Chapter 24

Gwen had stayed as long as possible, taking measurements of the home she'd selected. The paint would arrive soon. At her request, Peter had installed two kitchen units along the wall adjacent to the bathroom, making sure they were perfectly aligned. He'd already refinished them with a white marble-effect laminate, choosing white so it would coordinate with any color a tenant chose. Gwen, however, went with a soft cream shade, feeling that pure white was too harsh even with the carpeting.

After looking over the color samples, Peter ordered more paint than necessary, deciding he'd apply the same color to all the units. If anyone wanted a different shade, they'd have to repaint it themselves.

Throughout the day, he spent his breaks wandering Aleksei's lot, marking various items with Post-it notes and keeping a tally. By the end, he'd moved everything he wanted into a "sold" section and waited for his shift to end. Aleksei chuckled, shaking his head at the pile of items Peter had collected, worth a few hundred dollars. Peter shot him a hopeful grin.

"Yeah, yeah, the van, right?" Peter asked with a grin. Aleksei snorted, ignoring the clear attempt to get a free van.

"You know it's only two blocks?"

"Yeah, but…" Peter gestured at the mid-April drizzle.

"Fine, fine—two hundred and twenty for delivery, and don't stiff the guys this time, got it?"

Peter chuckled. "Rainwater's no fun, but fair enough." He had the plumbing fixed now. "I'll get coffee and pastries for them tomorrow." Aleksei waved him off. There was a bakery nearby that handled big corporate orders and also had a storefront for casual customers.

Later that afternoon, May arrived, not only helping him choose better-quality items but also paying for them.

"No, Peter, this is my treat. You're finally moving in, so please." She gave him the same look he often used on her, and he relented.

The biggest score—and something Aleksei was glad to offload—was a massive catering table, over ten feet long and four feet wide, intended for big events. It was too large for a standard kitchen, and Aleksei's wasn't the kind of place people with big kitchens shopped. It had been sitting in an office for over two years. Peter loved it on sight.

It was a light cream color, with six drawers (three on each side) beneath the polished oak top. Though Aleksei was clearly relieved to see it go, he still charged Peter two hundred dollars—a fraction of the three thousand dollars similar tables typically cost.

With one trip, Peter now had real furniture in his place.

He'd chosen an open-plan layout, so aside from the bathroom, there were no interior walls. A Murphy bed folded up against the back wall, and despite the cost, he managed to get a matching couch, recliner, and chair. The kitchen was now fully functional, though without a washing machine (it was out of his budget). But he did have a set of hot plates, a microwave, and a fridge-freezer.

The table sat at the center of the main area, surrounded by six dining chairs that matched closely enough in color to look intentional. On the other side of the room, he'd set up a couch and two more chairs. It was good enough for now, and he could add a TV and other comforts if needed.

Shortly after May helped him position the table, the door buzzer sounded. He shrugged and checked the peephole, spotting a badge.

Opening the door a crack, he asked, "Officer?"

"Peter Parker?" Peter opened the door wider and nodded. "You're under arrest for the assault of Eugene Thompson."

May overheard and rushed to the door. "Now, hold on—" but the officer held up a hand.

"Ma'am, I have a warrant to enter. But I also know Peter's reputation with some of the guys at the station. If he comes quietly, I won't need to use cuffs or escalate this," the tired-looking detective said.

"I'll get my coat," May replied.

"Well?" the officer asked, looking at Peter.

Peter nodded, not wanting to complicate things. "I'll grab mine, too."

The officer held the door open, watching as Peter put on his jacket.

"Call Matt," Peter whispered to May, who ensured she had her phone.

Peter was processed, fingerprinted, and left in an interrogation room.

"Ma'am, he's eighteen, so you can't be in here. Only his lawyer can be present."

Though frustrated, May waited in the lobby.

The same detective entered the room, saying, "Before we start…" He leaned over and pressed record on an old-fashioned tape machine on the desk.

"April 14, 2020. Officer in charge, Detective Jack Dawkins, handling case 00-CB-1192. Time is 6:15 PM."

He leaned back, writing the same information on the charge sheet.

"Accused: Peter Parker. You're under arrest on suspicion of assault against one Eugene Thompson. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, we'll appoint one. Anything you say in this interview can be used in court. Any admissions or falsehoods during your statements can also be used. Do you understand your rights as I've explained them?"

Peter leaned forward. "Yes."

The officer sighed. "Great. So, tell me what happened on January 23."

"I refuse to make any statements without my lawyer present." Peter leaned back, hands on the table.

The officer frowned. "Can you at least tell me what happened on March 12?"

Peter leaned forward again. "I refuse to make any statements without my lawyer present."

The officer sighed again. "You know, this would be a lot simpler if you just told us your side."

Peter shook his head. "I. Refuse. To. Make. Any. Statements. Without. My. Lawyer. Present."

The officer rolled his pen across the table.

"Look, kid. I get it. You've watched enough TV to think this'll get you off if you keep saying that. But we have witness statements that you assaulted him twice, plus video from the third incident where you broke his leg. We've even got a clip showing you throwing the first punch, and statements from the school backing it all up. Your lawyer isn't going to save you."

The door swung open, and Matt tapped his cane on the floor as he entered.

"Oh, I disagree. Stop the recording, please. Peter, grab your jacket."

The officer scoffed. "And why's that?"

"Detective Jack Dawkins, Badge 887234. Currently under investigation for accepting bribes—from one Harrison Thompson. Stop the tape, or I'll keep going."

Matt could sense the officer's calm exterior crumble as his blood pressure spiked and his heartbeat quickened.

"My client has already given statements regarding these allegations. The case is already scheduled in court. This is pure intimidation, officer." Matt held out an envelope, which Dawkins took.

"What is this?" the detective muttered as he scanned the document.

"You've just been served," Matt said, smiling. "You might want to read further to make sure your boss can't wriggle his way out of it."

"Come on, Peter." Matt held out his arm for Peter to take. "Your aunt is waiting."

As Peter exited the interrogation room, Matt paused.

"Oh, by the way, I heard something interesting. The DA's taking this case, so you might want to get up there soon. The deal they're offering is only good for about a day."

The detective cursed, and Matt gave a slight smile as he let the door close behind him.

Inside the interview room, Dawkins pulled out his phone.

"Yeah, it didn't work. You still owe me, though."

He paused, holding the phone away from his ear as a stream of profanity blasted from the speaker. Ignoring the tirade, he turned over the summons and looked over the plea deal attached to the top.

Twenty-four hours, huh? he thought. He wasn't foolish—he knew Thompson would throw him under the bus without hesitation. He could spot the type—a wealthy jerk who thought money could fix everything.

"Yeah. Tough luck. Don't call me again." Putting the phone down, he grabbed his coat and shook his head, then picked up the phone again to dial the number on the file.

"Yeah, this is Dawkins. I'll take it—full immunity, right?" He smiled.

Forget that guy, he thought to himself, though the kid's aunt was pretty attractive.

On the cab ride back, Peter remained silent, holding back words that would only come out in anger. He didn't want Aunt May or Matt to see him like that.

We'll be patient, he thought, already planning a visit from Venom to Flash that night.

This was the breaking point. He could handle insults, harassment, and fights. But using a crooked cop to get to him crossed the line. What would they go after next? Aunt May? Gwen? Or…

Peter took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"It's all right to be angry, Peter," Matt said from the passenger seat. "Even I didn't expect them to sink to this level."

Despite his best efforts, Peter couldn't stop himself from glaring at Matt.

How could he understand? How could he know the suffering Peter was enduring, the overwhelming need to repay that pain?

Matt offered a small smile. "Your aunt, Peter," was all he said.

Peter took a slow breath and exhaled, nodding. "Aunt May, are you okay?"

He glanced over to see her sitting with her hands clenched—not in anger, though.

He pulled her close, and she broke down in tears. "I'm so sorry, Peter," she cried as he gently rubbed her back. "I should have done more."

Matt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Parker, you have an exceptional nephew who cares deeply for you. You did everything right. You did everything possible to love and protect him."

Peter looked up and nodded at Matt. "Aunt May, Flash would have done this to someone else if it wasn't me. I know it's been hard, but you never gave up." He held her tightly. "You did nothing wrong."

"Mrs. Parker, he's absolutely right," Matt added, leaning back with his cane resting between his knees. "You called the school, kept records of every time Peter was harassed, and made sure he was safe and healthy. The school failed you; you did not fail Peter."

May leaned back, wiping her tears, looking resolute. "Mr. Murdock, thank you. And give them hell."

"Oh, I plan to," Matt said as the cab pulled up outside the Nelson and Murdock office. He waved as the cab headed north, taking Peter and Aunt May home.

Matt smiled as he entered, noticing the scent of Karen's perfume and Foggy's overly sweet coffee.

"Well?" Foggy asked. "How did it go?" He took a bite of a doughnut and held the box out to Matt. "Twelve o'clock."

Matt felt for the edge of the box. "Jelly?"

"Red at six, chocolate at nine," Foggy replied, and Matt selected the strawberry one.

"It went well. I even got Dawkins. Now, we just have to wait for the hearing."

He had a class-action lawsuit ready to go. He knew the school district would settle—they always did.

No one would admit that budget cuts and low salaries were dragging the system down.

No one would acknowledge the rise in cases like Peter's.

No one would take responsibility for the surge in school violence.

At most, they'd close the school, shuffle the teachers to other institutions, and redistribute the budget. The students were always the ones who paid the price.

"You know we won't get paid for this, right? I checked—Parker's broke, even if he does own a warehouse," Foggy said as he sat down. "You really should take more paying cases. Although…" Foggy tapped a pen against his chin.

Matt laughed as he sat. "Don't tell me. His aunt is attractive?"

"You have no idea," Foggy replied, leaning back. "So, did you at least add a clause that we get paid? Because Karen's not happy, and a frustrated secretary means a lot of overtime."

"We'll get paid, Foggy. Don't worry." Matt smiled, taking a bite of his doughnut.

Foggy looked doubtful and glanced at his phone when it buzzed.

"Oh, Dawkins took the deal, so we've got more work ahead." But Foggy frowned as he read another text. "He got immunity."

Matt leaned back, stretching his arms and clasping his hands behind his head.

"Immunity isn't so bad. He's testifying?"

"Yeah, but only against Thompson for the Parker case. He's allowed to keep quiet on everything else."

"Even the kids?"

Foggy put down his phone. "Matt, we're lawyers, not private detectives. Just because every family that comes in here with a sad story doesn't mean we jump through hoops."

"Foggy," Matt cautioned.

"I know, I know. But we're lawyers. Even if we got Dawkins to admit everything, what would it accomplish? Let the real cops handle it, Matt. We can step in and make sure the real culprits are put away. Deal?"

"Sure," Matt said, nodding as he leaned back, seemingly deep in thought.

He wasn't satisfied. Recently, a string of disappearances had swept through New York with no apparent connection. Every victim had been under fifteen, simply vanishing without a trace. Dawkins had been his lead, but that had now vanished.

It seemed that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen would need to pay Dawkins a visit.