Chapter Text
New York City
If you’ve never been here, the first thing you’ll notice are the buildings. Tall buildings that go on for miles and miles. The second thing you’ll notice are the streets, they’re always busy. The streets hold secrets, the buildings host transactions. Everyone in this city has a hustle, some legal, some not. You do what you gotta do to pay the most expensive rent in the country, and a 9-5 shift ain’t gonna do it. It is what it is.
The best place to get a view of the streets was on a rooftop. A lot of New York rooftops are already occupied. Some are for bars, some are for lounging. But if you know where to go, you can have a wide-open rooftop all to yourself. As a photographer, I get my best shots from high up. On rooftops I have the best view of the streets for events, crimes, and even a certain friendly neighborhood celebrity.
The fascination people have with this city are the stories, and the best stories start with a reveled secret. That’s where I come in. Don’t call me a detective, and definitely not a hero. I don’t want the responsibility of either of those. Just call me, observant. I hear things and see things and just so happen to be pretty good with a camera. If a couple bad guys in end up in jail, so be it.
My name is Michelle Jones. I’m the best reporter that no one has ever heard of, and I like to keep it that way. If criminals ever found out how many of their associates I’ve put away, I’d be a target. My work keeps me paid well, and no job pays better than my latest.
Expose Spider-Man.
That’s how I found myself on a rooftop looking across the street into the office of the Daily Bugle gripping my coat closer to my body at the gust of wind. Not most girls idea of an exciting night, even for a Wednesday. But to no surprise, this was the highlight of my week. Afterall, I’m not here for pleasure, I’m here for business.
Most of my clients feel secure enough to meet in an office, but it’s not uncommon to meet in secret. Usually it’s out of fear that their name will get out. This is one of those cases. We only briefly spoke over the phone, so this would be the first time we meet in person. I prefer to avoid the shady jobs like this, but they do tend to pay well.
The sound of footsteps bring me out of my thoughts. I turn around and see him staring me down. Slightly overweight, salt and pepper hair, and stress wrinkles. This man has no room to be judging anybody, but that’s what he seems to be doing already.
“You’re actually on time,” he grunts, eyeing me up and down with disgust written all over his face. “I’m surprised.”
Not sure if that’s a stab at my age, race, or gender, or all of them. But it’s no shock. Here in Queens, J. Jonah Jameson was the locally known asshole.
“Try again. I don’t speak privileged trash.”
He grits his teeth like he wants to say something, but holds back. Smart choice.
“As promised, I brought your compensation.”
That brings a smirk to my face. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
He grunts again, not baring to look at me any longer. I imagine he isn't used to feeling so powerless.
“My associate highly recommends you for jobs like this. So, you got any idea of who this costume freak is, or what?”
Another breeze blew by. I pushs my hair out of my face and exhale briefly. I'm beginning to wonder if any amount of money is worth working for this guy.
“I can’t confirm anything, but I have my suspicions.”
Its not a complete lie. While I don't have anyone in mind, I do have some clues. Spider-Man is most likely mid-20s, male, little on the shorter side, and lives in Queens. Not much, but Jameson doesn't need to know that.
“So what, you got sources or leads?”
“I’m just very observant.”
“That’s it? What kind of crap is that? I’m a busy man and unlike you, I have a life. And I’ve already wasted three minutes if it talking with you.”
He starts to storm off. I should just let him go, but my integrity and pride took a hit.
“Here’s an observation, you’re desperate!”
That stopped him.
“A wealthy man, owner of the Daily Bugle news with photographers on pay roll. And after all these years you’ve finally given up trying to find him yourself and decided to put your ear to the streets and track down an unlicensed specialist with a notorious resume.”
I don’t say anymore, there's no need to. His shoulders drop, the reality of my words sinking in. But before he could respond, his phone starts ringing. Without hesitation, he swoops it out of his pocket and curses when he sees the screen.
“Dammit, Fisk,” he mutters.
Fisk. Where have I heard that name before?
He puts his phone away and turns back to me. “Alright. Deal.”
Good, I was ready the leave the moment he showed up. But there's still one thing bugging me. Something I debated asking ever since I agreed to this job.
“What is your issue with Spider-Man? You’re going through a lot of trouble just to see his face.”
Jameson clinches his fists. He looks up and walks forward. I stand my ground, refusing to be intimidated. But once I see his eyes, I realize he's looking past me. He walks right by me to the edge of the rooftop, staring at his office across the street.
“You know my favorite part of my job? The more money, the less questions.”
Without looking, he tosses back a thick envelope at me. I catch it and brake the seal, opening it to see the cash. To my surprise, it's more than what we agreed on.
After regaining my composure, I stuff the envelope inside my coat and walk off.
“I’ll be in touch.”