May’s head injury had gotten the best of her, or someone had snuck into this hospital room last night as they slept, someone who had known Spider-Man would want to make sure that ‘Carla Jacobs’ was alright. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to dwell on it further…
“Looks like I’m gonna have to kill two more people.”
Mary Jane whipped around. Standing in the doorway was the Shocker, a trench coat covering his battered uniform. She backed to the edge of the bed, keeping her body between the villain and the injured May.
“What do want? Why are you here,” Mary Jane hollered, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Tying up loose ends,” the Shocker said as he limped into the room, the pain from his recently dislocated knee clearly showing, as he closed and bolted the door behind him. “I can’t have this little f*** opening her mouth and sending me back to Ryker’s Island.”
“Mary Jane,” May gasped, shaking as she held onto M.J.’s arm tightly.
“He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him,” Mary Jane said defiantly as she sprang into action, trying to get to the patient alarm beside the bed.
She wasn’t fast enough. The Shocker let a blast fly from his remaining vibro-smasher, knocking Mary Jane to the floor. She grunted as she hit the ground.
“Nice try…,” Shocker said, as he kicked Mary Jane hard in the stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. “Wait a f****** second…Your Mary Jane Parker! Holy s***! Looks like I get a little revenge against your freakin’ husband for doing this to me…”
“Don’t touch her,” May screamed, scrambling onto her knees, as the Shocker stood over the stunned Mary Jane.
“…Now I’m gonna enjoy killing you before I take care of the kid,” the Shocker hissed.
“DON’T TOUCH HER!”
As Mary Jane stared on in awe, May grabbed the Shocker’s left arm, and crushed the vibro-smasher with such force that his remaining good wrist snapped. He screamed in an all-too familiar agony as May lifted the shocked villain up over her head.
With a scream of rage, the young, injured girl tossed the Shocker through the closed window of her hospital room. Glass shattered as his wounded body flew through the windowpane and fell three stories into a garbage filled dumpster below.
Fortunately for the Shocker, he had been knocked unconscious when his head hit the glass, so he was unable to feel both of his legs shatter when they hit the edge of the trash receptacle.
Mary Jane found her body frozen, her eyes wide, as she stared at May Osborn who was kneeling on the bed, sweating and panting. May brought her shaking hands up to her face and stared at them.
“Wh-What did I do,” she said, beginning to cry as her gaze turned to Mary Jane. “Wh-What happened?”
Mary Jane forced her body to move from the floor; to walk over to the bed and comfort the scared girl. She held the sobbing young woman in her arms, wondering what insanity, and secrets, were hiding within May Osborn; this scared girl who she had barely known for more than a couple of days.
********************
“…Reports continue to come in from all boroughs of suspected gang violence. Within the last few hours, authorities have begun to intervene in what some have begun to call a ‘war’ for power between New York’s most heinous crime families…”
Peter Parker tried to ignore the voice of the newscaster playing from the television in front of him. His eyes closed, he tried, and failed, many times to fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair beside the hospital bed where his friend, Felicia Hardy lay asleep.
“…Believe that this brutality was initially sparked by the vigilante named Frank Castle, better known as the Punisher, in an attempt to have these suspected criminal organizations destroy themselves through hostilities…”
He groaned in pain from his fractured ribs as he again turned to what he hoped would be a more comfortable position in the chair. He kept thinking about the attempts on his life and those of his heroic colleagues as Spider-Man.
More than that, he worried about the fact that these people had known their personal, secret identities; he worried about the safety of his loved ones now that these psychos knew that Spider-Man was Peter Parker; now that the Kingpin himself knew who he was.
“…Continue to hunt the man called the Punisher for the suspected crimes that have seemingly incited this violence…”
“P-Peter?”
Spider-Man’s eyes whipped open at the sound of the weak voice. He turned his head, and saw the Black Cat staring at him through still glassy eyes.
“Felicia,” he whispered, as he jumped from the chair to her side, ignoring the stinging pain from his ribs. “Boy that was one hell of a nap.”
The Black Cat feigned a smirk, but it quickly faded as she glanced at the T.V.
“…With vigilantism possibly behind this outbreak of bloodshed, the Commissioner has urged New York’s masked citizens to leave these outbreaks to the proper authorities or risk being taken in…”
“Did you find him,” Felicia finally spoke again. “Did you find Bullseye? Who is he working for?”
Spider-Man shook his head slowly. He and Daredevil had taken turns patrolling in the hours since they had arrived at the hospital, but Parker had decided to stay by Hardy’s side in her time of need for the majority of the night, knowing all too well that with the Kingpin behind this insanity, Bullseye wouldn’t stay hidden for long.
He gently took her hand, and she squeezed it, hard, out of anger and frustration. Felicia turned her head away from Peter’s.
“He is working for the Kingpin,” Spider-Man began. “He’s the fat-headed mastermind behind this entire thing. He knows are real identities, which is how Bullseye knew where to strike. I know what he did to you, Felicia, and we will find him…,” he began to say in a voice beginning to fill with guilt.
“Please,” she interrupted, turning back to face him, visibly trying to fight back tears. “Just-Just stop talking about it.”
“Yeah, sure…no problem,” Spider-Man responded.
Suddenly, as if to break the awkward silence that hung in the air, the cell phone beside the hospital bed began to beep. For a second, Spider-Man forgot that he had even taken his phone with him the previous night, but then he recognized the number flashing on the face of the telephone.
“Hello…Mary Jane, everything alright,” Peter answered as he scrambled up from the chair to pick up the call.
“No…No Peter, it’s not. I-We were attacked,” Mary Jane began in a shaky voice. “Here in the hospital…”
“What? How? By whom…,” Spider-Man hollered into the phone, loud enough to scare the wounded heroine beside him.
“Peter, what’s wrong,” Felicia asked, concerned.
“…Are you alright? Is Carla…I mean May alright?”
“We’re...We’re fine,” she answered. “It was the Shocker, Peter…I-I don’t know how he found us…and he seemed to know me…seemed to know you! How could he?”
Peter felt a new found anger form in the pit of his stomach. Unfortunately, Parker knew all too well who had, through some still undetermined way, known this information and had offered it to these maniacs.
“Stay right there,” he ordered his wife. “I’ll be over…”
“No, Peter…it’s alright,” Mary Jane responded. “The police are here. The Shocker’s in custody...and-and it was May…”
“May what,” Peter asked, trying to ignore the news still playing on the T.V. screen.
“…Other news, the corporate world is still reeling after yesterday’s unprecedented terrorist bombing attack on the Corporate Cooperation Conference being hosted at the Roxxon Energy Conference Center. Reports of casualties are still coming in from the site, with many more expected…”
Mary Jane had cut-off what she was about to say next. A part of her wanted to scream through the phone that it was May who, somehow, someway, had thrown the Shocker through a window, three stories to the street below. But she stopped herself. Whether because she didn’t want to worry her husband any longer about the revelations this young girl was unknowingly hiding, or whether because she couldn’t believe they were actually happening herself.
“’May what’ M.J.,” Peter shouted.
“Nothing…nothing Tiger…She was very brave…”
“Oh,” Spider-Man muttered, sensing that there was more, but he didn’t press his wife. Something else had gotten his attention.
“…CEO of the restored Fisk Enterprises has announced that he will be hosting an emergency meeting this morning in the wake of this brutal attack…”
“Peter?”
“Hang on M.J.”
“…from those companies that have suffered the most severe losses so far are expected to attend. A Fisk spokesperson has also stated that this meeting will be open to a limited amount of press…”
“’Limited press…,” Peter whispered.
“Peter…I-I have to go…the police are looking to talk with me again…”
“Yeah, alright…that’s fine,” Spider-Man responded, as he wiped sleep from his eyes. “Please, please, please try and be careful. And-and get Aunt May out of the house as soon as you can…Bring her to a hotel…Just make up some excuse to get her out incase she’s targeted, alright?”
“Yes, definitely,” Mary Jane said. “I love you.”
“Same here,” Parker answered, and he hung up the phone with a ‘snap’. He smiled to himself in determination as he walked to the window, pulled his mask over his face.
“Where are you going Parker,” came the voice of the Black Cat from the hospital bed.
“To visit our fat little friend…”
“Peter! Peter don’t…”
But her words drifted onto the winds blowing through the open window. Spider-Man had jumped from the ledge and disappeared into the night.
********************
The Daily Bugle, office of J. Jonah Jameson.
“Where the f*** have you been Parker! You haven’t answered any of my calls, and some prime photographs were lost in the process! You could have been at that conference center during the attack…”
“I was…busy, Jonah,” Peter interrupted as J. Jonah Jameson, Publisher of the Daily Bugle newspaper, continued to bluster. “You didn’t have anyone else that could have taken pictures…”
“Well of course we did! But…”
“But no one is as good as me,” Parker answered with a sly smirk, which succeeded to send the aging newsman into a tirade.
“Jonah, calm down,” Robbie Robertson, long-time editor at the Bugle, said walking in-between Peter and Jameson. “Peter is more than qualified, we all know that! And he seems to genuinely want to take this assignment with Ben.”
“Oh yeah? I should I pay you to do this, huh? Where were you when I was f****** ringing your phone off the hook…”
“Listen, Jonah. This is an assignment that…that I need to take,” Peter said, trying to calm the old man. “You don’t even have to pay me for this…”
At those words, Jameson seemed to calm automatically. He lowered his waving arms, and clenched his teeth around the cigar fuming in his mouth.
“I don’t have to pay you for this,” he asked, head cocked.
“Peter, policy stands that if you work for the Bugle…”
“No, you don’t,” Parker answered, holding out a hand to quiet Robertson. “It would actually…be a favor to me.”
“A favor to you? And I don’t have to pay you,” Jameson whispered, almost in disbelief. “May I ask why?”
“Please don’t,” Parker said, almost to himself. “Please, just sign the pass and let me get over to Fisk Tower and join Ben before this thing is over.”
Jameson gave Peter a curious look, and then turned his head to Robertson.
“If he wants to go, let him,” Robbie said, shrugging. “You need someone over there, and…for whatever reason…he’s doing it for free.”
“Fine,” Jameson finally surrendered, taking out the remaining press pass sent to him be the Fisk Enterprise press secretary. “But I had better see some damn good pictures from you, Parker.”
As soon as Jameson had signed the pass, Peter took it from his hands and ran from the room. He was about to enter the devil’s lair, and he had no idea what he would do when he got inside. The only thing that was for sure was that Peter Parker was going to confront the Kingpin.
********************
Wilson Fisk stood before the grand picture window that encompassed an entire wall of his office. The view was absolutely gorgeous, he thought, as he sipped a glass of Dalmore 62 Single Highland Malt Scotch; panoramic views of midtown Manhattan gave the occupant of this space the feeling of being on top of the world. That was exactly what Fisk was looking for when he acquired this skyscraper as the new headquarters for Fisk Enterprises; his thrown from which to rule.
The 1943 produced, massively expensive drink was a perfect complement to the satisfaction that the Kingpin felt running through him. He was at the top of his game, reclaiming the kingdom that was meant to be his and his alone. He was in the process of regaining power in both the towers of business along the city’s skyline, and in the shadowy alleys of New York’s underworld.
The Kingpin’s plans were coming together nicely. Although failures were occurring, they were to be expected. Only a fool would expect an undertaking of this magnitude to happen without incident. The disappointments would be corrected, but there was time for that later.
The pawns were on the board, moving and acting almost exactly as he had anticipated; the heroes of the city, those that would offer the largest hurtles to his plans, were scattering; reeling from unexpected attacks. The same could be said for the powerful corporations of this fine metropolis. The game was moving along agreeably and he was its master.
“Mr. Fisk,” Wayne Gremil, the Kingpin’s assistant said, softly as he entered his employer’s plush office. “The guests have gathered in the 35th floor conference room. The boards from the expected corporations are in attendance.”
Fisk allowed himself a smile, as he took one last, long sip of the Scotch.
“Very well,” he finally answered, turning towards his assistant. “I assume they are sufficiently shaken?”
“Yes,” Gremil answered, with a slight devilish grin. “Non-stop chatter on their cell phones, worried whispers. I can safely guess that they are still trying to regroup after yesterday’s assassinations. On top of that, there is a general feeling of curiosity as to why you invited them to Fisk Enterprises today”.
The Kingpin nodded his head, taking in the encouraging words.
“Let’s not keep them waiting any longer then,” he said, walking towards Gremil. “Allow the press hounds access into the conference room before my arrival.”
********************
Fisk Tower
Peter had made it to Fisk Towers with only a couple of minutes to spare. He quickly threw his civilian clothes over his Spider-Man costume a block away from the building, and ran that rest of the way. He had just cleared security when he heard the announcement for the press to enter the 35th floor conference room.
Camera in hand, Parker crammed into an already packed elevator in the lobby and rode to the appropriate floor. He stood for a moment before entering the meeting room, pretending to look around the hallway outside, which was beautifully decorated with expensive carpets, paintings, and sculptures. In reality, he was trying to figure out where the Kingpin himself was…and what he would do when they finally met.
“Didn’t think they would send you here.”
Peter turned his head, breaking away from his thoughts, to face long-time Daily Bugle reporter and friend Ben Urich, who was walking up the hall behind him.
“Yeah, well, I think…I think ol’ J.J. suspects Spider-Man might just make an appearance,” Parker responded with a smile.
Urich laughed, and pushed his glasses closer to his face with his index finger.
“You alright,” he asked. “Looks like you haven’t slept.”
“I’m fine,” Peter answered, brushing off the comment. “Looks like everyone else is inside, we should go.”
Urich nodded, and the two walked into the bustling conference room. As they walked on the side of the conference room, Peter looked at the people seated around the large wooden table. Men and women in business suits whispered crazily around the table.
Towards the far corner of the room, Peter noticed two men engrossed in conversation. His eyes widened as he recognized them. The noticeably older of the two, Parker had no doubt, was Adrian Toomes, his old nemesis the Vulture. The second man was much younger, but Peter also had no doubt that this man was Richard Fisk, the estranged son of Wilson Fisk himself; a man that Spider-Man had known to be a ruthless mastermind in his own right.
“Bringing the family back together,” Peter whispered to himself, as he and Ben finally reached the back of the room, where a small group of reporters, cameramen, and photographers were huddled.
Soon after, the Wilson Fisk entered the room, and the conference table became hushed. Cameras began to click in the background as Fisk and his entourage, including his assistant, all took their seats at the head of the table. They were then joined by his son and Toomes.
“Thank you all joining me here this morning,” Fisk began. “The events of last night have undoubtedly left us all shaken to our cores. Many of our friends and allies have been confirmed victims of this outrageous attack. Some critically injured, while others have lost their lives…”
The Kingpin paused for a split second as he glanced towards the press pool. Parker had no doubt that the obese man had noticed him. Fisk gave a slight smirk, and then continued talking. Peter continually faded in and out of the speech, becoming lost in his own thoughts. He was here, in the building, almost face-to-face with the Kingpin…but what would his next move be?
“…The most damaged of our colleagues need more than our support. They need legs from which to stand during this time of mourning. This reason alone is why I’m here this morning to announce that Fisk Enterprises will be there to guide you down this road to recovery.”
“My friends, as of only minutes before this meeting, the count was placed at almost twenty dead. Steven Grant, head of our C.C.C. partner Lunar Enterprises and Thomas Fireheart, head of our partner Fireheart Enterprises, are confirmed critically injured….”
Spider-Man felt himself flinch, as he witnessed confirming nods at the Kingpin’s words coming from the parties representing both companies Steven Grant, a.k.a. Marc Spectre, a.k.a. the vigilante Moon Knight and Thomas Fireheart, a.k.a. Puma had been long-time colleagues of his, and now, though thankfully not dead, had been confirmed, by the killer himself, victims. His anger towards Wilson Fisk was rising like a thermometer.
“…The hardest hit of our partners is regrettably the company that has offered their resources to host the Corporate Cooperation Conference to begin with; The Roxxon Energy Corporation. With the shameful assassination of their Chairman August D’Angelo only days ago, this company has now lost two more key members in last night’s brutal attack; Acting Chairman Carrington Pax and next-in-line Huck Petrie…”
Parker became lost in his own thoughts yet again. This was getting out of control. The Kingpin had always been one for big comebacks, but his past misdeeds were quickly becoming nothing to what he was doing now.
“…To which I have dedicated my resources to helping these fellow companies regain their stature and recover their losses. With the approval of those gathered here today, I offer the services of my own son…”
The Kingpin reached out a hand, and Richard Fisk stood.
“…a valued member of our team, despite some…personal setbacks throughout the years, to Chair Lunar Enterprises in the stead of Mr. Grant, and…”
He moved his hand down the line.
“…the years of experience of Mr. Adrian Toomes, a trusted ally, to Chair Fireheart Enterprises in the stead of Mr. Fireheart…”
Whispers began to filter down the table. This didn’t seem to have been something that any of those in attendance had expected, including a stunned Peter Parker. Like sharks smelling blood, the press pool moved in closer.
“…These appointments are only of a temporary nature, until the current Chairs have either recovered, or each company has found a suitable replacement, if necessary. And these arrangements shall only occur if given the full support of the companies gathered here today.”
“I truly hope that you will allow my company to aid in your recoveries, in the spirit of what we are working so hard to achieve through the C.C.C., and so that we may work to continue the conference itself in the next few days. Thank you.”
The Kingpin fell silent, and the crowd continued to whisper. Parker stood by in shock as the press around him continued to jot down notes and take pictures of this momentous occasion. He couldn’t pin point whether it was the sheer intimidation of having the press, the eyes of the world, around them, or whether it was the intimidation of the sheer size of Wilson Fisk himself, who was now standing, but the appointments were quickly ratified by the assembled company heads.
With the conference over, those gathered around the table began to shuffle out of the conference room. The Kingpin stood at the door, shaking hands and offering continued condolences. The press pool soon followed, and Spider-Man had to pass directly beneath the gaze of Wilson Fisk to exit the room. As he left, he felt the Kingpin’s stare on his back, and noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Fisk had summoned his assistant to his side, and had begun to whisper furiously to him.
Peter still had no idea what he was going to do, but it was now or never. He quickly broke away from the mass of people walking towards the elevator bank.
“Well, that almost made me puke,” Ben Urich said with a groan. “What about you, Peter…”
But Peter Parker had already bolted around a corner. With a plan not forthcoming, Spider-Man was lucky to overhear a few employees discussing the decorations within the office of Wilson Fisk himself on the 40th floor. With a glint of determination, Parker casually let himself into a nearby stairwell and ran for the 40th floor of Fisk Enterprises.
He had just decided that he would beat Fisk to his office, when he reached the floor, and found that the Kingpin was already walking past his secretary, into the workplace. With security undoubtedly already alerted to his presence, because he hadn’t left with the rest of the press, and anger fueling his every movement at the moment, Spider-Man decided to forego anymore sneaking, and just confront the obese crime lord right then and there, in his own office.
Parker ran full speed down the hallway, and bust through the large oak office doors, even before the secretary had the chance to lift herself from the seat and utter ‘you can’t go in there’. He slammed the doors behind him, and locked them. He turned to see the Kingpin sitting behind his desk, hands folded, as if expecting him.
“Well, well,” Fisk said in an almost cheery fashion. “Peter Parker has just broken into my very own office with malicious intent, it would seem. What can I do for you young man?”
Peter Parker stared at the mass of a man seated behind the large, antique mahogany desk before him, anger rising in his chest. That emotion was increased tenfold as the Kingpin returned his gaze, a smile wrapping itself around his heavy cheeks.
“Why are you here,” Fisk finally asked, breaking the intense silence, as he leisurely examined a smudge on the desk.
Parker continued to just stare, fists clenched, but the Kingpin’s smile seemed to just get wider.
“You’re testing my patients, Mr. Parker,” the Kingpin said. “You had your chance to leave with the rest of the press. Have you really come here to just stare?”
“No,” Spider-Man whispered. “I want to know why you are doing this…”
“Doing what, I’m a business man,” bellowed Fisk, the smile brightening.
“…Tell me why you’re doing this to us, why you’re sending these uncontrollable lunatics against us, giving them this knowledge freely…”
“You seem to be angry, Mr. Parker,” Fisk said in a mocking tone. “Perhaps you should take a seat and we can discuss this like gentlemen.”
The tension in the room was rising fast. Spider-Man felt his fists begin to shake with fury. It was one thing for the heroes to become targets in this malevolent criminal’s rise to power, but when innocent, defenseless families become the targets…
“I WANT TO KNOW HOW YOU FOUND OUT WHO I REALLY AM…”
“…That Peter Parker, lowly photographer for that rag the Daily Bugle, is really the web-slinging Spider-Man,” the Kingpin laughed, his eyes glistening with a devilish joy.
With a groan from the pit of his stomach, before he could even register what he was doing or stop himself from acting, the tension peaked, and Spider-Man, as Peter Parker, was lunging across the office at Wilson Fisk.
And the Kingpin let him have his shot. He rose from his chair just as Spider-Man leapt onto the desk. Like a helpless wolf, though stunned by the hero’s agility and quickness, Fisk allowed Parker to lift him into the air by the collar of his custom white suit jacket and shirt.
With anger seething through him, Spider-Man slammed Fisk into the giant picture window behind the desk, sending a rippling crack through the tempered glass. The Kingpin growled in pain, as his head made contact with the window, glass puncturing his skin, but to the angry hero’s surprise, the smile barely fluctuated on the crime lord’s face.
Still pinned against the window, staring into the eyes of Peter Parker, the Kingpin began to chuckle, and pulled his head closer to Spider-Man’s ears.
“Th-Thank you for this,” Fisk whispered to a stunned Spider-Man. “You have put the final nail in your own coffin…”
Even before his spider-sense began to blare in urgency, Spider-Man knew that he had just fallen, foolishly, out of anger, into a well laid trap. He turned towards the door of the office, as voices began to holler from the other side.
“You may want to put me down before the authorities discover a meager photographer possesses superhuman strength…”
Outraged at his own stupidity, Parker relaxed his grip, allowing the Kingpin to fall to the floor. He backed into the desk, just as the door to the office flew open with a crash. Wayne Gremil, flanked by no less than twelve members of New York City’s elite SWAT team had swarmed into the room, the lead man barking orders as they all raised their guns at Peter Parker.
“…HANDS IN THE AIR! HANDS UP OR WE’LL FIRE…”
Peter whipped his head around the room, from the police flooding through the door, to the Kingpin, and the cracked window behind him, looking for an exit; an escape. He could easily throw himself through the weakened window and swing, free, into the steel canyons…But he couldn’t, at this moment, with so many eyes upon him; with his identity already in jeopardy, he wasn’t Spider-Man. He was Peter Parker, ‘meager photographer’.
“…STEP AWAY FROM THE DESK WITH YOUR HANDS UP...”
“…MR. FISK, MR. FISK…,” Gremil hollered, as the Kingpin rose to his feet, acting quite unsteady for his size.
“I’m…I’m alright,” the Kingpin responded. “Just shaken by this-this uncalled for assault…”
Peter glanced at the bulk of Wilson Fisk. He had undeniably won this round and now Spider-Man had to accept the punishment. As he took a breath, Parker raised his arms above his shoulders; there was no escape.
“Officers…This…This isn’t what it looks like…”
“…ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD…”
Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, did as he was ordered, and dropped to his knees, hands interlocked behind his head. Within a matter of seconds, the SWAT team was on top of him, roughly forcing his hands behind his back. He felt the cold steel of handcuffs squeeze around his wrists. Wilson Fisk was kept a safe distance away from the man who had attacked him, comforted by more members of the SWAT team.
“…Take him downtown for processing. It’s up to you whether or not to press charges,” Peter overheard Gremil say.
“For my safety, and the safety of everyone else who may come into contact with this disturbed individual, I think it best to take this to the full extent of the law.”
As he was pulled to his feet by the police and dragged from the room, Spider-Man caught one last glance of the Kingpin through the throng of authorities around him, keeping him protected. For a split second, their eyes met, and Wilson Fisk made sure that Peter Parker saw him smile.
********************
…To be continued…
The Kingpin’s meteoric rise to power
In both the corporate and criminal worlds continues,
And it seems he isn’t letting anything (or anyone) stand in the way
Oh yeah…and Spider-Man has been arrested!!!
And what else is May Osborn knowingly, or unknowingly, hiding?
Be here for Amazing Spider-Man #17
“The Return of the King” pt. 4
