In a comfortable house in Queens, a middle-aged man stared at the unanswered phone in his right hand.
His appearance was ordinary enough.
Nothing about him would have stood out in a crowd.
But if someone looked closely, there was a hardness around his eyes that didn’t belong to an ordinary suburban homeowner.
Paul Marks.
The same man who had opened the door when Leon mistakenly delivered those pizzas.
Paul frowned at the screen.
“Damn it.” No answer.
Again.
“What the hell is that idiot doing?” He had already called Rick Frey twice.
Even if Rick was asleep, drunk, high, or busy with a woman, he should have noticed his phone by now.
In all the years Rick had worked under him, this almost never happened.
Paul slowly rotated the glass in his other hand.
Amber liquor swirled around a large ice cube.
Clink.
Clink.
“Did something happen to him?” Paul considered the possibilities.
Eventually, he called one more time.
The line connected.
Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
No answer.
Paul’s expression darkened.
He hadn’t originally planned to bother Rick today.
Then one of his trusted men had reported something unexpected.
The pizza delivery kid was alive.
Paul had been told Rick’s hit was clean.
The truck had struck the van perfectly.
Rick had personally assured him that neither occupant could possibly survive.
But one of Paul’s men had seen the kid on the street.
Alive.
Walking around.
That was a problem.
A serious one.
Paul had intended to call Rick, confirm what had happened, then order him to finish the job properly.
After all, this wasn’t some random decision Paul had made on his own.
Harvey Harmon himself had ordered the loose end removed.
An instruction like that couldn’t be handled carelessly.
The phone continued ringing.
Paul ended the call before voicemail picked up.
Years in organized crime had taught him to recognize when something smelled wrong.
Rick was probably in trouble.
Paul didn’t know exactly what had happened, but three unanswered calls were enough to make him suspicious.
Still, he didn’t immediately connect Rick’s disappearance to Leon.
Why would he?
As far as Paul knew, Leon Carter was nothing more than a college student who delivered pizzas for his family’s restaurant.
A witness who might have seen something he shouldn’t have.
That’s all.
The possibility that this same college student had tracked Rick down and murdered him would have sounded absurd.
Paul’s assumptions were much simpler.
Maybe Rick had slipped out to gamble.
Maybe he’d gotten into a fight.
Maybe he’d pissed off the wrong woman or the wrong dealer.
Maybe he’d overdosed somewhere.
Whatever the reason, Rick was only a tool.
If the tool broke, Paul would replace it.
It was irritating, nothing more.
He finished his drink.
Then dialed another number.
Someone answered.
Paul spoke immediately.
“You said you saw the kid on the street?” A pause.
“Good.” Paul leaned back.
“Go check again tomorrow.” His expression hardened.
“Find out what’s going on.
Confirm that he’s really alive and figure out his routine.” Another pause.
“Then take care of him.” Paul’s voice became colder.
“Understand?” The man on the other end confirmed.
Paul hung up.
That should handle Leon.
As for Rick…
Paul looked at his empty glass.
He’d go to the basement himself tomorrow.
If the idiot had managed to overdose and choke on his own vomit after being specifically ordered to stay hidden, Paul wanted to see it with his own eyes.
The next morning, Leon sat at the breakfast table.
Across from him, Venom was conducting what could only loosely be described as eating breakfast.
Leon ate slowly.
A plate of eggs, toast, and fried dough sat in front of him, along with a glass of milk.
Venom’s side of the table looked as though someone had prepared breakfast for an entire football team.
A mountain of food covered an oversized platter.
Beside it sat a container so large it resembled one of those office water jugs.
Venom had divided the drink inside into two sections.
Milk on one side.
Hot chocolate on the other.
Several tendrils worked simultaneously.
One wrapped around pieces of fried dough and shoved them into Venom’s mouth.
Another held an enormous straw.
Venom took a long drink of milk.
Then immediately switched to hot chocolate.
“Ahhh.” Venom collapsed back against the chair.
“Human food is incredible.” Leon took another bite.
Venom’s eyes narrowed dreamily.
“And whoever invented hot chocolate deserves a monument.” “That might be the most reasonable thing you’ve said.” Venom ignored him.
Life with Leon was turning out considerably better than its time with Peter Parker.
Peter had lived in a relatively small place.
Money had often been tight.
Meals were whatever he could grab between classes, work, and Spider-Man patrols.
Pizza.
Hot dogs.
Cheap takeout.
Sometimes barely anything at all.
Now Venom had space.
Good food.
And, most importantly— Unlimited chocolate.
As far as Venom was concerned, this was a dramatic improvement in living standards.
Then it remembered something.
“Hey.” Leon looked up.
“You mentioned that fried-brain sandwich before.” Leon stopped chewing.
Venom leaned forward eagerly.
“When are we trying one?” Of course.
Out of everything Leon had ever mentioned about food, that was what Venom remembered.
Leon swallowed.
“You understand that it’s not human brain, right?” Venom’s enthusiasm dropped slightly.
“What?” “It’s usually made from animal brain.” Leon took a drink.
“Calf or pig, depending on the recipe.” Venom considered this.
“So…
still brain.” “Technically.” Venom’s expression brightened again.
“Good.” Leon sighed.
He should have known that wouldn’t discourage it.
“There are other dishes made with animal heads and organs too.” Venom’s eyes widened.
Leon immediately regretted continuing.
“Really?” “Yes.” “What kinds?” “Various regional dishes.” Leon counted casually.
“Pig brain.
Beef head.
Sheep head.
Stuff like that.” Venom’s tongue slid across its teeth.
It was practically salivating.
“They sound delicious.” “The words pig brain were enough to convince you?” “Obviously.” Venom leaned over the table.
“The heads are smaller than human heads, but that’s fine.” Leon slowly set down his fork.
“I can simply eat more.” “There it is.” “What?” “The part where you make breakfast disturbing.” Venom ignored the criticism.
“So when are we getting some?” Leon thought about it.
“Probably not immediately.” Venom looked disappointed.
“College starts soon.” Leon continued.
“And I’ve got other things to handle.” Revenge remained at the top of that list.
“Still, New York has restaurants serving food from practically everywhere.” He shrugged.
“If we find a place that makes a proper fried-brain sandwich, I don’t care if you try one.” Venom’s eyes lit up.
“Really?” “Sure.” Leon pointed a warning finger.
“Animal.” “Yes.” “Brain.” “Yes.” “Not random pedestrians.” Venom sighed dramatically.
“You always add unnecessary restrictions.” Leon ignored that.
“All right.” He finished the last bite of breakfast and wiped his mouth.
“We’re done.” Venom looked toward the remaining dishes.
Leon pointed at them.
“Take those to the kitchen and wash them.” Venom went completely still.
Its white eyes slowly turned toward Leon.
“What?” “You heard me.” Venom rose indignantly.
“I am Venom.” “Yes.” “A symbiote.” “Yes.” “A superior and highly advanced alien life-form.” Leon nodded.
“And?” “You want me to wash dishes?” Venom sounded personally wounded.
“This is an insult to the dignity of a noble symbiote!” Leon listened to the speech without changing expression.
Then he held up one finger.
“One piece of chocolate.” Venom scoffed.
“One?” Its head pulled back.
“You think I’m cheap?” Leon raised his hand again.
“Five.” Venom stopped.
Leon added casually— “Hazelnut.” Silence.
Then Venom grinned.
“Deal.” Every trace of wounded alien dignity vanished.
Several tendrils swept across the table, gathering plates, cups, and utensils in one movement.
Venom marched toward the kitchen humming an absolutely terrible song.
Leon watched it go.
A moment later, water started running.
He shook his head.
Apparently, the dignity of an advanced extraterrestrial life-form was worth exactly five pieces of hazelnut chocolate.
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