Spider-Noir

Gonna meet a new supplier

-at the docks tomorrow. -It's not smart

for you to go out in public till we know who tried to take you out.

You were saying Flint's your bodyguard.

He protects me, and he's loyal.

Are we gonna talk about the fact

that he turned into some kind of sand monster?

Started about six months ago, and it's been getting worse.

This little guy right over here: Addison.

Can't say I've ever seen him.

He's the guy that burned down Silvermane's mansion.

I am a reporter working a story on James Addison's death.

-Jimmy's dead? -He burned down the wrong house.

I don't know who hired him. His wife might.

I got a hunch that you wouldn't want the city's most ruthless gangster knowing

that the money someone paid your husband to kill him

was being spent on lobster and designer clothes.

-Mister...? -Carmedy.

Okay, Carmedy, my rate's ten dollars a day plus--

-But you'll get pictures. - Am I crazy

-or is that the goddamn mayor of New York? - Cops had an ambush

set up for Silvermane at the docks.

Someone gave them a tip about a booze exchange.

Cops were all set to catch the man himself

-in the act, but Silvermane never showed. -

What the hell did I just do?

So it's really settled?

I'm not a fan of constant redecorating.

I handled it.

Silvermane won't be back around here.

You know, this would go quicker if either of you pitched in.

- - Oh.

-Oh, you needed help with that? -

Seemed like a one-man job.

Can't be that easy, can it?

Not that I don't believe you, but--

No, no. This was like that before.

I am not talking about the desk and you know it.

God.

Imagine surviving a war just to be killed at home.

Addison didn't die a banker.

I mean, the guy torched things for a living.

Besides, his wife knew exactly what he was up to.

She seemed to be doing just fine living it up at the Geoffrey Hotel.

Well, who wouldn't?

Son of a bitch.

I met this guy at the Hooverville.

He's the one who pointed me to Addison's widow.

So he knows both Addison and Flint Marko.

Two men with weird powers all of a sudden. What are the chances?

Exactly.

I'm gonna go find this guy again,

ask him some more questions.

What are you thinking about over there?

I'm thinking I want you to check if those three were ever POWs.

Our units were segregated.

So this guy couldn't have served directly with Addison and Flint.

So how come they're all in the same picture?

You know, sometimes I think you forget I do this for a living.

Mm. Can't imagine why.

- -

Ben Reilly?

I come in peace.

Finn Byrne.

We haven't been formally introduced, but...

-we have someone in common. - In that case,

uh, welcome?

What happened to your muscle?

Couldn't find a woman to push around?

I believe you owe the lady an apology.

Come on, Reilly. I've got a job for you.

I'll take that apology now.

Why me?

Why not, uh, Winston?

Or one of your other guys?

I have Winston looking into where this Addison boy came from.

Maybe there are others like him.

After me little run-in with your pal The Spider,

I really see the value of having friends with superpowers.

Oh, yeah?

All right, now. I need your help with a rat problem.

You see, somebody sent Addison to burn down my house.

And I'm assuming the same somebody tipped off the cops about my booze shipment.

Got any leads?

You know, it's probably someone on the inside.

I thought it might be a guy on my payroll.

Flint Marko.

He's been acting strange lately, too.

But he didn't know about the shipment, so...

he's either in the clear

or dead at the hands of the rat.

I want you to find out who it is.

Start with the police raid.

Someone always gets paid.

But the only thing you can trust is human nature.

Jesus.

Remember,

people lie, Reilly.

Only money tells the truth.

A retainer.

There'll be a bonus if you finish the job.

- -So that's how you fixed it--

we work for him now?

Getting paid is better than getting murdered.

Hard to argue with that.

"People lie. Only money tells the truth."

The hell does that mean?

Must be something rich people say at cocktail parties.

Not that I'll ever know.

Wait a minute.

What?

You didn't know they made bills that big?

I heard a rumor there's even 100.

Crafty bastard marks all of his bills.

Do we still have any of that money from Cat Hardy?

We ought to.

Unless you've been sneaking off to gamble it on horses.

-Here. -He's marking mine.

He's probably marking hers.

Anything?

Bingo.

-Newspapers! Come get your newspapers! -

Seven police injured in wild liquor raid on the docks.

Newspapers!

-Come get your newspapers. -

That one. That one.

Are you hurt, sir?

Years ago. Caught a slug in the line of duty,

and your good colleagues at this very hospital saved my leg.

God bless you all for the service you provide this city.

What's your name, sweetheart?

Officer Batnick with the Patrolman's Benevolent Association.

Can I trouble you for the room numbers of the boys

that came in from last night's raid?

Patrolman Jones

-is right behind you, honey. -Oh, thank you.

- -Patrolman Jones.

Officer Batnick with the Benevolent Association.

Quite the scene you walked into last night.

Raiding the Silvermane shipment.

You're a very brave man.

Doesn't feel like it.

Now, I'm here on behalf of the union

to ensure that our city's esteemed officers

are properly compensated for their injuries.

After all, a patrolman only goes where he's told, right?

Glad someone understands how it works.

You got no choice in the matter.

Been there, see?

Orders are orders.

See?

So who told you where to go?

Sergeant Miller.

- -You know,

when things go wrong in the field,

the higher-ups wind up carrying the can for the injuries to their men.

Friend to friend, you could be in for a little trouble down the road.

Especially with guys like Jones.

Jones?

What the hell did Jones say?

These raids, they're meant to take weeks of prep.

All we got was a measly couple hours.

Pinning it on me is bullshit.

If they want to blame anyone, you should be talking to--

Lieutenant Dunn.

Let's just call it what it was, a total shit show.

Brave men sent to ambush our city's toughest mobster

with little time or information now lay injured all over this hospital.

Does that sound fair to them?

I get orders like everybody else.

Think you can say no to the chief of police?

Like to see you try.

Do I need to remind you that you're lying on your stomach

with a bullet stuck in your ass?!

When the chief tells you these orders came straight from Mayor Morris,

there are no questions left to ask.

The mayor himself, huh?

It's no good. It's broken.

Two payphones down this morning,

this one and the one across from the delicatessen.