Leave behind your heart and cast away {just another product of today}
August 4th, 2016
5:32 PM
“Let me get this straight,” Dex massages the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying that it wasn’t Spider-Man that attacked the precinct. That it was this other guy with an ‘oily suit and claws, with razor teeth and a giant tongue. That is what you are saying.”
His witness, one of the few people who got a clear view of what happened at the precinct, nodded his head. “Yes. No need to repeat me.”
Dex’s hand clenched around his pen, holding it tight between two fingers. “Mr. Nelson, this is simply you giving me your version of the events that happened. There is no need for-”
“I gave you my version of events,” Nelson shot back, irritation in his eyes. “It’s not my fault that it’s not what you wanted to hear.”
“Mr. Nelson, all evidence points to Spider-Man being the attacker of the hospital, church, and precinct-”
“Evidence? What evidence? Did you people even look at the security footage?”
“All security footage was shorted out as soon as Spider-Man attacked. There is no way to recover it.” Dex organizes his files, papers stacked into a neat pile. “However, we did recover webbing similar to Spider-Man’s own and we have footage of him being in the areas of these locations.”
Mr. Nelson rolls his eyes. “Great. Well, I’ve been here for two hours. Can I go now?”
“One moment.” Nelson huffs, but sits back down. They’re in an FBI building, in an interrogation room with gray walls and an empty desk. Dex flips the pen over his fingers, studying Mr. Nelson. “You work at HCB, correct? Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz?”
“Correct.” Nelson drones, staring off into space.
“And prior to your employment there, you owned your own firm, correct? Nelson & Murdock?”
Nelson tenses. His eyes go sharp. “Correct.”
“One of your last cases was for Frank Castle, A.K.A the-”
“Yeah, I know who he is,” Nelson interrupts, full-on glaring at Dex, “Why do you want to know about him?”
Dex contemplates him. A lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen, with ties to extremely large cases and partly responsible for taking down Fisk.
If only he didn’t have ties to vigilantes.
He leans forward on the desk. “Curtis Hoyle, the only one injured in the attack at the church, has ties to Castle. As does Brett Mahoney, who is currently in the hospital after being attacked.”
Nelson blinks. “Wait. You think Spider-Man is going after Castle? You think a newbie vigilante is coming after the most lethal person in New York?”
Dex slips the pen around his fingers, spinning it. “It’s a theory. But my question to you is whether you’ve had any contact with Castle, as I know you’ve worked with vigilantes such as Luke Cage and Jessica Jones before.”
“He wrecked his own case and attacked my friend at a hospital,” Nelson said flatly. There’s an unamused expression on his face, arms crossed. “I’d honestly rather eat my foot.”
Dex raises his eyebrows.
Nelson gestures at the door. “Can I go?”
Dex nods, and Nelson leaves, muttering under his breath about asshole FBI agents and idiotic governments. Leaving Dex alone with his thoughts and a pen, spinning around his fingers.
Hoyle, when questioned, had said the same thing. That there had been another person who had been attacking. It was in the report that had been given to Dex, along with a description of the person that matched the one that Nelson, along with the other witnesses, gave. Each report and witness said the same exact thing; it was someone else.
Of course it was.
Dex flips the pen in his fingers, over and over again. Thinking about vigilantes and hospitals and vendettas.
If his theory was correct, why would Spider-Man have a vendetta against Castle? A simple answer would be that Spider-Man was one of the ones affected by the Punisher’s rampage, but Dex suspected it was something deeper than that. That if Spider-Man was truly after Castle, it would be for something more.
But what?
Deep in the back of his mind, back where common sense overruled duty, he knew that Spider-Man wasn’t the one committing these murders. It just didn’t make sense for him to begin to do so.
It was that thing, that creature that Nelson and Hoyle had seen.
But why would that be after Castle?
And why was Spider-Man being framed for it?
Tapping that pen, that blue plastic pen, Dex leaned against the chair, slouching. Gaze trained on the wall across from him, but mind somewhere else, he drifted through possible theories, anything that might give him a hint of what was going on.
And for all his pondering, all of his rhythmic tapping, Dex kept coming back to the fact that if he had figured it out, that Spider-Man was most likely innocent, with only a few reports and few eyewitness accounts, despite being specifically placed for searching for Spider-Man, then someone else higher up knows as well.
It’s such a coincidence that his phone rings at that moment.
Pausing the tapping of the pen, Dex pulls out his phone, sliding his finger across the screen and bringing it close to his ear. “Hello?”
“Agent Poindexter, I hope everything is going well.”
Secretary Ross.
Dex straightens up in his chair. “Yes, sir. I believe I’ve found a possible motive for the murderer, and from that I think I know where his next target will be.”
“Good work, Agent,” The voice on the other end chuckles, “So in that case, Spider-Man will be caught in no time?”
Dex swallows. “With all due respect, Secretary Ross, I don’t think Spider-Man is the one responsible for these murders.”
Well, there goes his job.
He had a good run.
Ross doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Oh?”
“Evidence and eyewitness testimony point to another individual being the murderer of the hospital, church, and the precinct,” Dex explains, pen ready to snap between his fingers, “Unfortunately, due to the footage being erased, it’s unable to prove that Spider-Man is completely innocent, but witnesses accounts match up.”
Dex can hear a clock ticking, just outside the room. It ticks in time with his heartbeat.
Ross takes a deep breath, raspy through the phone. “Poindexter, I want to trust you.”
Oh, this should be good.
“With what, sir?”
“There are things beyond our control,” Ross tells him through the phone, “We all nearly died only a year ago because the people who were supposedly in charge of protecting us decided to play god. And yet, even when we ask them to own up to their mistakes, to make penance for what they’ve done, they refuse. They spit on us, because we’re not gifted with abilities no one should have, because we are mice who are forced to rely on lions.”
Ross’ voice is twisted with an ages-old venom that reminds Dex of exactly what this man had been previously doing.
“These so-called superheroes, these vigilantes, are perfect examples of them. They take the law into their own hands, they think that just because their genetics are different, that makes them a god. We are supposed to trust them, to believe they are working in our own self-interests, when in reality, we are placing our lives in the hands of people who have powers the rest of the world doesn’t.”
“And that makes them dangerous.”
The pen could be easily snapped in half.
“It doesn’t matter if Spider-Man committed the murders or not; he’s unpredictable, he’s dangerous. If we go out and leave him alone, who’s to say he’ll remain content to stick to saving people? How can we trust him? How can we, in good conscience, allow someone to play savior with powers that shouldn’t belong to them?”
“And what do you want me to do, sir?” Dex stares at the wall, phone still pressed to his ear. The pen, the pen with a blue plastic body and a cap meticulously placed on the top, is balanced between his fingers. Poised. Ready to strike.
Dex swears he can hear Ross smile through the phone. “I want you to do your job, Agent. To do what I assigned you to do.”
Dex thinks.
He thinks about the Battle of New York, when aliens dropped from the sky. He thinks about the shiny tower in Midtown, the abandoned HQ for the people that were protectors. He thinks of Sokovia, the city that flew above the clouds and could have been prevented if someone had simply said no. He thinks of Daredevil, the man who took down Fisk and patrolled Manhattan like it was his own land. He thinks of the Accords, laws and regulations that split a team apart, a group of people refusing to take responsibility.
The pen flies through the air, embedding itself in the wall, right between two panels of a wall.
“I’ll get a report to you as soon as possible, sir.”