Tom Holland's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Tom Holland had six hours to find his stolen Spider-Man suit before a reporter put its secrets in print. The thief had carried it into this harbor town last night. Tom knew that much. But Tom could not search the streets himself. People knew his face from the movies. One autograph, one phone camera, and a crowd would swell around him. The thief would see the noise, guess he was close, and go to ground. Tom needed eyes that no one watched. He found the night ferry at the dock after dark. The driver sat with a logbook open on the dash. Grey stubble, oil-stained cap, a face that gave nothing away. This was Noah Mine, the man who ferried everyone who tried to leave God's World in a hurry. If the thief wanted out, he would cross the water. Noah would have seen him. "I need to find someone," Tom said. "A man who came in last night. He's carrying a padded case. Red and blue cloth inside." Noah did not look up. "People pay to ride. They don't pay to be remembered." "I'll pay." "Keep it." Noah turned a page. "You're the actor. I knew your face before you stepped on the dock. You can't walk this town. Half of it would follow you." Tom's stomach dropped. If a ferry driver knew him on sight, so would everyone else. "Then you see my problem." Noah finally looked at him. "I see it. I see every face that runs for the river." He tapped the logbook. "A man came through last night. Didn't cross. Said he'd go in the morning. Carried a case he wouldn't set down." Tom leaned in. "Where is he now?" "The council took my father's dock over a missed hearing." Noah said it flat, the way he said everything. "He fixed nets on it every day till he got sick. I'm buying it back, fare by fare. I don't do favors for free, and I don't sell names to strangers." "I don't want you to sell him out. I want you to point me." Tom lowered his voice. "If that suit gets copied, kids learn it's just cloth. The story dies. I can't let a thief end it for a few dollars." Noah studied him a long moment. Then he wrote on a torn page and held it out. "Riverside motel. Second row. He asked for a room facing the water so he could watch my boat." He pulled the page back an inch. "He's booked my eleven o'clock crossing tomorrow. You've got till then." Tom took the paper. "Why help me?" "I don't like a man who steals what someone built." Noah returned to his logbook. "Go. Don't bring a crowd to my dock." Tom pocketed the address and ran. The thief was asleep across the water, the suit beside him, and the eleven o'clock ferry already waiting to carry both away.