Conversations
Chapter Three
Conversations
Herman Schultz looked up at the dark, cold, New York sky as he exited the subway. Fisk’s lawyers worked fast. Given how many fingers the big man had in various pies (probably more than he had on each hand), it hadn’t been much of a shocker when Schultz been released. He’d consider it an early Christmas present considering the time of year.
His gear, however, was in an evidence locker somewhere in the building behind him; he doubted that they’d let him have it back.There was a silver lining to that though, and an excellent opportunity: In a safe-room, somewhere in downtown New York, was his next suit. A prototype. For a man in Schultz’s position and line of work, loss of his equipment was an ongoing expense. Besides, it’s always paid to make improvements.
He was brought back to the present by his growling stomach.
He hadn’t been in custody long enough for the cops to get around to feeding him, and smells of greasy foods wafted from a nearby diner. Rather than wait until he got back to his sleazy rental apartment across town, he decided to eat now.
He shivered as he stepped off the pavement, and committed his first crime, jaywalking across the busy road towards the neon signage. He glanced skyward out of ingrained habit, briefly searching for any sign of the city’s high altitude residents in the light pollution above.
He stepped onto the opposite sidewalk, ignoring the blasting of horns from the yellow cab that he’d crossed in front of, and surveilled the scene.
Del’s Diner, the signage was bright red with silver trimmings, a timeless look and a typical Brooklyn sight, and ruined by the mass of christmas decorations adorning the outlet. Herman stepped through the door, into the bright and warm interior of the red and black themed diner, No Del in sight as he looked at the serving counter.
“What’ll it be honey?” Herman glanced over at the pretty brunette waitress in an Elf hat talking to him. She was leaning on the counter, pen and notepad in hand, her grey-blue eyes studying him casually. Her name badge identified her as Peggy .
He slid onto one of the red leather stools at the counter, looking a moment to read the menu before answering, “Give me the turkey special.”
She asked, “Do you want stuffing with that?”
Shultz shrugged and the waitress dotted something down on her pad, then asked: “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
Peggy had had a long day and she wasn’t due off till midnight. On top of that, there was something weird about the guy hunched over the counter. She’d seen it before, working this close to the local Police Precinct.
This guy had the look of someone who had just been processed but it was more than that. It took a moment to register but when it did, she took a breath. As she poured coffee she noticed the customer staring right at her.
Herman smiled sourly at the waitress‘ reaction before reaching in and producing fifteen bucks asking, “Is this gonna cover the check and tip, sweetheart?”
Peggy blinked. It covered the check and there was enough left for a decent tip. “Yeah, uh, sure.”
Herman Schultz smiled. “Good. Now tell me...”
"Tell you what, hun?”
“When the hell did it become Christmas?”
* * *
Aisha was flicking stones at the wall. She was, as she had once heard a tourist in Brockton Bay say, bored shitless . It had been the first time she’d heard the English accent in real life, and probably the last too- well, besides on TV and suchlike .
She found little mirth knowing how unlikely it was anyone on Earth Bet would ever hear such an accent again. With no thanks to Scion , who had left a Great Britain sized sea where the United Kingdom had once been.
She briefly wondered if they’d actually call it the Great British Memorial Sea , considering its maritime history.
She was still flitting through her thoughts when a stone fell at her feet, startling her. Who the fuck is throwing- oh right. My god damned ADHD can go fuck itself .
She stared at the small, uniquely shaped stone for several eternal seconds, wondering if it’d broken her reverie out of spite for her throwing it at the wall. Then she considered how ridiculous that sounded. Then again, she was an Undersider.
Her leader, the very girl who had seized control of their home city, through bug control powers, was covered by a blanket and laying in as comfortable a position as her friend could manage. Aisha had tried to make it more comfortable for Taylor, but there was only so much she could do without leaving.
I’ve donewhat I can for ya, but I only have two arms to work with. Aisha looked over at Taylor, reaching down and ruffling her hair; still, that’s one more than you’ve got, girl.
Taylor groaned. The pain had woken her, seeping through once again. She looked at her bound and splinted arm, or more accurately what was left of it. It still felt like it was there, she could still feel her fingers moving, like it was a ghost. A wave of sadness swept over her; I’m... alone.
You’ll never be alone. The new voice seemed far off, like talking through bad reception her You’ve got me. Her other voice seemed somehow familiar.
“No more Keh-pyr,” Taylor heard the words come from her own mouth, almost with a sense of disbelief.
No more Khepri? Good, but there’s only one way to find out for sure, it’s real fucking risky. Gotta go for it sooner or later though. I can’t keep this shit up forever.
What? Taylor paused in her thoughts, I never said that… There was something in the way the words were parsed that made Taylor frown as realisation dawned. “Imp?”
“You know it, girl. I’ve been here the whole time.” Her teammate’s face was etched with sweat and worry, and Taylor could see that Aisha was already straining, but still here, ready to try and break free of her if necessary.
“Good… Morning... Angel ?” Taylor’s voice was steadier this time and she had a smile on her face, and Aisha smiled back warmly. Imp had taken the risk after all, probably based on Taylor seeming to be in control of herself.
“I dunno about that. I’m not exactly an…” Aisha paused, wishing she had a mirror for a moment; “an angel . If anything, I’m more likely to be one of the other guys.”
Taylor’s smile remained, and that was all that was important. “Welp, boss; can’t say any of us back home cared too much for your replacement. But looks like you’re mostly back.”
Taylor held up her arm, giving Aisha a pained look. “ Aisa. Tattle said issues I had.” Taylor growled, her words were still not obeying her.
Aisha nodded, diplomatically ignoring the mangling of her name. She’d avenge herself at a later date. “Yeah, I kinda wasn’t going to comment… especially since you once had clones… and less said of them the better.” She turned her head upward, looking innocently at the dark, concrete ceiling.
Taylor blinked as she hazily recalled the fight against Echidna’s clones; one of them in particular. “She not wear mask.” The memory came to Taylor of her double, standing scant metres away, completely unclothed.
Taylor shook her head. “I’m memory still bad. Making me naked clone?.”
There was a moment of quiet, followed by the sound of Aisha Laborn clearing her throat. “Thing is Skits’, your memory ain’t playin’ tricks on you. One of those fucking clones was in the buff.”
The memory of the copy of her and the less than prominent bust made Taylor flush, out of both irritation and embarrassment. The words tangled up in her throat again as she wondered if she was going backwards again. She hadn’t grown when she’d grown.
She took a deep breath, calming herself as much as she could before speaking. She practically growled as she forced the words out. “How old am I’m?”
I’m, huh? Aisha chewed her lip, giving Taylor a mischievous smile as she replied “Pretty sure you’re still older than me, girl. Had to think a minute there, things have been a real fucking mess recently.”
“I’m was there . Now tell her, how old… you?”
“I’m Sixteen.” Aisha shrugged helplessly, a motion that only served to accentuate the physical difference between herself and Taylor. “I know, it doesn’t look like it.”
Taylor noticed. “My Anatomy. Wrong .”
“My bro didn’t think so.” Aisha’s smile turned into a wide grin telling Taylor exactly what that comment meant.
Taylor blinked, then her cheeks flushed, and she avoided Aisha’s gaze. Her lack of upper body development hadn’t mattered on that day; not to her, nor to Brian. Her blush faded slowly, replaced by a small smile.
There followed a few minutes where the pair didn’t speak, as Aisha began packing together their meagre possessions, and concentrating on making sure Taylor knew she was there. It didn’t take long.
She’d stashed the broken Dragonfly suit behind the ventilation grating above them, with Taylor’s regretful approval. Aisha was fairly certain she could return for it before it would be discovered. After all, no one had discovered them down here so far.
Taylor broke the silence, “Aisha, you said us need find elsewhere?”
“Fo’ sho’, ‘cos this definitely ain’t the best fucking place for your recovery, even if we are in a cleanish utility room.”
Taylor glanced around the room they were in with a new clarity. “Oh… really...”
“We need meds and food. I’m not fucking starving to death in a sewer.” Aisha shrugged, “But hey, it coulda been worse…”
Taylor blinked, “Worse? How?”
“We’re the Undersiders , it can always get worse!”
“That , I’m remember now.”
* * *
Spider-Man sat in the medical bay observation area, waiting for news on Madame Webb’s condition. Her most recent (last?) words came back to him. He was unsure how much time he’d spent in that… whatever it was, but it had left him with a strong sense of foreboding.
Concluding that if there were any developments, one of the others would inform him, Peter Parker started sifting through what little he knew.
Okay, I’m stood down. So, what do I know? Not a heck of a lot. I know that ‘Skitter’ made my head feel like it was in a vice. I also know she isn’t from around here, and going by that shared vision, I’m pretty damned certain she’s not even from this world. He turned the idea over in his head a few times.
What other evidence do I have? Well, there was the shimmering portal that formed shortly before she appeared. That was crazy enough, but, remember Sherlock Holme’s motto about impossibility. Also, I need to remember never to tell Stark that he looks like Holmes. That man already has a planet sized ego. And since there’s a planet out there called Ego… whoa, damn it webhead, get back on track!
Right... so, if this ‘Skitter’ fought beings like that Kaiju on a regular basis, then what was deadlier, that she ended up recruiting them? Secondly, I’ll never be able to watch Pacific Rim again.
He was unsure of how long he had been there thinking things through, when he was roused from his thoughts by one of Stark’s automated medical units. The android hovered there, awaiting his response.
Spider-Man looked at the highly advanced floating medical unit, wondering if, knowing Stark, these units had some kind of inbuilt superhuman neutralisation abilities. Pushing the thought away, he asked the humanoid figure, “What’s the prognosis?”
“We have made her comfortable. Regrettably we are unable to repair the cerebral damage. We recommend that you prepare yourself... our apologies.”
Huh, it looks like Stark dealt with the function first, and everything else second. Peter sagged a little. As frustrated and angry as he was though, he couldn’t actually blame Stark. His own inner scientist understood the necessity of making something work right first.
“Hey Pete.”
Peter stood up, turning to face the new arrival. It took him a moment to respond to his civilian name, but then he spotted his mask on the seat next to him. Huh, I don’t even remember taking it off.
Standing there, in front of him, clad in his newest outfit, a purple and black reinforced uniform, with a variation of his original mask hanging off his utility belt, stood Clint Barton, the Avenger better known as Hawkeye.
Peter raised one hand in weary greeting. In a subdued tone he said, “Hey Clint.”
“We heard. And by we, I mean Natasha and me. We were on our way to refuel and re-arm, so we’ll be around for a while. In the meantime, let us know if there’s anything we can do.”
“Thanks, but I think we’ve exhausted the options.”
“Not a good Christmas then.” Clint winced. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to say something to help. His hands dropped to his sides as he failed to find any more words.
Peter shook his head. “Thanks Clint, This is isn’t on you. Thing is, I always found her irritating. All the cryptic messages, all the mystical stuff. That was always a problem. Whether it was magic spider totems, or a jealous insane norse god, it was always trouble.”
Clint nodded, “I can relate. Especially to the bit about Norse gods. And their brothers.” Clint breathed in, “Want a coffee?”
Luke Cage’s head popped around the corner, his deep voice was smooth. “Sweet Christmas, I never knew you felt that way about me, Clint.”
“Luke,” Spider-Man looked over tiredly, “not funny man.”
“I’m sorry little brother,” Luke shook his head a little, “was just trying to lighten the mood. I’ll get those coffees.”
* * *
Fisk Incorporated was in the top twenty list of the tallest buildings in New York, It was definitely the tallest that overlooked Hell’s Kitchen and the Garment District. The powerful man had purchased the building after the Hulk returned from space. He’d commissioned extensive renovations as a symbolic gesture, considering that the man he most wanted to irritate with it was blind.
It was impressive in its own way how his foe had overcome his limitations, but as many historical figures could attest, respecting someone didn’t stop you from wanting them dead.
Even now, he sat at the head of a large oval table having called a meeting of his top men, along with ambassadors from various business organisations across the city (with one or two minor exceptions). Among the individuals gathered were Hammerhead, Cornell Cottonmouth, Tombstone, and weapons mogul Justin Hammer. It was tense; but his current enforcers, the Enforcers , were placed behind each representative and all knew why: Fisk was in control.
That was his belief, but it was about to be challenged, and by one of the few men that could.
*
The elevator arrived, heralded by a chime. Cyndi Mason frowned, knowing that there were no further scheduled arrivals. Her hand moved towards the pistol under the desk. Then the elevator door opened and she froze as the man entering her workspace simply locked eyes with her. She inched her hand back to her desk, swallowing as she did so, her heart thumping as the man walked straight up to her.
Cyndi’s orders were to deal terminally with anyone who entered at this time, but there were some well known exceptions and the dark haired former marine studying her was known to be the exception She placed both hands on her desk. fingers spread evenly as she looked down. It was patently obvious that the man had already dealt with the other security measures.
The man nodded. “Good girl. Now call him. He’ll know why I’m here.” The voice brooked no contradiction and she knew that to argue was tantamount to suicide. She made the call. The smoothly dangerous tones of her boss, Wilson Fisk, carried implicit threat as he answered. “Explain this interruption quickly, Cyndi.”
Comporting herself, she told her boss. “Sir, he is here...”
There was a brief pause on the other end, and Cyndi knew that her employer was now going to be extremely careful. She kept her eyes down as the dark haired man moved past her. He didn’t seem to be paying her any more attention, but primal instincts kept her ramrod still: Experience told her that one wrong move and her brains would decorate the wall behind her.
The man made his way into the conference room, his gaze sweeping over the attendees all in under a second, decades of experience telling the newcomer who present was prone to doing something fatally stupid. The Enforcers simply folded their arms, just nodding slowly.
One of Hammerhead’s goons started reaching for their gun, only to freeze as those pitiless dark eyes fell on them. “Hail Hydra?” He asked hesitantly joking, moving the hand quickly away from the it, raising both hands and smiling in hopefully.
The muscular, black t-shirted man’s hand rested on the pistol at his own hip. He spoke quietly but dangerously, his eye’s locked on Hammerhead’s man. “ Here today, you get a warning. You will never get a second one.” With that, he turned his attention to the Kingpin. “Mister Fisk.”
Wilson Fisk replied calmly, “Mister Castle.”
“Five million, untraceable.” The Punisher’s voice was almost deadpan, “Or we can continue our games.”
Wilson Fisk, the most connected and successful crime boss in New York, rose and went to his safe. Shortly after that, The Punisher left with two secure armoured cases of high denomination bills, to continue his crusade.
*
No one in the meeting room had moved, or even spoke until Cyndi’s voice sounded through the intercom. “He’s gone, sir.”
Fisk watched through the window as his less than welcome visitor left. Still, this way remained more profitable than their previous open conflict. He fancied he could see Castle’s progress in the way that the crowds outside his tower swelled and parted. People would see the skull on the vest of the infamous sociopath, then look at his face and do one of two things- ah there were the muzzle flashes now.
He turned back to his visitors and sat, smiling. “I think you all understand that we had no interruptions. I am also going to assume that you all know that should anyone malign my reputation, it will go badly for them.”
Fancy Dan smiled too. “Sorry for speaking kinda outta turn Mister Fisk but if that happened people might start getting the idea we couldn’t enforce things either. We’d have to prove ourselves to you again. Gratis of course.”
Fisk nodded slowly. “I see we understand one another. But now to the matter at hand gentlemen.” He threw down an afternoon copy of ‘The Daily Bugle’. “I want this girl found. You understand me.” It was not a question.
Cottonmouth flashed a suave smile, standing and straightening his purple suit. “If this ho’s in Harlem, my guys’ll find her.” He stood, gave Fisk a florid bow and sauntered out.
No one else dared speak as the rest of the attendees filed last. The last to leave were the Enforcers.
Once the door had closed, Fisk stood, turning to gaze out of his window for the second time, taking in the glowing lights of the buildings, of the city he practically owned. He smiled, hands resting on the gold pommel of his cane. This intriguing newcomer was out there somewhere, injured and alone. Either her hunger or her injuries would allow him to track her down. “If she can indeed control Spider-Man, she will make a valuable asset; and if she can not be controlled, then she will have to be dealt with .”