She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal {she said that I don't look like me no more, no more}
August 3rd, 2016
5:35 PM
Special Agent Benjamin Lester Poindexter was called into a meeting by the Secretary of State, General Thaddeus Ross, on a Wednesday.
He had known of this meeting, prior to the time of the arranged setup. However, he was not informed of why he had to go to the Petrichor to meet the Secretary of State in the evening of the day, when he should be working on the Metro Gen case or digging up information on the Spider-Man. Not actually tracking down the thing, mind you. Just paperwork and dead-ends, nothing of use or importance. No field-work. Simply random websites and blurry photographs.
He goes through a metal detector, as he goes through the main entrance. Due to his security clearance, he’s allowed to keep his gun that’s holstered inside of his jacket. Dex nods at the bouncer/guard and the other man grunts, waving him through.
Security’s pretty tight, which isn’t unusual for a five-star restaurant that’s so often used for meetings between government officials and other intelligence agencies. It’s also common knowledge that crime bosses and mob leaders, like the Maggia and other crime syndicates, use the restaurant as a meeting place as well. Most likely to rub it in the government’s face, as if to tell them, Here we are, unafraid, because you are unable to do your jobs.
It makes his teeth grind as he sits down at the table, nestled in the far back of the extremely upscale restaurant. He’s got his best suit on, the one he’s often used for undercover ops. The air here is quiet, but tense. It makes Dex want to laugh. That Spider-thing targeted a hospital; not the UN. It’s not going to suddenly want to attack a restaurant.
Though Metro Gen was known for its cover-ups, Dex muses. Perhaps that had something to do with the attack.
He doesn’t get to think about it long though, because Secretary Ross, representative of the Sokovia Accords and man who set up the meeting with Dex, strides into the restaurant, four armed bodyguards with him.
“Agent Poindexter,” Ross greets him as he nears the table, shoes clicking against the marble floor.
Dex immediately gets to his feet, holding out his hand and shaking Ross’ in a firm grip. The Secretary’s hand is cool, but rough. “Secretary Ross. It’s an honor, sir.”
Kind of.
Ross waves him off, chuckling slightly. They take seats at opposite sides of the table, a waitress bringing them two glasses of red wine. Dex brings it to his nose, sniffing it. Smells expensive, like the cologne and the suit Ross is wearing.
He doesn’t take a sip.
Ross drinks his, almost lazily. Like there’s not a vigilante menace threatening New York City. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here.”
“Yes sir,” Dex taps a finger on the inside of his knee. One-two, one-two. “My superiors had no knowledge of the purpose of the meeting.”
One-two. One-two.
“I’m sure you’re aware of the mess we have in Manhattan right now,” Ross traces a finger over the glass. “And of the fact that there are currently no leads in the case.”
“Yes sir.”
One-two. One-two.
Ross sighs, setting down the glass. “Seventeen people murdered, Poindexter. All at the hands of this so-called vigilante.” Ross huffs. “All the more reason for rules and regulations of those……...things.”
“Are you talking about the Accords, sir?” Dex prompts, noticing Ross’ blank stare into nothing.
This is fun. So much fun. Talking with old people when you could be doing your job.
Fun.
“Yes, actually. That’s a very big reason why I asked for you to meet me here.” Ross examines the menu. Dex doesn’t bother, more interested in what Ross has to say. He doesn’t want to eat here, anyway. Too expensive.
One-two. One-two.
“Your file is extremely impressive,” Ross informs him and Dex’s heart leaps. He’s not quite sure in what. Fear? Surprise? Pride? It doesn’t matter because Ross continues. “Alot of people thought so too. In fact, before Shield came crumbling down, they were looking to recruit you.”
Before Dex can even react to that particular piece of knowledge, Ross tosses a folder onto the table, opening it and reading off a list. “Army veteran, two deployments, five years working for the FBI, eighteen successful missions. Hell, your group took down an unknown Hydra cell. Not many people can lay claim to that.”
One-two. One-two.
Dex smiles, just a little tense. “Just doing my job, sir. Anyone else would have done the same.”
“Would they?” Ross stares at him with keen eyes. “I’ve heard things about you, Agent. Things that make you way more than just an above average agent.”
One-two. One-two.
He really doesn’t want to get sent to the raft.
He’s just really good at throwing things.
“You never miss.” Ross takes a sip of his wine. “Or so I’ve been told.”
“I don’t.” Dex’s being blunt. “I never do. But why do you need me, sir?”
Ross examines him, like he was a report sitting on his desk. “Well, I can’t exactly ask Iron Man to come blast a spider to smithereens, can I?”
One-two. One-
“Sir?”
Ross pushes the file over to Dex. It’s full of information, from statistics on Spider-man’s activity to names of people who’ve seen him. “I’ve got a job for you.”
A sense of pure adrenaline and pride rushes through Dex’s veins. Finally. “Sir?”
Ross smirks. “Don’t miss.”
❁
A man in a rundown apartment in Brooklyn is cleaning his guns.
There’s a voicemail playing.
“-I looked behind me and they were just gone, they weren’t there anymore. Sarah and I tried looking for them, but they were gone, just gone.”
The voice crackles over the speaker, most likely in a sob.
The man continues to clean his guns.
“We thought they might be at the house, so we went back and it-it was a fucking disaster. Everything was a mess and the kids-the kids, they weren’t there.”
The voice goes quiet.
Very quiet.
“An hour after they went missing, some warehouse in the Kitchen caught on fire. Burned to the ground.”
The man pauses his cleaning of the guns, hands tightening around the metal.
“Police say it was arson, but-” The voice lets out a broken laugh. “I went there. Sarah stayed home.”
The voice pauses.
“Her jacket-I found it covered in blood in an alley not too far by.”
The man lowers his head, shutting his eyes.
“Police say they can’t go digging through the rubble. My kids-”
The voice breaks.
Then it comes back, this time with steel-borne anger and venomous hatred.
“They found webs at the site. Same ones as the ones in Metro Gen.”
There’s a lull, a deep intake of breath.
“When you find him, when you find it.”
The man glances at a photograph, slightly tattered and worn.
“Make sure that fucker regrets it.”
The voicemail goes dead.
The man stands up and walks to the bed, pulling out underneath a large, heavy, black object.
He runs his fingers over the front of it, tracing the familiar white figure.
The white skull stares back at him as he rises and grabs his guns, empty and judgemental.
“One batch, two batch. Penny and Dime.”