[FFML] [FIC][GSC/SPIDER-MAN] Tanlged Webs Prologue

Gunsmith Cats copyright Kenichi Sonoda and Dark Horse
Spider-Man copyright Marvel Comics, Stan Lee, and Steve Ditko
Neither used with permission

Gunsmith Cats
Spider-Man
Tangled Webs

Prologue:
April 5
12:00 AM
Manhattan

Midnight on the East River. The moon shone down on the rippling surface of the polluted waterway, refracted on the small waves which were driven by the slight breeze. The harbor was quiet, Peter Parker saw. The air carried the salty scent of the river over the dormant hulks of freighters and crane booms to mingle with the stench of diesel fuel and complex hydrocarbons. The overall smell was far from pleasant, but he was used to worse.
Any second now, Peter thought as he crouched lower on the roof of Warehouse 80. Four people were already inside, his spider sense pointed out. Headlights pierced the night in the distance with the low roar of an engine. That had to be their driver, the girl who called herself the Speed Angel.
Ol' Riff-Raff won't be too happy to see me, Peter thought as the car drew closer. Last time I busted her, I wrecked her car. Well, if she hasn't learned about running drugs by now, she never will. Especially when it comes to running that crap to Manhattan.
The van pulled up to the large roll-up door in the front of the warehouse. Peter felt the metal beneath him tremble slightly as the the door opened and light poured across the hood of the off-white Ford Econoline. He almost wondered why a speed-freak like Riff would drive an old clunker like that when she eased it into the warehouse.
"Guess it's time to get started. Good thing my camera's already in place."

Deiter Weber stood between his bodyguards - two of which would inspect the merchandise - as the 1984 Econoline came to a stop a mere few feet in front of them. The cargo was in his hands a day ahead of schedule - a fact that would please the Maggia family to no end - and that would earn the driver a ten grand bonus as promised.
"Excellent, Frau Speed Angel!" Deiter exclaimed, showing his German heritage as the small woman emerged from the van. She was definitely a looker. "Your bonus is here with your payment!"
"Good! I took a lot of risks getting this to you so fast."
"Ture enough, Mein Frau."
"Drop the German, Deiter," Riff-Raff snarled as she stepped toward him. "Want to have your boys inspect the shipment now?"
"Of course, madam," he replied as two men went to the back of the ticking hunk of Detroit steel. "Tell me, my dear, how long will you be in New York?"
"Long enough to get my money, and I'm gone."
"Truly? Such a pity. I have reservations in an excellent French restaurant. I was hoping you would care to join me..."
"No, thanks. I don't go out with clients. It's sort of a rule."
"Ah. I see." Too bad, Deiter thought as he took in her small frame. He wondered if the Speed Angel would be a good lay. Probably. Girls in her line of work knew how to use their womanly charms.
"It's all here!" one of the men said. "As promised!"
"Excellent. Harold, the money."
The man on his right stepped toward Riff-Raff with two black attache cases in his hands. The girl eyed him warily as he set the two cases down at her feet and backed up to a respectful distance, both hands in the open.
"The case on your right," Deiter said, "contains the one hundred thousand for the delivery. The one on your left has your bonus for being early."
"Good," she replied. "Who needs FedEX when you've got the Speed Angel?"
"HAH! Very true, my lady. Once my men are done unloading the shipment, you may leave."
"Fair enough."
"It is fortunate, is it not, that the Kerasine pipeline from Chicago re-opened so soon?" Deiter asked. "The reserves we had stocked up were about to go dry, and a price hike seemed inevitable. This will keep the market alive. Tell me, what of the Kingpin? Or the Owl?"
"Don't ask me," Riff-Raff snapped. She was so full of fire! Deiter wished more fervently to take her to his bed. "I just drive. The politics are up to you."
"True. So, you will not reconsider my offer for dinner?"
"I don't think dinner's what you've got in mind."
"Ah, the lady knows men well." I wanted to eat more than French cuisine tonight, he had the good manners not to say. "But, our Kerasine has arrived. What can go wrong?"
"Mister, you don't know how I was hoping you'd say that!"

Riff-Raff cringed at the shout before the anger set in. She'd know that voice anywhere! She saw him descend from the shadows, and reached for the gun she had carried for just this instance. Spider-Man would pay for trashing her Shelby Cobra!

"SPIDER-MAN!" Peter heard the German shout as he neared the floor. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
"That's a trick question, right?" he snapped as his spider sense pointed out a gun being aimed at him. "Like 'Who's buried in Grant's Tomb'? And that's far enough, Riff-Raff!" The middle two fingers on his right hand activated the web shooter, cocooning her hand and gun in a thick coating of glue, "I wrecked you once already!"
"Don't think I forgot that, web-head!"
"At least you had good insurance!" Uh-oh! he thought. Guns behind me! Peter leapt up in time to avoid a hail of 9 mm slugs that had been aimed at his back. "Hey! That's just unfair!" Almost there! The momentum carried him over their heads and downward, just as he had planned. "But who said life was fair?" He landed feet first on the head of one man, and a quick right took care of the other.
"Damn you, Spider-Man!" the German mobster yelled. "You will not stop this shipment!"
"Hate to tell ya, slick, but I already have! Unless you have Galactus hidden around here, you're in trouble!"
"Hold, freak!" Deiter shouted, pulling out a .45 and aiming it at Riff-Raff's head. "Move, and I kill her!"
"Goddamnit, Weber!" Riff-Raff shouted. "Get that away from me!"
"Threatening your driver because she's a girl?" Peter asked, disgusted. "That's foul, chief. And it won't save you!"
"One move, Spider-Man, and this girl dies!" Weber screamed as his remaining two bodyguard went behind her. One grabbed her around the chest, lifing her easily while the other trained a sub machine gun on Peter.
Okay, Spidey, how do you play this? he asked himself. Those guys were definitely gonna kill Riff-Raff, and the girl seemed rather angry about it judging from the obscenities spewing from her mouth.
"YOU COCKSUCKER!" she screamed. "I SIGNED ON TO DRIVE, NOT TO BE A HOSTAGE!"
"Shut up! James!" On his orders, the one not holding her removed his tie. He quickly knotted in the middle and tied it around Riff-Raff's mouth. "Here's a deal for you, wall-crawler," Deiter snarled. "In those cases by her feet is a total of one hundred and ten thousand dollars! I will let you have it if you leave now!"
"And the girl?" Peter asked. She was a criminal, but also a hostage. Her safety came first.
"You will get her back," Dieter said as he moved closer to the prone woman. "Relatively untouched." His free hand slapped into Riff-Raff's crotch, and Peter Parker knew what would come next.
He was proven right when her eyes went wide with shock and then narrowed with rage. The small girl twisted in the grip of her larger captor, her knee raised, and a brutal kick was delivered straight into Deiter Weber's own crotch. The German crumpled to the concrete floor in a whimpering heap as Riff-Raff's webbed gun hand whirled about to conk out the guard holding a pistol to her head.
The final guard, on the other hand, had enough presence of mind to jump back and take aim.
"Riff! DUCK!" Peter fired a web-shooter as she did so. The web formed into a ball of impact webbing - a trick he had learned from the late Ben Reilley - which slammed into the gangster's head with severe force. The nameless thug flew backward into a stack of crates, out for the count. On reflex, Peter webbed up Deiter Weber where he lay sobbing in a decidedly soprano tone.
"Hold it, Riff!" Peter shouted as he webbed the still-gagged driver. The cops would be there soon, they knew how good Spider-Man's tips were despite what the Daily Bugle said about him.
"MMM! MMMPH! MMM-MMM!"
"Well said," Peter quipped as he cocooned her with webbing. Time to get clear and...
Peter froze when his spider sense began to tingle like mad, pointing at the van. He didn't know why a shipment of hardcore drugs would set the sense off, it hadn't before when Kerasine had first appeared in Lower Manhattan, so why now? Unless it wasn't Kerasine?
The rear doors of the Ford van were already open. Nestled within the cargo area were several large crates, each bearing several fragile warnings and This End Up markings, some punctured with round holes. The spider sense locked onto the four boxes, his curiosity piqued, when a low moan escaped from the one at his feet.
"What in the world?" Peter grasped the edges of the crate, his enhanced muscles easily ripping the lid free and the sight within made his stomach leap into his neck.
She was barely conscious, eyes glazed and dull, uncomprehending. Her clothes, or lack thereof, consisted of things Peter would have associated with an underground fetish club, used as restraints. He staggered backward from shock and revulsion, almost unable to believe what he had just seen. He had heard some rumors here and there, but to actually see it with his own eyes... It was horrifying.
The horror, however, soon began to melt into fury. Anyone savage enough to do something like this, to abduct and transport people like cattle, to sell them into a slave's life... They would be made to pay. This would be stopped!

Riff-Raff struggled against the webs that held her prone and helpless, knowing that it would do no good but unwilling to just give up. Whatever Spider-Man's webs were made from, the stuff just wouldn't give!
"Hey, Riff," said a voice laden with venom and anger.
She looked up at him, and froze. Spider-Man stood over her, his every muscle tensed and quivering with barely restrained rage. The white, expressionless eyes of his mask stared down at her, and she was grateful that she couldn't see his face.
"You have some explaining to do, little girl," Spider-Man hissed as he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of dog food.

-------------------------------------------------

Riff-Raff was no stranger to mortal peril. Given her life as a professional underworld driver, she had become more than used to it. She had even become used to jerkwad guys who had wanted to take HER for a drive on account or her size and the fact that she was - in not just her opinion - a very attractive woman. She could even name a few cops on that list.
She felt the webbing binding her, holding her to the brick surface. Blinded as she was, she had no reference points at all, and being still gagged by that mobster's tie made asking very problematic. Wind ripped at her with a vengeance, as if determined to take her away. Despite herself, she was afraid. She knew she was at Spider-Man's mercy, and also knew how powerful he was. Riff-Raff would not show fear to him, or to anyone. She had survived too much shit, had sacrificed so much of the good nature she had in her abbreviated childhood to show fear to anyone who threatened her.
"Still with me?" she heard Spiderman ask as the improvised gag was removed. She felt his fingers undoing the knot at the back of neck, each moving gently.
"Let me go!" she shouted as soon as the offensive object was removed.
"Take it easy," she heard him say. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
"Yeah, right. Do you know how many men have wanted to have me tied up and at their mercy?"
"I'm not one of them!" Spider-Man shouted forcefully. "I just have some questions! Answer me, and I won't give you to the cops again."
"Say what?"
"The boys in blue are already all over that warehouse, Riff."
"And they're gonna impound my van!"
"You were almost killed, and you're worried about a beat up clunker? You need to get your priorities straight!"
"I woulda made it wihout you!"
"SHUT UP! What were you hauling in that van?
"Like you don't know!" she snapped at him. "You saw it!"
"And a hundred grand is worth helping to ruin people's lives?"
"Yeah! Who gets it isn't my problem! Bean Bandit won't do it, so I'm taking up the slack! I'm not the only one who runs drugs, asshole!"
"Okay," she heard Spider-Man say. "Looks like reason won't cut it. One piece of advice."
"What?"
"Don't look down." The webbing was ripped from her face, and Riff-Raff looked down.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEK!"
Peter Parker would have covered his ears if he'd had any hands free. He hung upside-down in front of Riff-Raff, whom he had webbed to the side of the Chrysler building. He would never have done this to another woman, but she was a professional runner for the underworld. That made it easier on his male ego. Being a super hero hadn't quite beat that out of him even after all this time.
"My webs dissolve after an hour." God, I feel like SUCH an ass! "You've been here for almost half that."
"You..."
"Who hired you?" Peter demanded. "Who had them brought here?" Riff-Raff remained silent.
"Not my prob... What do you mean, 'Them'?"
"What were you told about the shipment?" Peter asked. Maybe she didn't know what had been in those crates? Most underworld drivers were reluctant to carry human cargo. Far too risky for the payoff, and the penalty for getting caught usually meant life on Ryker's Island.
"That bastard lied to me!" Riff-Raff yelled. "I'm gonna kill him!"
"Not from up here, you won't. I'd heard that some Powerball had been slated for delivery here."
"What was it?"
"Riff, you were hauling slaves." Peter saw her eyes go wide, something unidentifiable passing over them for a brief second before narrowing again. So, she had a human side after all. "Someone kidnapped those girls and..."
"I know how the slave trade works, dumbass!"
"Okay, genius, so how about telling me who had you make the run?"
"No problem," Riff-Raff said, "but I'm only doing this because I got double-crossed. Got that?"
"You're all heart, Riff."
"It was someone out of Chicago, a guy named Steve Atkins. He was a cut-out, I didn't deal with the people behind him."
"Chicago, huh? Where?"
"You can find him at the address in my pants pocket. It's on a matchbook." Spider-Man's hand reached in, searching only for the matchbook and lingering only long enought to withdraw it.
"I'll start with Atkins, and work my way up the food chain," Spider-Man said. "Just as soon as I put you back on the pavement. There's a Hertz agency just a few blocks away. You can get a car there."
"You're really letting me go?"
"You told me what I needed," Spider-Man said, "risking yourself to do it. Maybe you're human after all, Speed Angel."
"Don't get all mushy on me. Just GET ME DOWN!"
"Just don't scream in my ear."
Chicago, Peter thought as he carried Riff-Raff down the side of the building. That's where the slave trade is shipping from. That's where I have to go.

-------------------------------

April 8
8:35 AM
Chicago

Peter Parker stood atop the roof on one of the many buildings in downtown Chicago. Surprisingly, he didn't feel overly out of place in the Windy City. From forty stories up, practically ever city looked the same. Even the air smelled just as polluted as in Manhattan.
Getting the airfare, like everything else that involved J. Jonah Jameson and money, had been like pulling teeth with a crowbar. Even if it involved Spider-Man and slave dealers, the money hadn't come without a good deal of grumbling and yelling. There were times when Peter wondered how Robbie Robertson, the Daily Bugle's City Editor, could put up with the flat-topped blowhard for eight hours a day. Mary Jane hadn't liked it much, either. She got nervous enough when he put on the Spidey duds and swung around New York.
"That reminds me," he said as he triggered a web-shooter. "I have to pick up a souvenneir. Maybe a Cubs jersey?" Peter swung out into the noon-time sky, still trying to orient himself with a new city. According to the address Riff-Raff had given him and the city map he had purchased at the airport, Steve Atkins's motel was about ten blocks south.
"The best thing about web-slinging," he said to the air, "is no traffic. I should get there in no time."
Peter looked down briefly and saw a blue vehicle with white stripes racing through traffic. Really, people just didn't know how to drive anymore.

"So, is Becky's intel good?" May Hopkins asked from the passenger seat of the GT 500.
"Yeah," Rally groused. "Good and expensive." All this, she thought, for a measly eight grand bounty. Well, it was work, and the bills were starting to pile up. This bounty would keep her creditors from harrassing her for at least another month.
"The motel manager's not gonna like us busting in like this."
"That's what he gets for lodging bail jumpers," Raly replied as she whipped the supercharged car around a bread truck. "Besides, it's not like anyone's really gunning for Atkins. This one's by the book, May."
"I know, I know," the diminutive blonde replied. "No fireworks."
"You don't have to sound so disappointed, y'know."
"I could be with Ken right now," she replied, "so I kinda want to blow something up."
"Just don't waste our bounty. Besides, I don't want to pay for damages to the motel."
"Yes, Miz Rally," May said with a wink and mock salute.

--------------------------------------------------

9:55 AM

Peter saw him emerge from the room of the Holiday Inn's second floor. Every detail Riff-Raff had given him was spot-on, sandy blonde hair and all. He was a slight man, almost to the point of being gaunt, dressed in loose clothing that looked to have seen better days. The spider sense locked onto him like a magnet, and Peter smiled beneath his mask. This was going to be fun...
"Aw, now what?!" he barked as the spider sense suddenly blared at something off to the left. The screech of tires reached his ears with the throaty roar of an engine playng counter to it. Atkins stopped cold just as the blue muscle car swerved around the corner of the motel. Peter recognized the white racing stripes across the top of the machine from his swing over the city, the one that had run like a bat out of hell.
The car slid to a stop in front of a stunned Atkins just as two women leapt from the doors. The passenger, a short blonde kid, reached into her jacket while the driver, a dark complected woman in black leathers, whipped a pistol out of a holster and aimed it directly for the man's head.
"Freeze!" she shouted. "Bounty hunter! You're under arrest!"
Bounty hunter? Peter thought incredulously. THEM?! Below, Steve Atkins slowly raised his hands.
Sorry, he thought as he readied his web-shooters. He's mine!

Rally slowly moved forward as the bounty raised his hands in the air. The no resistance jobs were always the best. No ammo got wasted stopping them.
"That's right!" she shouted, her CZ-75 trained on Atkins' forehead. "On the ground, face down!" Rally stepped around the front of the Cobra, hearing the jangle of handcuffs as May brought them to bear. Eight grand in the bag, she thought with glee...
Rally Vincent never saw it coming. The off-white substance splattered over her hands hard enought to sting, coating both them and the pistol completely in sticky glue. An almost electric shock ran through her from the surprise attack as she dove back behind the car. On instinct, she reached for the Beretta inside her jacket and cursed when she realized that both of her hands had been bound.
"Hey! HELP ME!"
Rally rose from her cover to see Atkins cocooned in the same stuff. Her eyes followed the single thread upward and she nearly did a double take at the sight. She had heard of him, of course, but to actually see a man crouched on a brick wall as if it were perfectly normal was still jarring.
"He's too high up!" May shouted. "All I have are smokers!"
"What the hell are you doing, Spider-Man?!" Rally hollered, her rage coming close to critical mass. She nearly fired the webbed-up CZ-75 anyway, pulling back at the last second. There was no sense in blowing her own fingers off.
"Sorry, Lady!" he shouted back as he reeled Atkins in like a fish. "I need him for a minute!"
"You're running off with my bounty, Goddamnit!"
"When I hand him to the cops, I'll say it was you! Happy now?!"
Furious, Rally could only watch as Spider-Man slung the still-screaming Atkins under his arm and leap across the parking lot before swinging away on a web.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH! GET BACK HERE WITH MY BOUNTY!"

Boy, I really pissed her off, Peter thought as he carried Atkins through the air, and I really wish I'd gagged this guy!
"Listen up, buddy-boy," he said to the struggling man. "I need some information from you, got it?"
"LET ME GO!"
"And if you don't stop squirming, you're gonna make me drop you!" Peter nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Atkins slowed his struggles and finally stopped.
"Whatever it is, man, I don't know nothin'!"
"Oh, I think you do. I met an aquaintance of yours in New York, and she recommended you to me."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about!"
"Oh, you do. In fact, you're the reason I came all the way out here, so think of it as kind of an honor."

--------------------------------------------------

10:07 AM

Rally cursed again as she tried in vain to free her hands from the sticky webbing around them.
"May, can't you drive any faster?!"
"Hey, I'm doing my best, here!" The driver's seat had been slid up all the way, and the smaller woman still had to sit on the edge just to reach the pedals. The GT 500 was travelling a sedate - painfully so - forty-five miles per hour which only added to Rally Vincent's sour mood. "It's not my fault I'm so short! I didn't have time to rig up the pedals, you know!"
"Spider-Man!" Rally shouted. "Of all the freaks to come into my life, why the hell did it have to be HIM!"
"What did he want with Atkins, anyway?"
"Who cares?! He tied my hands, webbed up my FAVORITE gun, AND MADE OFF WITH AN EIGHT GRAND BOUNTY!"
"Girl, you're kinda scaring me, here..."
"I AM GONNA KILL HIM!"
"Oh, yeah," May said under her breath, "she's pissed..."
"We're never gonna catch him at this rate!"
"And we won't until we teach this car to fly!" May replied hotly. "Which won't be any time soon! Let's tell Becky about it. Maybe she can dig up something we can use."

10:20 AM

Becky Farrah cursed when her door chime sounded. Of all times, why now! She pulled her hand from her panties - it had been such a nice fantasy, too - and threw on a bathrobe. If someone wanted information from her right now, that person would pay through the nose!
"Hang on, I'm coming!" I wish I was, she didn't shout. Through the peephole she saw the distorted fish-eye view of Rally Vincent and May Hopkins on the other side. "I'm a little busy now, Rally," Becky said as she opened the front door. Becky adjusted her glasses before glancing back down at Rally Vincent's encased hands. "Um... Is there something I should know about, here?"

"It's not what you think," May said.

"We just lost some money," Rally snarled. Becky looked at her face and recognized the lust for payback on those features.

"Well, don't just stand there! Tell me about it!" Becky stood aside as her two guests stepped in and took another look at the substance which encased the bounty hunter's hands. "Am I wrong," she asked as the two sat down on her sofa, "or is that a really thick web on your hands, Rally?"

"Got it in one, girl," Rally said.

"Okay... so what happened?" Becky asked as she sat down, careful not to show them her soaked underwear.

"Becky," May began, "did any one else come to you about Steve Atkins?"

"Nope, not a soul. Why?" This was starting to get interesting!

"Well, let's just say that someone else was interested in him..."

"Hey, back it up, Rally. Someone actually aced you? YOU?!"

"Guess who it was?"

Becky looked at the webs on Rally's hands again, and it clicked.

"Spider-Man?"

"Bingo."

"That's weird," Becky replied. "I wonder why he's in Chicago?"

"He wanted Steve Atkins some kind of bad," Rally replied in a somewhat calmer voice. "I want to know why."

"Atkins was just a front man for a few major players," Becky replied. "Or maybe he wasn't?"

"Start talking, Becky."

"Rally, I don't know much about Spider-Man," the spectacled woman said, "but I do know that he doesn't leave Manhattan very often. Atkins must have been involved with something big to bring the wall-crawler all the way out here."

"Hey, Rally," May said, "that gunk looks like it's melting."

Rally looked down at her hands and saw that the webs were slowly melting into goo. The grip was loosening as well, allowing blood to flow into her tingling fingers again.

"I'd heard his webs dissolve after an hour," Becky said. "I guess he doesn't want the bad guys to be tied up for too long."

"Becky..."

"Let me guess, Vincent. You want me to look up anything available on Spider-Man and Steve Atkins, right?"

"Got it in one. That web-head's gonna pay for stealing my bounty!"

"Your credit's kinda maxed out with me..."

'"Aw, come on!" Rally shouted. "He cost YOU money, too! You were the FIRST one I was gonna pay!"

"Really?"
"Would I lie to such a good source?"

"I won't answer that," Becky replied. "But, this is just too interesting. Besides, as you said, I lost some green on this as well. I'll see what I can turn up."

"Thanks, Becky," Rally replied as she tried to pull her hands free.

"Um... want something to cut that stuff off?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Hang on," Becky said as she rose from her seat. Spider-Man in Chicago, she thought. Life's never dull around here, at least.

10:44 AM

"Feel like talking yet?"

"I FUCKIN' TOLD YOU!" Steve Atkins screamed as the wind rocked him on the web that anchored his feet to the concrete outcropping of the skyscraper. "I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'!" He dangled looseley above the forty story drop to the sidewalk, though Peter did not worry. The web would hold him, but Atkins didn't know that.

"You know," Peter said as he crawled down to eye level with Atkins, "I've never really suspended anyone on such a thin web. I hope it holds..."

"PLEASE! Oh, God, DON'T KILL ME! I SWEAR I..."

"Who are you working for? Who's the one running slaves to New York?"

"I don't work for no one, an' I don't know nothin' about no slaves!"

It's been almost a half hour, Peter thought. Maybe he was telling the truth?

"Okay, then, let's try a different tack. Who had you contact the driver?"

"I don't know who he was! I didn't ask!" Atkins cried desperately.

"Someone asks you to contact a driver about a slave run, and you don't ask anything? Either you're stupid, or you think I am!"

"He slipped five large in my hand, damnit! Told me not to ask anything!"

"Greedy bastard, aren't you? Is five grand worth..."

"I didn't know it was any slaves or nothin'! He told me it was a Kerasine run to Manhattan! I SWEAR!"

Peter remained silent for a moment as he considered Steve's words. The bit about a Kerasine run matched what Riff-Raff had told him in Manhattan.

"Okay, slick, let's try this. Who deals Kerasine out of Chicago?"

"Whoever's got it!"

"You better be more specific!"

"The pipe's dry, okay! Some hotshot bitch named Goldie made it, and she ain't been heard from in months!"

"Supply and demand, huh?"

"The shit's almost out! No one knows how to make it!"

Goldie? Who the hell was Goldie? At least he had another name to run down, along with one other.

"Last question. Who's Bean Bandit?"

"Him? Bean's the best damn driver in Chicago!"

"Really? So, why didn't he do it, then?"

"He don't run drugs! I don't know why!"

An underworld driver that won't run dope? Peter thought. If they were saying it was Kerasine, then... "Okay, where do I find him?"

"I don't know! I can't even get up with him! Everyone knows he won't run junk, they won't even ask him anymore!"

"Looks like we're done here," Peter said as he gagged Atkins with a patch of webbing. "I think the cops can deal with you from here."

Bean Bandit and a woman called Goldie, he thought as he carried his captive toward the nearest preceint. Both were supposedly uninvolved with this whole mess, but they were all he had.

---------------------------------------------------------

1:03 PM

He raised his glass to his guest as the portly, balding man took a seat benath the canopy of the umbrella. The client was nervous, as were all who came to him. The anxiety practically emanated off his frame in waves as he glanced about the expansive manicured courtyard to the high wall at the edge. He had yet to meet a man who made such a purchase calmly.

"So, Mister Smith," he greeted with a slight chuckle. Smith was such an obviously false name, especially when he already knew who his client was and what he did in the legitimate world. "I see you're nervous."

"Damn right I am," Smith replied, his moustache quivering in an almost cartoonish fashion. "Two million isn't chump change."

"Indeed no," he replied as a servant brought a fresh vodka and a scotch for Smith. The slender woman did not speak, merely placing the drinks and only leaving with a wave of his hand.

"Mister Thibideaux," Smith said, "Is she..."

"She is not for sale. Anne is merely one of the staff."

"Oh. Then what about Sarah?"

"She is being prepared for you as we speak. Please, Mister Smith, drink. Feel free to avail yourself of my hospitality."

Goldie watched as two of the girls prepared Sarah, a tumbler of whiskey in her hand. The petite girl was nude, sitting perfectly still as her tenders applied makeup to her face with tender care. Training her had been so easy, once she had been exposed to the Kerasine. Goldie took another slug to banish the blank spot in her memory at the sight of such a subservient girl. Why did the scene turn her on so much?

She almost called for Dennis, yet decided against it. The girls were nervous enough with his presence as it was. Goldie checked her watch. The client was just outside and waiting for his merchandise, the fat bastard. What men wouldn't do for a woman who was completely at his beck and call.

The makeup was complete, Goldie saw as one of Sarah's tenders readied the undergarments. They were almost pure lace, and flimsy beyond belief. Apparently, this Mister Smith preferred the naughty-but-nice look. From the look of her naked frame, it was hard to believe that she was even legal. Thibedeaux, however, did not peddle children.

One of the tenders opened Sarah's legs to inspect what was at the apex and nodded approval before sliding the panties onto the girl's legs. So much preparation for one sale, it was almost a waste, but her new partner was known for quality in his circles. Goldie finished her drink and watched as Sarah was readied for her new life. The poor thing didn't even remember who she used to be anymore.

"What's taking so long?"

"Perfection must not be rushed," Thibedeaux replied languidly. "Sarah is being prepared to your..." He was interrupted by the sound of the patio doors swinging open and smiled at Smith's slack-jawed expression.

They had definitely taken great care in preparing her, Thibedeaux noted with satisfaction. Sarah's fiery red hair had been tied into a french braid that hung just past her shoulders and set off her creamy white skin. The pale blue dress was modest, even demure, just as Smith had requested. Sarah's emerald eyes, however, were what drew him. Those orbs looked at her new master with total adoration and devotion, exactly as she had been programmed to.

"I offer restraints," Thibedeaux said, "should you desire them."

"No, that won't be necessary," Smith replied, almost drooling on himself. To the girl, he said, "You are indeed exquisite."

"Thank you, Master," she replied with a blush.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," Thibedeaux said.

"The pleasure was all mine..."

Smith took Sarah's arm, hardly able to take his eyes off of her, as he walked toward the main gate under the cover of the security guards. Thibedeaux waited until they were beyond the trees before snorting in derision.

"Pathetic, isn't he?"

"Aren't they all?" Goldie replied as she sat down in the seat Smith had recently vacated. "He's not man enough to win a woman of his own, so he blows two million dollars on a mindless puppet."

"At least she will be controllable," Thibedeaux replied. "Your supply of Kerasine makes training my merchandise so much easier. I don't even need to use the whips anymore."

"You can demand a far higher price with unblemished women," Goldie said as Anne appeared with a fresh whiskey. "Besides, with them so malleable, the possibilities for your other enterprises are limitless."

"True, madam Goldie, but for the moment there are more pressing matters at hand."

"Such as?"

"My shipment to New York met with a major problem."

"Police?"

"Spider-Man, believe it or not."

"Spider-Man, eh?" Goldie remarked after a sip of her drink. "It's no surprise. New York is full of misfits like him. What about the payment?"

"I have fully refunded the fifteen million to the clients."

"That's rather a lot of money, Mister Thibedeaux."

"Granted, but keeping it would have been ultimately more damaging than paying them off. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

"True. So, what do you plan to do about Spider-Man?"

"There is nothing to do. He knows nothing that could lead back to us."

"Besides," Goldie added, "even if he does find his way here, we have a way to deal with him."

"So, he has agreed?"

"To quote: 'You pay, I play'."

"Excellent."

----------------------------------------

End of Prologue

Well, that's the setup! I changed a few things, but I had to come up with a better reason than drugs to bring Spidey out to the Windy City, and Sonoda-san is not above something like this. ;-)

Yes, there is a Marvel villian on Goldie's payroll and yes things are going to get ugly. I am looking for pre-readers (if any volunteered after the teaser, please let me know!) and would appreciate any assistance.

Next up:

Becky does some snooping!

More of Thibedeaux and Goldie's sinister plan is revealed!

A member of the Chicago police goes missing!

Ken reveals his past connection to the web-head!

AND

It's a battle royale between Spider-Man and Bean Bandit!

Hang on, cuz it's gonna be a bumpy ride!

Thanks!

Knight Writer