Night settled over Manhattan.
NYPD headquarters was quiet again when Leon slipped back into the records room.
Rick Frey had given him one useful name before dying.
Paul Marks.
According to Rick, Paul had been his immediate superior in the Bloodhound Syndicate.
Ever since joining the organization, Rick had taken most of his dirty jobs directly from Paul.
Threats.
Assaults.
Cleanup.
Anything that needed to be handled quickly and without questions.
Rick had been efficient, obedient, and smart enough not to ask why.
Because of that, Paul had gradually trusted him with more work and even promised him a promotion.
Leon sat down at the same computer he’d used before.
He entered the name.
Paul Marks.
The database loaded.
Then the photograph appeared.
Leon froze.
He knew that face.
He’d seen it before.
Not in some criminal file.
In person.
Paul Marks was the man who had answered the door when Leon delivered that final stack of pizzas.
The same man who had taken forever to open the door.
The same man who had only opened it halfway.
The same man who had given him a generous tip.
Leon stared at the screen.
Of all the deliveries he’d made that summer, that one had remained unusually clear in his memory.
It had been the last order of the route.
The address had been much farther away than Old York’s Pizzeria normally delivered.
He’d rung the bell several times before anyone answered.
At the time, Leon had thought it was strange.
Later, he’d checked the store’s records and discovered something even stranger.
There had never been an order for that address.
Someone at the pizzeria had written down the destination incorrectly.
Leon had delivered the pizzas to the wrong house.
He’d still been paid, and the actual customer had been surprisingly understanding once the mistake was discovered.
Old York’s had apologized and given them discount coupons.
That should have been the end of it.
A simple mistake.
An insignificant little incident.
Until now.
Leon stared at Paul Marks’s photograph.
A cold realization slowly settled over him.
“So that’s why.” Venom emerged from his shoulder.
Leon leaned back.
“That delivery.” His face lost some color.
“The crash happened because of that delivery.” For days, Leon had been trying to understand one question.
Why him?
Why Ben?
They hadn’t been involved with gangs.
They didn’t owe anyone money.
They hadn’t crossed anyone powerful.
Someone had simply decided they needed to die.
Now the pieces were beginning to fit.
Leon replayed that night in his mind.
Paul had behaved strangely.
Taking so long to answer.
Opening the door only halfway.
Standing in a position that blocked Leon’s view inside.
At the time, nothing had seemed serious enough to investigate.
But there had been that noise.
The heavy thud from inside the house.
Leon had looked back.
Barely.
He hadn’t seen anything worth remembering.
Or at least— He hadn’t realized he had.
Leon stared at the screen.
“They thought I saw something.” Venom remained quiet.
“Or they thought I knew something.” That was the only explanation that made sense.
Leon had accidentally arrived while the Bloodhound Syndicate was doing something inside that house.
They couldn’t be certain what he’d witnessed.
So they had decided to eliminate the risk.
And Ben had died with him.
Leon’s fingers slowly curled into fists.
If Venom had been able to communicate properly with him back then, things might have been different.
The symbiote’s senses could probably have detected exactly what was happening in that house.
But at that point, Leon’s subconscious had still been keeping Venom almost completely suppressed.
No communication.
No expanded awareness.
Nothing.
Venom sensed his thoughts.
“Don’t torture yourself with possibilities.” Leon looked at it.
“We find Paul Marks.” Venom’s voice hardened.
“Then we ask him what happened.” Leon took a slow breath.
It was right.
Speculation wouldn’t bring Ben back.
And replaying what he could have done differently wouldn’t produce answers.
Paul would.
Leon returned his attention to the database.
Compared with Rick Frey, Paul Marks had left surprisingly little behind.
Far fewer arrests.
Far fewer reports.
Much thinner documentation.
That alone said something about his position.
Rick had been an expendable operative.
Paul was a minor leader.
He had enough influence to keep his name out of most official records.
Leon searched through everything connected to him.
Nothing useful appeared.
No current address he trusted.
No meaningful routine.
No detailed list of associates.
He changed tactics.
“Bloodhound Syndicate.” The database searched.
Leon waited.
The results were pathetic.
A few fragments.
Several low-ranking members.
Scattered suspicions.
Almost nothing about the organization itself.
Leon stared at the screen in disbelief.
“That’s it?” He opened another file.
Then another.
The information barely improved.
“This is ridiculous.” Venom looked over his shoulder.
“The police know almost nothing about them.” Leon frowned.
“The Syndicate has clearly been operating in New York for years.” He gestured toward the records.
“And this is all they have?” The crash was the perfect example.
As far as the police were concerned, it was a hit-and-run caused by a truck driver running a red light.
They had no idea it had been a planned murder.
How many other Bloodhound Syndicate crimes had been written off the same way?
Accidents.
Disappearances.
Random violence.
Cases that never connected back to the organization.
Venom made a dismissive sound.
“From what I’ve seen, that’s not especially surprising.” Leon glanced at it.
Venom continued.
“I spent plenty of time observing humans while I was bonded with Spider-Man.” Its eyes narrowed.
“My conclusion?” Leon waited.
“Most cops are useless.” Leon sighed.
Venom continued anyway.
“A few are competent.” A tendril rose.
“The rest mostly eat donuts, drink coffee, and stand around being either old idiots or young idiots.” Leon stared at it.
“That might be the most Peter-influenced thing you’ve said all week.” Venom grinned.
Leon looked back at the thin records.
Jokes aside, something about the situation bothered him.
A criminal organization this entrenched shouldn’t have been nearly invisible to law enforcement.
Unless— “They have protection.” Venom’s grin faded.
Leon leaned back.
“There have to be people higher up helping them.” Police.
Politicians.
Officials.
Businessmen.
Maybe more than one category.
Leon couldn’t prove any of it yet.
But the Bloodhound Syndicate looked less like an ordinary street gang and more like something buried deep beneath the city’s surface.
A large organization operating from the shadows.
“What the hell are you people?” Leon muttered.
Venom looked bored with the database.
“We’ve gotten everything we’re going to get here.” It licked its teeth.
“Let’s go home.” Leon glanced over.
“Hungry?” “Obviously.” Venom’s expression became mournful.
“I didn’t even get Rick’s brain.” It was still genuinely upset about that.
The smell had apparently been tempting right up until Rick lost control of his bodily functions.
Venom shuddered.
“Such a waste.” Leon shook his head.
Venom immediately brightened.
“I’ll compensate with chocolate.” “How much?” “A box.” Leon stared.
Venom clarified.
“The hazelnut kind.” “Of course.” Leon looked at the computer one last time.
He was disappointed.
He’d hoped Paul Marks’s name would lead directly to something useful.
Instead, the trail had stalled again.
Still, he had Paul’s face.
That was enough.
“For now, we use the same method as before.” Venom looked at him.
Leon closed the database.
“I’ll add Paul’s image and facial details to the surveillance program.” “Then let the cameras search for him.” Venom nodded.
Leon restored the records room computer to its original state.
“He’s not some disposable street thug like Rick.” Leon stood.
“He’s a Bloodhound Syndicate crew leader.” “That means he has responsibilities.” Venom understood immediately.
“He can’t hide forever.” “Exactly.” Leon headed toward the window.
“And there’s another reason he’ll probably show himself.” He opened it.
“They tried to kill me.” Venom’s eyes narrowed.
Leon looked out over the dark city.
“And I’m still alive.” Someone in the Bloodhound Syndicate would eventually learn that.
Maybe they already had.
“They’ll want to know why their plan failed.” Leon stepped onto the ledge.
“And if they still think I’m a loose end…” Venom grinned.
“They’ll come back.” Leon dropped from the window.
Black webbing fired upward.
A second later, he disappeared into the night.
For now, all Leon could do was wait.
He couldn’t know when a camera would catch Paul Marks.
Finding Rick as quickly as he had was pure luck.
There was no guarantee that luck would repeat itself.
Back in the basement where Rick had died, however— Something changed.
A phone began ringing.
Rick’s headless body still lay where Leon had left it.
Blood had spread across the floor and soaked into his clothing.
Inside one of his pockets, his phone vibrated insistently.
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
No answer.
The call ended.
A little later— It rang again.
Still nothing.
Then a third time.
This call didn’t even finish ringing.
Whoever was on the other end hung up early.
The basement returned to silence.
Leon and Venom had cleaned only what mattered.
Fingerprints.
Traces.
Anything that could potentially lead investigators back to them.
They hadn’t bothered cleaning Rick’s blood.
Or moving the body.
As far as Leon was concerned, the bastard could stay there until flies and maggots stripped him to bone.
It was no worse than he deserved.
What Leon didn’t know— Was that someone had already noticed Rick wasn’t answering his phone.
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