When the Iceberg Lounge's delivery truck reached the next intersection, gang cars were parked along the street there too.
Six men guarded the intersection.
They had already heard the news from Crown Street over the phone.
Spider-Man had stopped the tow truck head-on.
Two sedans had been caught in webs and hoisted into the air.
More than twenty gunmen hung on walls, and the police had needed ladders to take them down after arriving.
When the men guarding the road saw the delivery truck approach, one turned to ask their leader.
"Do we stop it?"
The minor boss looked at the roof.
The black spider sat on top, one leg dangling over the side, his white eye lenses turning their way too.
"You go stop it."
"Why me?"
"Because you asked."
The man held his gun and stayed in the car.
Someone beside him swallowed.
"Good news: Spider-Man doesn't kill."
"So what?"
"At least we'll live."
"Everyone on Crown Street lived. Now they can tell people, one after another, how Spider-Man lifted the tow truck and hung them from streetlights."
"Honestly, I think that's pretty good. Judging by their injuries, hardly any of them even ended up with severe disabilities or broken bones. Isn't that better than running into Batman?"
"If you insist on putting it that way, you stop the truck."
"I'm not a fucking idiot. I'm not going."
They all looked at the delivery truck.
The driver didn't slow down.
Spider-Man didn't get up either.
The minor boss backed the car parked at the edge of the road up several yards, clearing the intersection.
"Let's leave it for today."
"What do we tell the boss?"
"If the boss has a problem, he can stop it himself."
The delivery truck drove past them.
As Spider-Man passed the intersection, he