Ides Of March

"Trust me, Mr. Tajiri is an excellent teacher," Gwen Stacy said to Liz Allan and Kitty Pryde as she led them into the dojo. "He was able to put up for me for so many years after all."

The girls laughed at that before looking around the office and the open door leading to the main training area. An intermediate student was leading several white belts in basic exercises, and three other intermediate students were practicing on heavy bags. Unfortunately, neither Ishiro Tajiri or any of his reception staff were anywhere to be seen, and the girls stood alone in the office.

"That's funny," Gwen said. "Usually Mrs. Takahashi is-"

"-taking care of her ill mother right now," an older man said, coming into the front office through a side door behind the reception desk. The man's hair was a distinguished silver in color, although there were a few areas that still showed the deep black his hair used to be. He was barely taller than any of the girls, but he carried himself with the grace and skill of someone half his nearly sixty years.

"Excuse there not being anyone here," the man said, "but I've had to handle a lot of the administration duties myself and...Gwen?" he asked in surprise.

"Hello, sensei," Gwen said, bowing respectfully. "It's really good to see you again."

"Likewise," the older man said, returning Gwen's bow. "And who are these? Friends of yours?" he asked, indicating Liz and Kitty.

"Yes," Gwen said with a nod. "Liz, Kitty, this is Ishiro Tajiri, the owner and main teacher. He taught me everything I know about the martial arts."

"Which isn't nearly as much as Gwen thinks," Mr. Tajiri said with a smile. "I'm glad to see you've kept up with your training," he continued, a proud expression crossing his face.

Gwen just laughed, scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. It had been almost two and a half years since she had been in a dojo, but Mr. Tajiri wasn't wrong. Fighting crime as the spectacular Spider-Woman gave Gwen ample opportunity to keep in practice. Indeed, she credited Mr. Tajiri's training for helping her get the hang of her spider-powers and crimefighting in general so quickly.

"You could tell just by looking at her?" Liz asked in surprise.

"A true warrior learns to recognize the skills of everyone around him," Mr. Tajiri said. "The poise and preparation don't go away if you maintain them. So, what brings you here?"

Liz and Kitty looked at one another uncertainly, and then back at Gwen.

"My friends would like to sign up for classes," Gwen said. "With New York being what it is..."

"Indeed," Mr. Tajiri said with a frown. "I take it you'll both want to start in the beginner's class?" he asked Liz and Kitty.

"Tuesday night would likely be best, then," Mr. Tajiri said, sitting down at the desk and typing at a computer. "You'll also need to let us know the sizes for your training uniforms. How about you, Gwen?" he asked after a few moments. "Would you like to resume training?"

Gwen thought Mr. Tajiri's offer over for a few moments. She was pressed for time these days. She was doing better at her university studies, she was getting acting and modeling work again, her social media following was growing by leaps and bounds, and she kept up an active social life. As it was, Gwen had already cut back the amount of time she was spending as Spider-Woman in order to focus on her own needs and life. While she was keeping on top of everything and wasn't suffering from stress the way she used to, she wasn't sure it would stay that way if she took on any more commitments.

"I would, sensei, if I weren't already so busy," Gwen said, bowing her head in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's alright," Mr. Tajiri said with a laugh. "Don't feel so guilty-I'm just glad to see you haven't forgotten what I taught you before."

Gwen smiled back in appreciation.

Once Liz and Kitty had paid and signed up for their lessons, they continued on with Gwen to meet several of their friends from university for drinks at the Argent Room.

Riding the subway, Gwen felt a sense of relaxation. She was very busy, but her efforts gave her a lot more satisfaction than stress these days.

She knew that things might change in the future, but for now she was determined to make the most of it.

SPIDER-WOMAN #96

IDES OF MARCH

Alistair Darkholme, alias the Chameleon, smiled as he pruned his rose garden. When he used the guise of the Rose to run his criminal empire, he took up horticulture to get into character. The Chameleon became quite fond of horticulture, and he continued to practice it when he got a spare moment.

The Chameleon didn't get as many chances as he would have liked these days. The reverses his empire suffered had forced him to fake the "death" of his Rose identity and adopt the persona of Cornelius Van Lunt instead. He was the third-ranking crime lord in New York, remaining stuck behind Philippe Bazin and Carl Wilkinson, alias Crimewave, despite his best efforts.

The Chameleon seethed at his third-string status in the underworld. He had every intention of improving his position, although it had taken him several months to set everything up. Everything was ready now, though.

Walking out of the greenhouse and back into his office, the Chameleon shifted into his Cornelius Van Lunt persona. Sitting down at his desk, Van Lunt tapped his fingers impatiently, waiting for his next appointment to show up.

Jonathan Caesar was punctual as usual, although his sour expression showed how irritated he was at being called in on such short notice.

"What is it, Van Lunt?" Caesar demanded as he sat down across from Van Lunt. "Why the hell is it so important for me to come down here right now?"

"Because I said so, goddammit!" Van Lunt said, slamming his fist on his desk. "You worked everything out with Bazin, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Caesar said, pinching the top of his nose in annoyance. "I already told you that three days ago. This is what you called me down here for? I had to cancel a meeting with my broker for this?"

"You'll miss your mother's funeral if I tell you to!" Van Lunt said, his eyes widening in rage. "Just make sure you don't fuck this up, understand?"

"Fine," Caesar said, his eyes narrowing. "What I don't get, though, is why I'm supposed to give Bazin a monopoly at my clubs. How does this help our bottom line?"

"It makes him overconfident," Van Lunt said, "thinking he can keep pushing, until everything comes crashing down. And when it does, we'll be ready."

Caesar stared back at Van Lunt in disbelief. He couldn't fathom how Van Lunt could think Bazin could suffer from overconfidence or overreach. Bazin was one of the calmest and most cold-blooded mobsters New York had ever seen, and had never been known to jump the gun.

"Now get the hell out of my office!" Van Lunt shouted, standing up and throwing his chair down behind him.

It was all Caesar could do to keep from scowling as he got up and left the office.

Van Lunt calmed down immediately once Caesar left, congratulating himself on how well he'd played the scene. He wanted Caesar to think he was short-sighted and unstable, incapable of planning anything over the long term.

It would keep Caesar from understanding what was really going on.

Layer upon layer of deception.

I hope these are as good as I think they are, Gwen thought to herself, considering the box of cookies she was carrying. I didn't mind them, but then I can't really judge my own work...

Gwen knocked at the door of her boyfriend Randy Robertson's apartment, hoping he would be at home. In between school and work, Gwen hadn't seen him recently, and she wanted to make it up to him.

Randy himself answered the door, the strained look on his face replaced with one of surprised joy as he saw Gwen. Smiling widely, he invited Gwen into the apartment and hugged her once she'd set the box of cookies down.

"Nice to see you, Gwen," Randy said once he'd released her. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"Aren't I always?" Gwen said, a wry grin crossing her lips. "What's wrong?" she continued, worried at the stressed expression on Randy's face.

"Nothing to worry about," Randy assured her. "I've just been pulling an all-nighter on this term paper for my African-American Studies class."

"What's it about?" Gwen asked, as she picked up the box of cookies and followed Randy into the apartment.

"This piece that Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote about Bill Cosby's black conservatism," Randy said as they sat down at the kitchen table. "Coates is writing about how some parts of the black community, guys like Vietnam vets, football coaches, older guys at the barbershops, support Cosby and his conservatism."

"Is that good or bad?" Gwen asked.

"It depends who you ask," Randy said with a shrug, "but that's not what I'm discussing in my term paper. I wanted to touch on the debates in the community themselves, more particularly how we recognize each other's points of view. Whatever you might say about those vets and those coaches, they're still part of the community, and we need to think about their perspectives."

Gwen rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She wondered if she should say something, but she was extremely uncomfortable giving an opinion about anything to do with black issues. While she and Randy had talked somewhat about it, Randy did most of the talking. Gwen didn't think she really knew enough about such things to be able to say for sure.

"Well, maybe this can help," Gwen said, pushing the box of cookies towards Randy. He opened the box, and smiled widely at the contents.

"These smell delicious, Gwen," Randy said with a grin. "Did you make these?"

"Keep in mind that I haven't baked in at least five years," Gwen said, a bit nervous about whether Randy would like them. "All I had to help me were a few YouTube videos, my Aunt Nancy, and a whole lot of luck and prayers."

Randy didn't seem at all fazed by Gwen's warning. He grabbed a cookie and took a bite before she'd even finished speaking, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"Delicious," he said once he'd swallowed his first bite. "What's the occasion?"

"Who says I need one?" Gwen said, relieved that they'd turned out alright. "Just my way of making up for not being in touch lately."

"I'd say you were forgiven, if I was mad about it. But I'm not-I've been as busy as you probably are. Things are crazy at HABQ-FM recently," Randy said before taking another bite.

Gwen giggled at that before taking a cookie for herself. As she bit into it, she realized she should have had more faith in herself, relishing the delicious chocolatey flavor.

"How are you holding up?" Randy asked her. "I've been looking at your social media accounts-you've got something like 3,000 Twitter followers now, don't you?"

"And maybe 6,800 YouTube subscribers," Gwen said, beaming. "But I've been pretty busy too-nothing I can't handle, but it's taking up all my time."

"Just as long as you're not burning yourself out," Randy said. "Do you have your laptop with you? Why don't we do some work together?"

"Sure," Gwen said, as she reached into her tote bag, "but what about your friends? Would I be bothering any of them?"

"Hell no," Randy said, "but they all went out tonight anyway. Just think of this as our way of catching up."

Gwen only smiled as she reached for another cookie.

Frank Payne had always prided himself on being able to change with the times. When conventional hitmen were increasingly replaced by costumed supervillains, Frank had gotten himself a costume, a set of electrically-powered vibranium whips and the codename of the Constrictor. When his current client demanded that he attack a previous one, Frank had been willing to do it.

Frank generally accepted change in most areas of life, realizing that it was inevitable at some point. There was one area where he drew the line, namely his disdain for the increasingly idiotic things people were willing to do for cheap thrills. One of the things that annoyed Frank the most was the casual drug use so many people in the club scene engaged in. As far as Frank was concerned, it was one thing to enjoy an occasional beer, but it was quite another to spend ridiculous sums of money on designer drugs that rotted your brain when they didn't kill you.

Now, standing on the roof of the Phoenix nightclub, staring at the partying clubgoers through the skylight of the club's roof, the Constrictor felt a sick sense of disgust rising up in him. Most of those idiots had no idea what the drugs they were taking would do to them, any more than they knew what kind of diseases they could end up with from their latest flings. As a result, he felt even less remorse about this current assignment than he normally would have.

Crimewave had hired the Constrictor to hassle his criminal rival Philippe Bazin for shoving Crimewave and the rest of the New York crime outfits out of one of the most lucrative nightclub drug trades in the city. According to Crimewave, the different crime syndicates had a "gentleman's agreement" that gave them all equal access to the club scene. Now that Bazin was driving out his competition, Crimewave decided that he deserved to be taught a lesson.

The Constrictor smashed the skylight open with his electrically-charged whips before using the whips to lower himself into the club. He came down amidst a torrent of broken glass and a loud crash, causing several clubgoers to cry out in shock as they scrambled to get out of the way. Retracting his whips, the Constrictor looked around at the club patrons, a disgusted scowl crossing his face.

Before any of the patrons could react, the Constrictor spun in place, sending his electrical whips flying around him in a circle. The whips crackled with electricity, shattering several tables and a bar before the Constrictor swung them up and into a wall. Pulling the whips back, the Constrictor brought the wall crashing down, causing several of the patrons to scream as the wall came down on them. He lashed out at several other patrons, making them scream in pain as the electrical whips struck them.

A few patrons tried to rally themselves and call the police, but by the time they did the Constrictor had already used his whips to climb back out through the skylight.

When the police arrived, the Constrictor was long gone, with only a wrecked club and a number of burned and bleeding victims to show that he had ever been there.

In the ten years he had been working for Philippe Bazin as an enforcer, Denzel committed almost a dozen murders. The rest of Bazin's lieutenants were afraid of him, and Denzel was proud of that. He was one of the most powerful individuals in Bazin's organization.

Denzel knew that the fear Bazin's other lieutenants felt for him was nothing compared to the fear they felt for Bazin. Denzel shared that fear, and he never felt it more than when he was giving the boss bad news. He had just given Bazin a report on the Constrictor's attacks on the nightclubs Bazin had a drug monopoly on, and now he was waiting for Bazin's reaction.

Everyone in the New York underworld knew that Philippe Bazin didn't start gang wars.

He finished them.

Bazin sat in silence for several minutes, staring daggers at Denzel. The lieutenant broke out in a nervous sweat, stains forming in his armpits as he awaited Bazin's response.

Finally, Bazin spoke.

"Leave me," he said.

Denzel's eyes widened at that, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune. Getting up from his chair, he almost ran out of the room, slamming the double doors to Bazin's office behind him.

Bazin simmered with rage as he considered who might have set the Constrictor loose on his sales. It wasn't likely that Cornelius Van Lunt was responsible-Van Lunt was much more short sighted than the cunning, calculating Rose. Bazin doubted that it was any of the street gangs or foreigners like the Russians, either, since they knew they didn't have the strength to face Bazin evenly.

Bazin wondered if it was a new crime lord was trying to set up in New York the way the Rose had last year, but Bazin realized that wasn't likely either. There were no signs that anyone new was involved, and in Bazin's experience would-be upstarts typically tried to do more damage than the Constrictor's employer made him do. That only left Crimewave-and Bazin knew that this kind of retaliation was exactly what Crimewave would do.

Two could play at that game, of course.

Opening his laptop, Bazin opened the folder containing inside information on his rivals' operations.

"Son of a bitch!" Crimewave yelled as he threw his phone across the room. The phone slammed against the wall, but the action didn't make Crimewave feel any better. Incredibly, the phone began to ring again despite being thrown against the wall. Getting up from his desk, Crimewave walked over to the phone, which lay on the floor. Pulling out his gun, he shot it several times, blowing it to pieces.

That last call was no doubt from the fourth meth client that was on his ass for the shipments he'd missed. His main lab had been busted by the NYPD, so he couldn't fill his orders. It came at a really bad time-with so many university students about to start Spring Break, many of the partiers would be looking for recreational drugs. Crimewave might be able to make up the meth loss with marijuana and cocaine sales, but it was still a painful loss.

It didn't help that the NYPD managed to get two of his main offshore accounts frozen as well. He would likely be able to get them back, but it was going to cost him dearly.

Swearing out loud, Crimewave threw his gun across the room, where it slammed into the wall behind his desk and discharged.

Crimewave went to pick up his gun, but he stopped when he heard one of his lieutenants coming into the room.

"WHAT?" Crimewave shouted, staring murder at the lieutenant.

"Simon just got busted on the pornography charges," the lieutenant said, terror on his face. "The police found out about-"

"GET OUT!" Crimewave shouted, instinctively reaching for his gun, even though it was on the floor behind his desk.

The lieutenant did just that, leaving Crimewave to continue stewing in his office. Simon was one of his most important lieutenants, and the cops had somehow gotten wind of the kiddie porn operation he was overseeing.

Crimewave knew who was responsible for all of this, of course.

Bazin wasn't the only one who could finish a war.

He went to find a spare phone.

The last week of March was Spring Break for Empire State University students. While many students used the time to relax, others used it to work. Gwen was one of those working students, and for the first three days she'd been participating in one of Kingsley Cosmetics' shoots. Everything had gone perfectly, and now many of the models and senior Kingsley managers were relaxing at one of Jonathan Caesar's clubs at an after-shoot party.

Gwen was enjoying herself immensely. Several of the other models were fans of Fire Hearts-Fire Passion, Gwen's social media channels, and they'd credited the advice Gwen gave with improving their own craft. Gwen hit it off very well with the other girls, and chatted amiably with several of them on everything from makeup tips to celebrity gossip.

The party had been going on for about an hour when Gwen saw Jonathan Caesar coming up to her. They exchanged bright smiles, greeting each other before heading up to the bar together.

"You did great today, Gwen," Caesar said once they'd refilled their drinks. "I could see how happy Rebecca was with the photoshoot," he continued, referring to company head Rebecca Kingsley.

"Hopefully this will help Kingsley Cosmetics put everything to do with Roderick behind them," Gwen said, shuddering a bit. She had been sexually harassed by Roderick Kingsley about two years ago, the first time she had worked for Kingsley Cosmetics. His ex-wife Rebecca, fed up with Kingsley's cheating on her, had exposed Roderick's dirty dealings to the Securities and Exchange Commission, and sued him for control of the company as part of her divorce filing. Rebecca got an immunity deal in exchange for agreeing to testify against Roderick, and she had settled many of the lawsuits her company's competitors had filed for Roderick sabotaging and plagiarizing them. Rebecca was determined to get Kingsley Cosmetics back on track, and she had high hopes for the company's summer collection.

"I wouldn't still be here if they didn't," Caesar said. "And I'll be collecting Social Security by the time Roderick gets out of prison. How about you, Gwen? What are you planning to do once the semester's done?"

"Good question," Gwen said. "Probably find some more work, I guess."

"I'm sure I could help with that," Caesar said with a smile. "In fact-"

Caesar never got to finish his sentence, as the skylight above them shattered. He, Gwen, and the rest of the partygoers stared askance at the gold- and blue-armored figure of the Constrictor as he dropped into the club. Smiling wickedly, the Constrictor began striking out around him with his coils, eager for blood.

Gwen recovered from her surprise faster than the other partygoers. She had no idea what the Constrictor was doing here, but she quickly found out as the Constrictor swung his coils at Caesar. Gwen was faster, tackling Caesar and knocking him out of the way of the electrified coil. She pulled Caesar to his feet, running as quickly as she could in her high heels as she tried to find a place for Caesar to hide.

The club's security guards arrived then, attacking the Constrictor as Caesar broke free of Gwen's grip.

"I'm the one that psycho wants, Gwen," Caesar said. "Go on, get out of here!"

"But Mr. Caesar-" Gwen started.

"Don't worry, Gwen," Caesar said with a determined smile as he pushed her away. "I'll be alright. Just worry about yourself!"

Gwen didn't argue, kicking off her shoes and running in the other direction.

She had to get to her tote bag.

Caesar wasn't worried as he ran towards the emergency exit. He was just angry, cursing himself for his foolishness in letting his dealings with Bazin endanger Gwen, the rest of the models and the Kingsley Cosmetics staff.

Gwen... Caesar thought to himself. Amy would be about Gwen's age now if she was still alive. They'd probably have been on stage together today, if...

He shook his head, wondering why he was thinking about this now.

Caesar continued running, but fond memories of Amy filled more and more of his thoughts, interspersed with worry about Gwen.

The Constrictor never felt guilty when he killed people, but he did enjoy some kills more than others. He was especially looking forward to getting rid of Caesar, the bastard who allowed meth and other poisons to be sold in these clubs. This would be the perfect way to send Bazin a message.

It didn't take long for the Constrictor to overcome the club's guards, and he was soon after Caesar. A couple of clubgoers tried to get in his way, but he easily knocked them aside with his coils.

What wasn't pleasing was having his coils caught by a pair of silvery threads of spider-webbing. Turning to face the source of the webbing, he stared hatred at the spectacular Spider-Woman.

"Of course it'd be you," the Constrictor said, swinging his coils at Spider-Woman. "Do you even know what this son of a bitch has done?"

"What makes you think I even care?" Spider-Woman shot back, leaping over the first wave of coils and ducking under the second. "You've got a lot to answer for!" she said, firing a double sting blast at the Constrictor. The serpentine villain staggered from Spider-Woman's blasts, and she followed up with a double shot of webbing, quickly entangling his arms. Spider-Woman was about to pull the Constrictor off balance, but she was forced to dodge as he brought his coils back to strike at her from behind.

Spider-Woman managed to avoid most of the coils, but she screamed in pain as two of them lashed her across her back and one of her arms. The third coil caught her by the ankle and threw her across the room, sending her crashing across a table and then into the bar.

Shaking her head, Spider-Woman got back to her feet. Unfortunately, the Constrictor had nearly caught up to Caesar, tearing down a wall to block the emergency exit before Caesar could escape. Using her spider-strength, she leapt nearly where to the Constrictor had Caesar cornered. The Constrictor whirled to face her, knowing that she was far from finished. Lashing out at her with his coils, the Constrictor forced her to stop short, spraying her webbing in a wide arc to deflect them. After tangling the Constrictor's coils, Spider-Woman dodged around them and struck him with another sting blast.

The Constrictor wasn't finished, though. He recovered from Spider-Woman's sting blast faster than she expected, kicking her in the face. More surprised than hurt, Spider-Woman staggered back for a second before she recovered, but that was all the Constrictor needed.

Tearing some of his coils free from Spider-Woman's webbing, the Constrictor used them to catch the fleeing Caesar. As the coils wrapped around Caesar's throat, the Constrictor flooded them with a charge of electricity. Caesar tried to scream at the agony that was tearing through his body, but no sound came from his burning throat.

While Caesar couldn't scream, the cries of the horrified bystanders who saw him die made up for it. Realizing what happened, Spider-Woman angrily punched the Constrictor in the gut, before hitting him in the face with a vicious cross that sent him flying across the room. The Constrictor crashed to the ground, rolling for several feet before getting up again. His eyes flared wickedly, as he began spinning one set of coils in front of him as a shield, using the other to lash out at Spider-Woman.

Spider-Woman suffered a painful lash from one of the coils across her stomach, but she didn't fall. Instead, she caught the coils the Constrictor was attacking her with in her webbing and flung them aside. Firing her sting blasts with one hand so the Constrictor wouldn't realize what she was doing, Spider-Woman used her other hand to fire a webline underneath the Constrictor's coil shield to entangle his feet. Spider-Woman suddenly pulled on the webline, taking the Constrictor right off his feet. The Constrictor cried out in surprise before landing on his back, as his coils fell limp.

That was all the time Spider-Woman needed. Leaping towards the Constrictor, she struck him with a double sting blast as he tried to get up, before webbing his feet to the ground. Unable to get away, the Constrictor tried to recall his coils, but Spider-Woman caught up to him. Livid with anger, Spider-Woman repeatedly punched the Constrictor until he finally collapsed.

It was all Spider-Woman could do to stop herself from hitting the Constrictor again. Shaking her head, she left him on the floor before running back to where she had hidden her street clothes and tote bag.

By the time Gwen came back, the police were already hauling the Constrictor away. Several of the models and Kingsley executives stood in a group watching the paramedics haul Jonathan Caesar's body away. Gwen ran up to join them, pushing her way through the group.

Gwen knew that Caesar was dead the moment she saw his burned throat.

She shed a single tear before she turned away, unable to bear looking at Caesar's body any longer.

Two weeks later...

The Chameleon was very pleased with how things had turned out. After the Constrictor had been arrested by the police, the Chameleon leaked information about Caesar's dirty dealings with Crimewave and Philippe Bazin to the police. They both had to deal with increased attention from the cops, while the Chameleon consolidated his gains.

The Chameleon's plan had worked to perfection. As Cornelius Van Lunt, he arranged for Caesar to meet with both Crimewave and Bazin. While Caesar was meeting with the other crimelords, the Chameleon disguised himself as a nondescript waiter and injected them with the Winkler chips.

The Winkler chips were a brilliant piece of mind control technology developed by the engineering genius who called himself the Fixer on behalf of Wilson Fisk, who was both the president of Roxxon Energy and the mysterious mob boss called the Kingpin. They were named for Winkler, one of Fisk's Roxxon executives, who wished that Roxxon could just control the government officials it regularly had to deal with. That had given Fisk an idea-namely, to use the chips as a means of controlling various New York city officials. Fisk's efforts failed, and he was driven out of New York. When the Chameleon set up his own mob operation, he'd tried to use the Winkler chips himself, using the Gloom Room A Go-Go nightclub to lure the officials in.

That effort failed too, but then the Chameleon came up with a new idea for the Winkler chips. By injecting the chips into Crimewave and Bazin, the Chameleon could control them to his own benefit. He'd already gotten Bazin to give Caesar a monopoly on drug sales at his clubs and release information about Crimewave's activities to the police. He then made Crimewave hire the Constrictor to harass Bazin and kill Caesar. All the while, he'd made his Cornelius Van Lunt identity seem stupid and short-sighted, so that Caesar wouldn't get suspicious.

Having Caesar killed was the final part of the plan. Caesar knew too much about the Chameleon's own actions as the Rose and Van Lunt, including about the Winkler chips. Killing Caesar meant that the Chameleon was the only one who knew about the chips.

The Chameleon smiled to himself.

Layer upon layer of deception.

Gwen tried to blink away her tears as she stood at Caesar's grave. The last two weeks had been a roller coaster for Gwen. She'd testified along with several of the other models and Kingsley executives at the Constrictor's murder trial. After that, word had gotten out about all of Caesar's dirty dealings with organized crime.

Rationally, Gwen knew she shouldn't feel bad about Caesar's death. She couldn't help but be pained by it though, recalling how Caesar had helped her find acting and modeling work. More than that, he'd always encouraged her efforts, letting her know that he believed in her.

Why would Mr. Caesar do that? Gwen wondered. He was a criminal...but he also sponsored indie films and helped aspiring actors and directors. How many other people did he help?

Shaking her head, Gwen tried to find an answer, but she just couldn't.

You might have deserved to go to jail, she thought as she laid some flowers on Caesar's grave, but you didn't deserve this. I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop the Constrictor from killing you.

There was more to you than most people realized, Gwen thought, standing up as she turned to leave.

...and probably more to you than anybody knew, even me, she finished.

(Next Issue: Gwen comes to terms with Caesar's death, and her life seems to be going well. Her grades have improved, her career is growing, and she's gotten her stress under control. While Gwen herself is doing better, things will change drastically for others when Moonstone begins a twisted thought experiment with tragic consequences! All this and more in Spider-Woman #97: Mob Mentality!)