Spiderman 3 (30 page)

He pulled clothes on over the black costume, button-ing long-sleeved shirt over it.

He looked in the mirror to make sure that no part of the costume was visible and liked what he saw.

Peter Parker was someone who couldn't be hurt, couldn't be messed with, couldn't be stepped on as if his feelings meant nothing.

He headed out into the street, walking with his arms swaying loosely, his shoulders straighter. He'd never realized before how tentatively he moved through the world when he wasn't webswinging.

Picturing John Travolta in
Saturday Night Fever
, he started to strut.

Men sidestepped to get out of his way without even realizing they were doing
it
… and women were giving him a second look as he passed by. He shot off smiles to them, even an occasional humorous two-fingered salute.

Things were feeling pretty damned good for the first time in a while. Here he had thought that he needed Mary Jane for the world to be in focus for him—instead Mary Jane's presence had blurred things, like an additional lens on a telescope. She shifted the attention away from what was really important: Peter Parker, the man, the myth, the legend.

As he crossed Broadway, he saw a group of people chatting at a newsstand. Normally he would have ignored it. But then "Spider-Man" was mentioned, leaping out at him and catching his attention. Praising him, no doubt. Perhaps word had gotten out about how he had disposed of Sandman, an action that he had previously felt conflicted about but now wasn't bothering him in the least.

He sidled toward them and was stunned to hear anything but praise. Comments flew fast and furious, and none of them were flattering.

"I think it's awful."

"He's supposed to be a role model."

"Spider-Man was my son's hero before today, but now… "

"Edna always said he was a schlemiel, didn't ya, a?"

"Schlemiel."

Overcome with curiosity and not a little concern, Peer drew close to the newsstand to see what the commotion was all about.

He stared at the front page of the
Daily Bugle
, at first thinking it had to be some sort of joke. Then he grabbed it up, and his hands tightened on it in cold fury.

Spider-man, thief! the headline blared in what looked like seventy-two point type. Below it a subheading read: spidey shows his true colors. Splashed across the front page was a photograph so convincing, Peter's first thought was
Did I do that? I don't remember doing that
.

There he was in the black costume, leaping away from the bank with bags of money in either hand.

Peter started to wander away, and the news vendor shouted, "Hey! Where do you think you're going with that? You have to pay for it. Who do you think you are, stealing stuff: Spider-Man?"

The snide comment drew laughter from the others standing around, and Peter's first thought was that if they all had one neck, he'd break it. Then he considered bringing the whole newsstand down around the vendor's ears.

Forget it—that would only exacerbate the problem. He fished out a quarter from his pocket and flipped it to the vendor. Then he went back to the paper.

He turned to the story, which went into detail about how Spider-Man had been caught in the act by the aggressive and fearless reportage of the
Daily Bugle
. Sources in the police department asserted that, upon being shown the irrefutable evidence, police captain George Stacy had declared to his men, "We just gave this guy the key to the city, and now he's made a fool out of all of us. Go find him!"

Fearless reportage? What kind of
—?

Quickly he flipped back to the cover photo, and there it was, big as life: a photo credit to Eddie Brock.

"I should have known," Peter snarled. He stared at the picture long and hard. It still had that disconcerting feel of familiarity to it, as if he had really committed the crime. He started to second-guess himself, wondering if the suit had somehow compelled him to steal the money and—

Then the anger left Peter as it struck him exactly why the picture looked familiar. "Waaaaüit a minute," he said, staring at it longer, and then he started to laugh. It drew strange looks from the people nearby, but he didn't care. He was flooded with relief upon discovering the truth.

And now that he knew it, he was going to take it and shove it down J. Jonah Jameson's throat and up Eddie Brock's backside, all at the same time.

THE RISE AND FALL OF EDWARD BROCK JR.

Eddie Brock's brand-new cubicle in the
Daily Bugle
city room wasn't much to write home about. It was, however, a start, and he had every confidence that the corner office he coveted would be his sooner or later… probably sooner.

The sparsely decorated cubicle held only the three photos that he'd taken of Gwen at the key-to-the-city ceremony. Until recently, his memories of that event were far too painful, considering the shameless display of lip-smacking that Spider-Man had foisted upon the public. That was no longer a concern.
Who had the last laugh, Bug Man? Not you, that's for damned sure
.

A bottle of champagne was on his desk, courtesy of J. Jonah Jameson… a remarkably cheap brand, but what else would one expect? Well-wishers and coworkers had gathered in Eddie's cubicle for an impromptu party, and one of them was busily pouring the champagne into plastic cups. They were all toasting him and his continued success at the
Bugle
. Eddie had no delusions that any of them especially liked him. But they could sense an up-and-comer when they saw one, so nobody wanted to be on his bad side. Instead they preferred to bask in reflected glory or, even better, attach themselves to his forward career movement like remora to a shark.

"Right place, right time," he said to an attractive young woman who had been congratulating him on his success. Displaying a modesty he didn't really feel, he added, "I was just lucky."

The champagne had run out, and as typically happened in such instances, the party was starting to break up. The young woman touched his hand and said in a low voice, "This is so wonderful for you."

Brock grinned, and seeing Betty Brant walking past—disdaining to have joined the party, of course—he called to her, "Tell JJ to clear some more wall space!" Betty rolled her eyes and kept going.

Jameson had dropped off a little "Welcome to the
Bugle"
gift earlier: a framed front page of that day's paper. Brock looked around the cubicle, trying to figure out where he could hang it. As he did so, he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see who the latest well-wisher was.

He was both surprised and not surprised to see Peter Parker standing there, leaning against the entrance, his arms folded. "Good morning," Brock said chipperly. "Beautiful day." He tilted his head as if trying to remember some obscure fact. "What was it you said? I'll never get that picture?" With a satisfied chortle he tapped the framed front page. "There's your hero."

Brock stood, trying to figure out what wall area would properly display the picture as Peter shook his head, his voice laced with disappointment. "Huh. I never thought he'd really do that."

"See, right there, you've made a judgment call," Brock replied. "You've got to see it like it is." "Funny you should say that, 'cause I was looking at an old photo of mine, and it sure did look similar." Brock froze. He tried to laugh it off and didn't succeed. In a slightly strangled voice he said, "Okay, well… gotta get back to work."

"You're trash, Brock."

Parker's voice was deep, challenging. It almost cried out for Brock to take a swing at him. There was none of the quavering protest or traces of uncertainty to which Brock had become accustomed. "
Excuse
me?"

Peter casually tossed a large yellow envelope onto Brock's desk. Eddie's eyes went wide when he saw the address printed on the envelope's upper corner: Empire State University Department of Photography.

"Your picture's a fake," Peter said with quiet conviction. Brock felt as if he were shrinking while Peter was growing in stature. "You grafted two images together. Digital shots you took at the scene of the crime, and a picture from two years ago that I took, where Spider-Man was picking up bags of money that he'd just gotten back from a bank robber. Except in my picture you could see he was handing them back to the bank president, who was smiling. You lifted out the Spider-Man image, Photoshopped the black costume, and presto: instant incrimination."

Brock had walked into this knowing that Parker might figure it out. He'd gambled that Peter might not remember; it was one of Parker's oldest photos and hadn't even been used. It was just sitting around in the
Bugle's
morgue with hundreds of other old pictures. Still, it wasn't as
if
Brock were unprepared. He'd run through what he might say a number of times, and now he affected the demeanor of an old pal and confidant. "Look, we could all use a little extra spending money every once in a while," he said in a conspiratorial tone. "I could help you out there." When Peter didn't immediately reply, Brock urged him, "You're such a Boy Scout. Give a guy a break."

Eddie Brock then got the shock of his life.

The normally mild-mannered Peter Parker grabbed Eddie by his necktie and shoved him hard against the wall. Brock slammed up against it with such force that it dislodged a framed photo of Gwen and sent it clattering to the floor, shattering the glass.

Parker's face was almost unrecognizable, distorted in cold fury as he seethed, "You want forgiveness? Get religion."

"What's going on?"

Betty Brant had heard the ruckus and had walked over to see what was happening. She looked in astonishment at Peter, who had never displayed this sort of violent behavior before. "Peter, are you guys okay?"

Feeling his world slipping away from him, Eddie said with a forced chuckle, "We're fine. Just horsing around." He tried to push Peter away but couldn't budge him. Parker may have looked slight, but he had muscles of iron. "Please, please, I'm begging you," Eddie said in a desperate whisper. "If this gets out, there's not a paper in town that'll hire me. I'll lose everything." "You should've thought of that earlier." Drawn over by Betty's concerned inquiry, Robbie Robertson was now standing directly behind her. If Betty was suprised at Peter's display of aggression, Robbie was positively incredulous. "What are you
doing
, Peter?" Peter stepped back, releasing his hold on Eddie. Brock sagged, gasping, and Parker picked up the envelope that he'd tossed onto Brock's desk. Turning away from Brock, he walked past Robertson, slowing only to shove the envelope at him with such force that Robbie was actually staggered half a step. Parker didn't even bother facing Robertson, but called back to him as he walked away, "Show this to your editor. Tell him to check out his sources."

Peter disappeared down the hallway. Robbie and Betty watched him go and then, in unison, shifted their gaze back to Eddie. Robertson held up the envelope and said quietly, "You want to tell me what this is about, Eddie?"

"Hey, how should I know?" said Brock, trying to bluff it through. He shrugged. "Dude's crazy." "Is he."