Marvel Classic Novels--Spider-Man, page 30
Spider-Man stayed on the rooftops of the tall industrial buildings that made up most of the area near the bridge, keeping a close eye on his junkie.
His guess had been correct. The junkie found a spot wedged in behind a support beam for the subway tracks. Spider-Man leapt down from one of the buildings to the underside of the inbound tracks, even as an outbound W train was going by on the other side, shaking the support beam a bit and rattling his teeth.
Jumping over to the support beam on the other side, he saw the junkie lean against the beam and slide down into a sitting position. He pulled something out of his pocket and studied it.
Deciding to pull the same trick on the junkie that he pulled on the two sergeants at the 24th Precinct, Spider-Man webbed the underside of the subway track above him and let the line hang down to just over the junkie’s head. Spider-Man then slid down to the end of the line, hanging upside down.
“That stuff ’ll kill you, you know.”
The junkie looked up. This close, he looked even worse than he had from the rooftops. He had thatches of hair on his cheek and neck, sores on his nose that hadn’t been cared for, and a bleary look in his eyes that Spider-Man was sure was the result of too many days spent doing what he was about to do.
“You ain’t got no face, boy.”
Spider-Man almost laughed. “Nah, I got one, I just hide it.”
“You must be pretty goddamn ugly then, ’cause I ain’t never seen no one who covered up his face like that, ’less it was winter.” He frowned. “We didn’t hit winter and nobody told me, did we?”
Shaking his head, Spider-Man said, “Nah, it’s still spring.”
Relieved, the junkie said, “That’s good. You got a name, boy?”
“I’m called Spider-Man.”
“What kinda name that be?”
Again holding back a laugh, Spider-Man said, “It’s what folks call me.”
“Well, folks be doin’ some right foolishness, you ask me. Now as for me, I got me a proper name. It’s Albert.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Albert. That Triple X you got there?” Even as Spider-Man asked, he knew it wasn’t—this close he could see that it was white, not the trademark green.
“You know, I’m thinkin’ you really ain’t got no face, ’cause you can’t see worth a good goddamn. This look like Triple X to you? If this be Triple X, it be green.”
“So it’s heroin?”
“When you gonna start making sense? It’s blow, son. .”
“Okay, then, Albert, say I wanted to get some Triple X.”
Albert frowned. “Don’t see what good that be doin’ you with no mouth or nothin’.”
“All right, say you wanted some Triple X. Would you get it in the same place?”
Shaking his head, Albert said, “Naw, they don’t be havin’ that at Bridgeview. If ol’ Albert want him some Triple X, he got to be sendin’ one of them young’uns over to get it for him. See, they don’t like Albert in Robinsfield.”
The Robinsfield Houses. “Persona non grata, huh?”
“If that means I can’t go there no mo’, then yeah, persona no greater. Ray-Ray’s boys be throwin’ me out on account’a my bein’ short two bills last month. Them boys got no sense’a respect for a junkie tryin’ to make a livin’.” Suddenly Albert shot Spider-Man a hopeful look. “You got five bucks?”
That surprised Spider-Man. “Why?”
“When them narcos be askin’ Albert for tips, they usually give me five, ten dollars. Uniformed police, too. Now you, you ain’t got no face, so I settle for five. And if you ain’t payin’, then I gotta ask you to move along and leave me be.”
Spider-Man couldn’t bring himself to actually pay Albert. In fact, he was seriously tempted to take Albert’s drugs away, and the only thing restraining him was the same thing that kept him from giving Javier detention for mouthing off at him: it would do no good. All he’d be doing was denying an addict his fix, without giving him any viable alternative. That wasn’t being a good guy, that was just making a bad problem worse.
Instead, he asked the question that had preyed on his mind since he first started observing the movements inside the Bridgeview Houses. “Albert—why are you doing this?”
“Askin’ you for money? Don’t you know what kinda world we live in? Don’t nothin’ cost nothin’, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“No, no,” Spider-Man said quickly, “I mean why do you do this? Why take the—the blow while sitting against a subway support beam?”
Albert snorted. “You got a better idea, you let me know. I ain’t got no skills, I ain’t got no looks, and I ain’t got nothin’ else. Oh, I had it once, but that was a long time ago. Long time ago. Ain’t nothin’ left for ol’ Albert. I expect to be dyin’ sometime soon. Least this way it don’t hurt all the damn time. So if you don’t mind, ’less you got Mr. Lincoln hidin’ in that no-face body of yours, you best be movin’ along and leavin’ me be.”
Spider-Man found he had nothing to say to that. Instead he reached out his left hand and shot out a web-line, heading eastward toward the Robinsfield Houses.
SIX
“RED caps! Red caps! We got red caps, yo!”
“WMD! WMD!”
“Triple X here, Triple X, Triple X.”
Hector Diaz walked through the big courtyard at the center of the Robinsfield Houses. The tall buildings formed a square donut around this courtyard, with an archway on the 34th Avenue side to let folks in and out on foot.
The courtyard made it easier for all the slingers to do their business. Hector didn’t pay attention to none of the crazy-ass names the slingers came up with. All the names were bullshit—just like commercials on TV, lying so people will buy it. “WMD” tried to make folks think of a weapon of mass destruction like what they heard about on the news, and “red caps” made it sound like it was the good stuff from the old-school times. That was back when Hector’s cousin was slingin’ for “Bell” Ring, before Bell got caught by them narcos. He was doing his twenty in Ryker’s, unless he got him some parole. Meanwhile some fool was trying to make like he had Bell’s package by using his old name: “red caps.” Only thing the fool’s dope had was the same as Bell’s product was that it was covered in red.
Hector didn’t care. Dope was dope, and that was what he wanted. Regular dope, not no WMD, not no fake red caps, and sure as hell no Triple X.
Walking up to the guy barking for Triple X—some skinny kid in a white hat whose name Hector didn’t remember—he asked, “He around?”
Without saying anything, the kid took a cell phone out of the pocket of his baggy pants, flipped it open, and held down one button. “It’s me. Hector’s here, wants to talk to the man. A’ight.” Closing the phone, he nodded to Hector. “He in B39 today.”
Hector nodded back and went over to Tower B. Ray-Ray always moved around where he’d keep the stash—always belonged to someone in his crew who lived in the Houses. It was never Ray-Ray’s own place. In fact, thinking on it, Hector didn’t even know where Ray-Ray lived. The elevators in Tower B were busted—again—with three white folks from the city trying to fix it. Hector didn’t know why they bothered—just be broken again tomorrow. Good thing Ray-Ray ain’t in 154 like he was last week, Hector thought. Walkin’ fifteen flights of stairs hurt. But three flights were cool.
Each floor had nine apartments, and 39 was way the hell on the far side of the hallway. He knocked twice when he got there, pretending not to notice the rat that scurried along the floor. Hector remembered when this place was built—was supposed to be better than the old housing projects, better kept up, and whatever. That’s why they called them “Houses.” That lasted for about the first year, then it was just back to being the projects, except they don’t call it that no more. It was just like the names for the drugs—fancy new name for the same old shit.
Cap opened the door. Taller than the doorway, and all thin, Cap kept his short dreads hidden under a backwards Yankee hat. Hector heard that he wasn’t called Cap because he wore no cap, but because he busted a cap in Big Junior back in the day.
Holding out his hand, Cap said with a big grin, “Hector Diaz in the house! What up, yo?”
Hector grabbed his hand. “Doin’ a’ight. He in?”
“Yeah, come on back.”
Three guys Hector didn’t know were counting money in the living room. Hector knew the dope was in the bedroom, and that door was closed. Ray-Ray was sitting at the kitchen table, talking to some young’un.
“I ain’t tellin’ you again, boy, if you come up short one more time, Cap’s gonna take you out, you feel me?”
The boy nodded.
“Get your ass outta here.”
Before Ray-Ray had finished talking, the boy was practically out the door. Hector wasn’t sure his little feet touched the floor.
Raymond Johnson had been called Ray-Ray for as long as Hector knew him, and that went back to when Hector was in nursery school and Ray-Ray was a third grader. Where Cap was tall and thin, Ray-Ray was short and round, but it was all muscle. Ray-Ray didn’t have no neck, and had a goatee that made him look even fiercer. Ray-Ray always wore big-ass sunglasses. Hector knew it scared the young’uns, but still thought it was stupid. Since Hector saw him last, he’d shaved his head.
Ray-Ray had dropped out of high school and taken over Bell Ring’s package when Bell got busted last year. Hector figured that the Triple X came from one of Bell’s old connections, since Ray-Ray didn’t have that kind of weight on his own yet.
“What up, Hector?”
“You heard about Javier?”
“I heard. So?”
“He in the hospital, yo.”
Speaking more slowly and menacingly, Ray-Ray repeated, “I heard. So?”
“We can’t be puttin’ this stuff out there. I heard he got radiating poison and he might die.”
“Yeah, or the fool might catch a bullet tomorrow when he pisses off the wrong person like he always do.” Ray-Ray stood up from the kitchen table and looked down on Hector. “What you askin’ me, Hector?”
Hector shook his head. “I don’t know, it’s just—this Triple X, it’s bad, yo.”
Ray-Ray grinned. “Bad? You crazy? I got the only package anybody wants. That little knucklehead with his ‘red caps’ that he done stole from Bell, he gonna be history, you feel me? Robinsfield’ll be mine, yo, and I’ll be movin’ to Bridgeview next, and I’m takin’ blocks all over the city. This my ticket. And you come runnin’ up in here tellin’ me it’s bad? What, that people be droppin’ dead? Hell, they be droppin’ dead anyhow. Gonna happen no matter what, but in the meantime, I’m gonna make me some cash money. And look, yo, you wanna be part of it, just say the word.” Ray-Ray sat back down. “You smart, Hector—you always been smart, even when you was a young’un, and I could use smart. Blowback, he good at the details, but he ain’t got the brainpower, you feel me?”
Hector shook his head. Bernabe Martinez—“Blowback”—was Ray-Ray’s second-in-command, but that was mainly because he did everything Ray-Ray told him to, was as tough as anyone, and remembered stuff better than anyone. But he wasn’t smart.
It was precisely because Hector had brains that he said, “Nah, man, I can’t be doin’ that. I start spendin’ all my time here, my Moms’ll be all up in my face. I shouldn’t even be here now, yo, but after what happened with Javier—”
“Don’t be worryin’ ’bout Javier. Look, I ’preciate you carin’ an’ all that, but don’t be, a’ight? It’s all cool.”
“A’ight,” Hector said, even though he didn’t really believe it.
“Yo, Cap!” Ray-Ray called out into the living room.
Cap was watching ESPN on the TV. “Yeah?”
“Call De, tell ’im that Hector here get half off whatever he want.”
Nodding, Cap pulled out his cell phone.
That surprised Hector. Ray-Ray didn’t give discounts. “Thanks.”
“Nothin’ to it, little man. Like I said, you smart. An’ the offer still stands, yo, if you change your mind or your Moms gets off your ass.”
“A’ight.”
Ray-Ray held out his hand, and Hector clasped it.
But even as Cap opened the door to let him out, he didn’t feel no better.
When he got outside, he headed back to the barker who’d called up before—De, that’s his name, Hector thought, remembering that his first name was DeCurtis. “Cap says you get half off, yo,” De said as soon as Hector walked up. “You want blow, you gotta wait for the re-up. H, we got right on—”
“Cape!”
Hector looked up. The voice had come from somewhere above him— probably one of the small terraces where they kept the lookouts. “Five-oh” meant the cops. “Cape” meant a super hero.
Given a choice, Hector preferred the capes. They actually played nice more than the cops, maybe because they didn’t have to. Hector knew that lots of folks—himself included—broke the rules ’cause the rules sucked and were a pain all up the ass. But capes didn’t have to play by the rules in the first place, they did this ’cause they wanted to—so that meant they followed them pretty close. Meant folks didn’t get beat as much.
As soon as the word “Cape!” rang out across the courtyard, the barkers all stopped. Two people started running off. Hector saw that they were from one of the new crews. Fools. Most slingers knew better than to keep the stash out here like that.
Then Hector saw the red-and-blue figure of Spider-Man swinging down on some kind of rope into the courtyard.
Hector didn’t know much about Spider-Man except for his name. Didn’t care much, neither.
The cape landed right on the bench next to where De was standing and started crouching. Hector had never seen a cape up this close before. It startled Hector when he started talking, since his face was covered by his mask.
“I hear this is the place to get Triple X,” the cape said, his voice muffled by the mask. It was hard to tell, but Hector felt like he was looking right at him. “We just hangin’, yo,” De said.
“Right. And that guy on the terrace over there yelled ‘Cape!’ when I showed up because he was expressing his appreciation, not so you guys could hide the drugs.”
“Ain’t no drugs, hero-man. We just two citizens havin’ us a conversation, which you intrudin’ on.”
Now Hector knew that Spider-Man was looking at him. “That true, Hector?”
Oh, man. “My name ain’t Hector, yo.”
“Yeah, sure. I know everything, Hector. I know about Javier Velasquez. I know about Valerie McManus. I know about those kids on the Upper West Side. I know about the radiation poisoning. And I know about Ray-Ray and that he’s dealing Triple X.”
Hector didn’t have no idea who this Valerie lady was. But Spider-Man knew who he was and who Ray-Ray was and that Ray-Ray was dealing in Manhattan now. That scared him. The reason he didn’t care nothing about capes was because they didn’t care nothing about him. He saw them in the sky a lot, but that wasn’t anything either.
“Now, you gonna tell me what I want to know?”
“Sound like you know everything.” Hector cursed to himself; he sounded all scared.
De lifted the bottom of his windbreaker, showing the Sig Sauer he had in the band of his pants. “You best be movin’ along, hero-man.”
“Or what? Kid, I eat punks twice your size for breakfast every morning.”
“Yeah?” De didn’t look impressed, though Hector’d heard that Spider-Man could take out twenty guys without trying too hard.
“Yeah.”
“Well, bring it, bitch. But ain’t no drugs here, and ain’t no Ray-Ray here, and ain’t no Triple X here. You got a problem, then step to me. Otherwise, get yo’ red ass outta here ’fore I call the cops an’ tell them you trespassin’ on city property.”
Spider-Man just stared for a second.
“Fine.” Then he thrust out one arm. Some kind of gooey rope shot out from his wrist and hit De’s gun.
Before De could do anything, the cape yanked his arm back, pulling De’s gun out of his pants.
Spider-Man then held the weapon in his right hand and brought his left hand down on the barrel, smashing it.
He threw it to the ground at De’s feet. “It’s for your own good—you could put an eye out with that thing. Toodle-oo!” Then he jumped straight up toward the wall of Tower D and started running up the side of the building. After he got to the roof, Hector lost sight.
“Hey, he done busted my gun, yo!” De sounded like someone’d killed his pet cat or something. “That was my gun!”
“So tell Ray-Ray to get you another one,” Hector said.
“What, I’m supposed to tell Ray-Ray that some dude in tights broke my gun? Are you flippin’?”
“Whatever.” Hector turned to walk away. “I’m gone, yo.” He wasn’t in the mood anymore, even at half off.
First Javier, then Mr. Parker, then Spider-Man. This Triple X is bad. I don’t care what Ray-Ray says, I’m staying the hell away from this.
* * *
UNDER any other circumstances, Mary Jane Watson would have simply gone straight from rehearsal to the West 4th Street station to hop a subway home. Or perhaps she would have taken Anne up on her offer to join the rest of the tech crew at the Back Fence to decompress. Dmitri had put them through a brutal rehearsal, made worse by the fact that there were three understudies coming in—not just Mary Jane for Valerie, but Regina for Mary Jane, and the male understudy, Mike Rabinowitz, substituting for Lou, whose broken leg was keeping him off the stage as well.
But circumstances weren’t different. Mary Jane was worried about Valerie. Nobody had heard from her—she hadn’t called anyone, and calls to her cell phone were greeted with a message saying her voice-mail box was full. Valerie worked at a Starbucks on 14th Street, but she had taken this week off in order to gear up for The Z-Axis opening, so while nobody there had seen her, that wasn’t really indicative of anything. From what Peter had told her, the powers Triple X gave its users were temporary, so Valerie couldn’t have stayed a green harpy for long.
