3

"Jessica Jones?" A voice asks the second I step off the elevator. "Yeah?" I grumble in irritation. I just want to get on with my day, go to a liquor store maybe. Why does this person have to bug me now of all times? "I need your help." I turn to face the voice. It's a teenage boy. I groan. "Listen kid. I don't help, well, kids," I say. "But miss," The boy pleads. "Ugh. Well let's start with your name," I say. The young boy takes a gulp of air. "My name is, uh, Peter Parker," He says, hesitating on his own name. "Now what can I help you with?" I ask. The kid I know know as Peter looks around cautiously. I groan for at least the tenth time this morning. This has got to be a new record. "Would you like to talk in my office?" I ask. Peter nods. I groan. Let's call this groan number eleven.

We board the elevator and head back to my place. Malcom is fixing the door for me. "Peter this is Malcom," I say as we walk past Malcom fixing the door. "Malcom this is Peter," I say to Malcom. Malcom walks over to me and whispers, "I thought you don't usually help kids." I snort. "Me too buddy," I say. Peter doesn't seem to hear any of this.

"So what can I help you with?" I ask the young boy who is now seated opposite me at my desk. "I, uh," Peter pauses. "Listen kid, I can't help you if you can't tell me what the problem is," I say, my voice filling steadily with irritation and frustration for this pubescent child. "You're going to have to tell me something if I am going to help you," I snap when Peter says nothing. "Miss Jones, I really need you to help me find someone," Peter says. "No shit kid, that's what I do. Now can you tell me who I am finding?" I am so irritated now that I could throw this kid out of the window, literally. Peter gulps. "Can you keep a secret?" Peter asks suddenly. "Sure, what is it?" I groan, number twelve. "I'm Spider-man," Peter says. I look at him in confusion and say, "Who?" Peter recoils in shock. "You don't know who Spider-man is?" He asks. I shake my head. "I can crawl on walls, I have super strength. Swing on webs. Like a spider," Peter explains. "Webs from your butt?" I ask, genuinely curious. "No, not from my butt," The teenager says. "How old are you anyways?" I ask him. He pauses. "Fifteen," He mumbles. "Wouldn't it be Spider-boy then?" I ask. Peter groans. One groan for Peter, twelve for me. I'm winning. "So, Spider-man, who am I finding?" I ask. I take out a pad of paper to write down details. Malcom gives me a look as if to say, "This is a teenager, maybe cut down the price for him." I seriously consider charging this kid double.

"So I am looking for my mentor, Mr. Stark," Peter says. "Ok, can I get a first name for, uh, Mr. Stark?" I ask. Nothing worse than kids calling adults by their last name. Makes it so much harder for me to do my fucking job. "Tony Stark," Peter says. Malcom drops the hammer he was holding. "Tony Stark? THE Tony Stark?" Malcom is ecstatic. "Who is Tony Stark?" I ask, clearly the only one who doesn't know who this person is. "Only one of the richest men in the world," Malcom says before adding, "And he's Iron Man." I groan. Thirteen. "Who the fuck is Iron Man?" I ask. "Seriously watch tv," Malcom says. "He's one of the Avengers," Peter says. "Them I know of," I say. "Oh, is he the super sexy older guy?" I ask. "Yeah," Malcom says. "He's younger than Captain America," Peter says. Malcom shrugs. "So Captain America is how old?" I ask. "Over a hundred," Peter says matter of factly. "What the fuck?" I ask in surprise. "He was frozen for a few decades. Since World War II," Malcom says. "He was frozen since the forties?" I ask. "1945 to be exact," Malcom says. "Why am I getting a history lesson on superheroes?" I ask sharply. "You are one, aren't you?" Peter asks cautiously. "I am not a superhero," I say. "Do you see me prancing around in a colorful costume? Maybe a white unitard with pink hair?" I continue. "Trish said Jewel would have been a great one," Malcom says. "Not helping!" I shout at my neighbor. "Listen kid. I don't know how you expect me to find a superhero but you need to know about the price. I don't do shit for free," I say. I am not even trying to hide the frustration in my voice. "Mr. Stark can pay you," Peter says. "Two things. I usually get paid up front, and how is Mr. Stark gonna pay me? He doesn't seem that great that he is missing," I say. "Tony Stark is a billionaire," Malcom says. I groan. Fourteen. "So I am going to be getting paid after I find a billionaire superhero who I don't even know if I can find so I might not even get paid for this job?" I clarify, more out loud so the men in the room can hear how ridiculous this shit is. "I have a hundred bucks," Peter says. I groan. Fifteen. "Consider it a down payment," I say. Peter holds up a stack of wrinkled bills and I take it, quickly counting it and shoving it into my drawer where I keep my payment. It's nearly empty at this point. "So I will try to find this guy tomorrow. You will give me all the details today and I will review the details today. I need you to give me everything I ask for that will help me find this guy faster. Understand? Nod if you understand," I say. Peter nods madly. "Now go. I need to finish some stuff up." I'm lying. I have no stuff to finish up. I just want the kid gone. I need some quiet and kids are not quiet.