19 Spiderman and Cobwebs

Outside The Borscht Bowl Club – April 15, 2026

Since losing his badge, the lonely, generally blasé about his existence Phoenix Wright had neither paid much mind to his appearance nor, save for Trucy, cared much about anything. Despite having been sober (for the most part, a couple of lapses, including tonight, notwithstanding!) for nearly 2 years, he also didn’t care to bother with shaving his stubble or wearing anything except his customary hobo garb, as it suited his poker face and slouched posture. Consequently, he knew he looked much older than a man who was in his early 30s and merely shrugged at the fact that he now looked and felt every bit the Old Man Maya used to joke that he was.

However, in that final blink of an eye, when he saw the advancing vehicle careening towards him, the utterly blitzed pianist sharply realized that having his life flash before his eyes, while only being in his third decade of life, actually meant he wasn’t very old at all!

This meant his obituary would surely list the newly deceased Phoenix Wright as a young man, albeit of forging acclaim, and more than likely the ex-Ace Attorney would be deemed to have been run down (literally!) in the prime of his youth!

At the sight of the blinding twin beams from the ancient, battered Pinto, the scream tore through him like a great shard of glass. His throat seared in agony from the loud release, while he felt his eyes widen and pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock clattering in a box. The scream came again, desperate and terrified. The blood drained from his face, and after only a few nanoseconds, his brain was in full panic. There was no coordinated movement for his cemented limbs; he could only remain helplessly frozen in place, like a stunned deer caught in the oncoming headlights, awaiting his inevitable fate.

At the very last split-second, just centimeters short of the paralyzed from fright man, the earsplitting, squealing sound of burning tires jerking to a halt left a ringing in his ears. The fender of the vehicle had actually grazed against the leg of his sweatpants, although fortunately, his bared-sandal toes had been spared. Phoenix hadn’t even realized he’d been painfully holding his breath within his lungs until he finally expelled all the pent-up air in a heavy gasp of relief, and resumed normal breathing again.

Boy, what a blare that was! The Ford operator’s whirling mind barely registered the catastrophe she’d just narrowly averted. It made the hair stand straight up on the back of my neck! That was the loudest, most piercing sound I have ever heard! It sounded like a scream of wild panic – of hysteria and disbelief, bordering on terror. Dogarnit, I need to make sure this fella’s alright!

The driver’s heart was hammering like a bird trapped in a cage, increasing in intensity and speed as she shakily jerked the car to a halt and leaped out of the driver’s side door, the adrenaline coursing through her system.

Had Phoenix been sober, instead of three sheets to the wind, he would’ve realized upon sight of the emerging driver, that his night was now going to morph from being constituted as “not my day” to officially being “into the realm of a waking nightmare!”

“Curse you, you dang snipperwhapper!” The still-flustered driver shrieked, waving her fist furiously at the poleaxed Phoenix. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?! You thoughtless youngsters these days, just gallivanting around where you please, and nearly giving sweet little old ladies like me a heart attack!”

The pedestrian, who had nearly become roadkill, didn’t answer, as he was too busy still huffing and puffing from his near brush with death, and even in the surrounding pitch darkness, which was only lit up by the beams of her car, she could see that he was ghostly pale.

“Dagnabbit, are you alright, sonny?” The harridan asked uneasily, cautiously putting a hand on the card shark’s bare forearm, noting his horripilation as he continued to huff away raggedly. “You do know you nearly scared me half to death, you reckless whippersnapper?! And while I have half a mind to keep giving you the tongue-lashing you deserve for being such a careless, mindless clod, much like the rest of the youthful louts of today, I’m too much of a gentlewoman of my long-lost generation to simply leave you in this sorry state! Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Or at least give you a lift home?”

The rattled Phoenix still couldn’t reply, as he was too busy being bent over and breathing heavily, his hands on his knees. He yanked his beanie off his head and raked a frenzied hand over his spikes, now damp with previously fearful perspiration. The sight of his trademarked mane caused a flicker of recognition to at last dawn upon the old woman’s withered features, replacing her steadfast expression of concern.

“Now I know who you are, you mindless, annoying brat!” The former security guard exclaimed. “I’ve been looking high and low for you these last three years, but you seem to have vanished into the thin air since that unfortunate incident! You were probably under my nose all this time, but I would never recognize you without those crazy hair points of yours, which you’ve been slyly hiding underneath that hat! Who do you think you are Clark Kent, wearing such an obvious disguise and masking your secret identity all this time?! Although I reckon glasses is still a more laughably transparent guise than that gaudy cap of yours – it’s springtime in California, why in the blazes are you wearing a winter beanie anyway?! – but I still can’t believe the ruse worked with me of all people! It takes a lot to pull a fast one on sharp as a whip, Wendy Oldbag! She’s normally not so easily fooled, no siree, Bob!”

“Ms. Oldbag?” Glazed eyes stared with dawning perception upon the former Wicked Witch of the Witness Stand at last as the poker champ unsteadily placed his hat back on. “Izzat you? I din recognize your voice affirst…”

The fact that Phoenix was unable to recognize the ear-grating, nasally yapping of the over-talkative infamous courtroom witness, with whom he’d had copious amounts of unpleasant (and unforgettable, had he indeed been sober and not blitzed on brain-numbing, illegal Russian moonshine!) encounters should have been an obvious testament to how plastered he was! But in the case of the normally observant old biddy, aka the wretched Wendy, her fragile ego overcame her common sense at that moment.

“Yes, it’s me, you unenlightened yob!” She grumbled. “And you can call me Wendy! None of this Ms. Olbag business – makes me feel like a decrepit old fart when I am still very much young at heart! I still have the ticker of a young tender maiden – it’s just my body refuses to cooperate at times!”

He swayed slightly on his feet, but the surprisingly strong, despite her age, Miles Edgeworth fan girl placed a steadying arm around him, unsure if it was the revelation of her identity which was causing the ex-attorney to be rocking on his heels – like the rest of the world, she, of course, was well aware of his disbarred status – or something else entirely! Either way, it appeared she would have to do her Good Samaritan duty.

“Apologies…Wendy,” Phoenix murmured faintly, completely oblivious to the flush of pleasure on her withered face at hearing her Christian name being upon a young man’s lips, for the first time since her husband had passed. “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

“Just don’t call me late for dinner! Humph! I suppose this is a step in the right direction! Forgetting a lady’s name is just another thing that’s wrong with the ill-mannered, unchivalrous youth of today! Luckily, we have an entire car ride for me to express how thoroughly dejected I am that you could forget me, of all people, buster! Let’s get you in the car – can’t have you passing out on me here!”

Wendy practically carried the intoxicated pianist over to the passenger side door and all but hefted him into the car, carefully buckling his seatbelt before climbing back into the Ford.

“I’ve been looking high and low for you for some time now, you evasive, spiky-haired whippersnapper! Where in Sam Hill have you been hiding?”

“I’ve been working as a pianist at the bar across the street since I lost my badge,” Phoenix mumbled, leaning back his spinning head against the headrest. “I’d just finished my shift and was heading to the bus stop before I nearly became…”

“My hood ornament!” She cut him off with agitation. “Anyway, I’m going to run you over to your home, no pun intended! But first, I need to stop by my place. Number one, I’ve been in this accursed costume for over 12 hours in the blistering sun at Gatewater Land, and I’m about to lose my mind if I don’t get out of it soon! And number two, I’ve had something of yours in my possession, like I said, for a few years now!”

“Wassat?” Phoenix’s words were beginning to slur even more now. “Anf, why ya lookit like a big metal pink bunny, wif big round… boobies?”

Wendy scowled at him, forgoing his first question in her indignation, and still not cluing into his altered mindset – in her faded, presently irked memories of the man, hadn’t he always been a mumbler?

“They’re called mammaries, AKA breasts, you unrefined heathen! And they’re part of my Pink Princess getup at the amusement park, where I just pulled a double shift because of some special police parade! How can you, of all people, not recognize the outfit? You and that plucky little assistant of yours defended the Steel Samurai back in the day! She’s the one who inspired Sal Manella’s interest in making a spin-off show starring the hero’s love interest!”

“Sowwy.” The spiky-haired man flashed a goofy, drunken grin, unaware of how becoming it made him look to the thirsty dotard. “Of course Ima be lost about who you ‘posed to be – wiffout your head!”

“It’s in the back seat! I can’t drive with the blasted thing on, you know!” She cast him an irate, sideways glance. “Incidentally, when I found your billfold in the bushes at People’s Park all those years ago, since you didn’t have a driver’s license, there was no identification which had your address on it, so I had no way of returning it to you. And then I kept forgetting to just turn it into the police. I knew it was yours though, based on the photo of you and little munchkin in the top hat you also had in there, along with the picture of your assistant hidden in the back of it.”

“That was Maya. She’s not with me anymore.” Even though his eyes were closed and his head was still tipped back against the headrest, there was a slight catch in Phoenix’s voice, and he suddenly felt lower than the tits on a retired stripper. “The other photo … Dat’s my baby gurl. My widdle Trucy doll – she’s my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” That caught her attention. She blinked in surprise, then smirked. “Well, I’ll be doggone! I’m guessing when you conceived her – cat’s pajamas, you must have still been in high school! – You weren’t using one of the Magnum–sized willie warmers you also had in your billfold, which I’m guessing are now expired! By Jove, you’re a blockhead! Don’t you know you’re not supposed to keep sheepskins in a wallet?”

Had Phoenix been of sound mind and body, granny’s intimate knowledge of his belongings would have been beyond mortifying, and he was too far gone to inform the presumptuous woman Trucy was adopted. Instead, he merely chuckled sheepishly.

“Oops! My bad! At least I’m a safety boy!”

“Oh, my stars and garters! You kids nowadays need to pretty much wrap yourselves up in a tire in order to enjoy making whoopee! I almost feel sorry for you! If only you had known the joys of free love in the 1960s! That decade was just the bee’s knees!”

Realizing she’d wistfully, but unintentionally, gone down a slippery slope down memory lane, Wendy cleared her throat and continued to ramble.

“There was also your expired Ivy University student ID – before your spiky-haired days, I see, and also before you had any fashion sense to speak of! Even your current hobo ensemble is an improvement from what you were wearing in that photo! I hope you killed that god-awful pink sweater with fire!”

Iris, bless your heart… he chortled inwardly. But that atrocious sweater you gave me was the biggest fashion faux-pas since Crocs!

“There was also a matchbook with a phone number on it, and another napkin with another number written on it in lipstick… Heavens to Betsy, you’re just a regular Casanova, aren’t you? You trying to create some more brothers and sisters for your daughter there!?”

“What?! You peeked in every inch of my wallet?” Phoenix stared at her incredulously, momentarily stunned into sobriety as he tried to recall just whose phone numbers he’d collected way back then! “Hey! Objectification! No, wait … dat’s not right! I mean, objection! Dat’s an unfair privacy violation!”

“Do you think I give a moist, soggy bag of dick lint about fair?” She flashed a supercilious sneer at his startled expression upon hearing her uncharacteristic colloquialism. “I feel like I know you inside out by having stumbled upon that personal piece of your property, you man whore! I also know you aren’t married – no wedding ring on your hand. However, I imagine that doesn’t mean a lick…men these days don’t seem to want to wear bands anymore.”

The chatterbox hag pulled onto a side street in front of a modest-sized, Spanish-style, split-level house.

“My late husband Harry did, but he wasn’t the romantic type at all. Why, when he proposed to me he said I guess “I’m stuck with you now”…of all the nerve! Grrrr…that’s enough valuable breath wasted on that no-good shit weasel! You also had a library card, bus tickets, your social security card, a loyalty stamp card for Eldoon’s Noodles, and enough stamps for a free Samurai Dog – I ate it as a finder’s fee…”

In their distracted and drunken states, neither Wendy Oldbag nor Phoenix Wright noticed the mysterious black Mercedes, with dark tinted windows, which had been trailing a safe distance behind them since they’d left The Borscht Bowl Club vicinity, discreetly parking a few houses down, the driver of the vehicle never once tearing their narrowed, unwavering gaze off the duo.

Wendy Oldbag’s House – April 15, 2026

The costumed woman exited the Ford and assisted the droopy pianist out of the passenger side, grunting at his slumped weight against her shoulder.

“We’re at my place. You may as well come on in. I need to hunt for the wallet and it might take a while for me to remember where I put it. Maybe I can give you some coffee or water or something while you just sit back and relax those nerves for a bit; you’ve had quite a shock to your system tonight.”

In more ways than one! Phoenix lamented idly as she escorted his stumbling form into the house and plunked him down on her couch. I’d nearly forgotten everything before I almost became car meat! What a nice lady to take care of me and offer to drive me home! Even with this detour to her house, I’d still get home faster than I would’ve on the late-night bus anyway! Also, yay! I get my wallet back at last!

“Yer da besssst, Wendy.” He smiled dopily, flopping his head back against the cushions, not realizing that in the act of slumping backward, his joggers had marginally slid down his narrow hips, and his T-shirt had ridden up ever so slightly as well, giving the suddenly lascivious mascot a tantalizing glimpse of tanned, toned flesh. “Tanks fer taking care of me. Sowwy ‘gain for not havin knowed who you wuz, purty lady, or weckanizin your costume at frist. I always wuved da Pink Princess!”

Wendy giggled girlishly, having never heard these words from a man in at least five decades, and batted her eyelashes coquettishly. The deluded and hopelessly vain woman had yet to fully realize that this was a glaring case of beauty being in the eyes of the beer holder and that she was being gazed upon with very boozy goggles indeed!

“Pretty lady?” She cooed and giggled girlishly. “You sure know how to make a lady weak in the knees! Oh, you sweet talker! I’m going to hunt for your wallet right now!”

As she hurried down the hall, she spent quite a bit of time tearing her room upside down, trying to remember where she had put the found item, at last retrieving it from a metal box on the top shelf of her closet, in which she had stored several precious items: a signed poster of the late movie star, whose last role had been as the Evil Magistrate, Jack Hammer; an autographed Jammin Ninja script from the late portrayer, Juan Corrida; and several pictures of a certain debonair, cravat-wearing prosecutor, most taken with the telescopic lens of her trusty DSLR camera, including some steamy ones of him in the shower at the gym. Why did the darn man have to be living in a penthouse condo! She may have been a whizbang sleuth for her spidey sense of her darling Edgey-Poo’s whereabouts, but she was no Spiderman! How the heck was she supposed to scale the walls of a 30-story building?!

The spiky-haired whippersnapper had been friends with her Edgey-Poo, if memory served her correctly, the besotted old woman mused to herself as she headed back to the living room with the retrieved billfold in hand. Now, Miles Edgeworth, there was a man who knew how to charm the pants off a lady, and without even trying!

Wendy had changed out of her cumbersome Pink Princess garb and was wearing a knee-length housecoat over her nightgown now – she’d noticed her impromptu house-guest had looked very bleary-eyed, and figured he could just crash on the couch for the night and she would drop him home in the morning, as she was quite tired herself from working such a long shift in the blistering sun.

“Here’s your wallet, whippersnapper,” she announced, dropping the item over the back of the couch onto what she presumed was his lap, before coming around to the front. “I can get you something to drink now if you like. You’re free to crash here tonight if you want. I’m feeling pretty pooped myself and I can run you home in the morning…”

Her words were fully intended to reassure Phoenix he was safe in her company – despite her preferred penchant for the prosecutor over the former defense attorney, she vividly recalled that the dark-haired man had been a very earnest, good-hearted legal eagle, so she wanted him to know he could trust her.

Her words trailed off as she took her premier long, hard look at the fine young specimen passed out on her sofa, now in proper lighting.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, her hungered, fervid eyes roved over every inch of him as she realized his T-shirt had only crept up higher in his slumber, now revealing not just sculpted abdominals but the rest of his physique, including wide shoulders, a lean waist, and rigid pecs. The fabric of the joggers rolled down his lean hips and was tightly pulled back against his legs in the position he was in, showcasing strong calves and muscular thighs. Also, Wendy noted fastidiously, with that distracting hairdo covered up by that ridiculous hat, for the first time ever, she could ruefully admit having overlooked Phoenix in the past would’ve been a gross understatement!

One second ago, she’d been thoroughly exhausted and ready to hit the hay – but sleep was presently the furthest thing from her mind at that particular moment!

The beguiling sight of those hooded bedroom eyes, now serenely closed, long lashes sweeping against his cheeks, made Wendy Oldbag shamelessly acknowledge that in his own way, although very different in appearance from the classically handsome, finely chiseled and aristocratic-featured Miles Edgeworth, the sprawled out man lying before her simply oozed raw manly sexuality. With his full head of thick, black hair and built body, even unconscious, the sleeping Phoenix Wright was still so unapologetically, blatantly male, and although sleepy and defenseless . . . was utterly gorgeous.

Wendy’s heart would always belong to her precious Edgey-poo – she would chase him forever to the ends of the earth! – but she’d be a fool not to carpe diem! Not when this succulent morsel had presented itself to her, and in such a titillating manner, as though on a silver platter!

Deciding to test the waters and gauge how far gone he was, she leaned forward until her mug was only inches from his. The sleeping poker champ’s lips parted slightly, expelling a gush of warm, unmistakably alcohol-laden breath in her face. Wendy wrinkled her nose and drew back slightly, realizing at last, that Phoenix hadn’t been merely exhausted from work and traumatized from the near-collision ordeal after all – he’d overdosed on Giggle Water and was paralytically plastered!

Dang it! The man’s been hitting the hard stuff! Mercy Me! He wasn’t just bleary-eyed! He’s flat-out boryeyed!

Wendy briefly wrestled with her scruples as she grasped the fact that her loins were warm for a gamin who was as pissed as a newt! Even if she hadn’t had houghmagandie for so long, she was sure they must have changed it, wouldn’t it be well…frowned upon, if she were to take advantage of someone so helplessly banjaxed?

Still…it’d been so damn long since she’d been slammed like a dunny door in a gale that she was sure she had cobwebs collecting!

The winds have shifted in my favor. The golden opportunity has presented me with a sexy young whippersnapper. One who can’t actually run away so no need to even chase after! Besides, surely he feels some sort of attraction towards me? She attempted to rationalize her intended actions to herself. After all, he did say I was a pretty lady and that he loved Pink Princess after all! Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the chimney! And while his pride and joy may be in a state of detumescence, I know I can fix that!

In the end, her overwhelming concupiscence overcame her conscience, figuring by the time she was done with the sure to be memorable lechercraft, the dead to the world Phoenix probably wouldn’t even wake up, or even realize he’d been her unwitting human love toy!

It was with these thoughts that the determinedly rabid Wendy Oldbag bounded towards her bathroom, her pulse racing with excitement and her senses heightened in anticipation.

Not even paying mind to what she was doing in her horny haste, she grabbed a tube of what she deemed to be her personal lubricant from the well-stocked medicine cabinet – the last thing she wanted from this illicit, thrill-banging tryst was Sahara Snooch Syndrome! It was a most unfortunate and uncomfortable side effect of advanced age! Dabbing a glopping amount in the appropriate area, she scooped a generous amount on her finger to apply to her unsuspecting partner as well.

A double dose should minimize friction, and hey, the smoother the glide, the better the ride, right? She cackled to herself. You know what they say: what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, after all!

Returning to the living room and shoving his pants down to his knees, Wendy wasted no time in slathering the rest of the emollient on the still zonked out pianist, admiring every velvety, growing inch of him as she worked her magic to prime him for readiness, simultaneously relieved yet disappointed he didn’t even stir at her expert ministrations.

Poor sap won’t even know his pulsating thrill hammer had the experience of a lifetime! I’m going to ride him so vigorously his hipbones may shatter! I have a lot of lost time to make up for here…I haven’t had relations since before this whippersnapper’s been born!

Wendy was so focused on her mission she didn’t even take heed to the black-gloved hand turning the knob of the unlocked front door, or the unnoticed spectator observing her next actions, as silent as the grave.

The geriatric gorgon was about to climb atop Phoenix’s supine form when she, at last, spotted the uninvited guest in the doorway. Gasping and clutching her chest, she felt nausea creeping from her abdomen to her head as her stomach gave out, and felt as if her innards were being replaced by some kind of black hole. All the blood had run down into her bare toes, and her eyes bulged in recognition while her jaw dropped open in horror at the sight of the recent arrival as they stepped forward into the room.

Everything afterward happened in such rapid-fire succession, it was as though a time warp had occurred.

The last thing the stupefied Wendy remembered was feeling her rapidly thumping heart do a complete turnabout, as she then felt the terrifying, unfamiliar sensation of it abruptly ceasing its beating entirely. She went down like a sack of potatoes as the world went black.

Cool as a cucumber, the visitor’s unruffled gaze surveyed the scene before them: a youngish male with his pants pulled down to his knees, splayed out on his back on the overstuffed chesterfield, and an octogenarian female wearing only a nightie, her discarded bathrobe on the shag carpeting, slumped on top of him. Both parties were still as corpses, and neither appeared to be breathing at all.

A smug leer played on the intruder’s lips.

Serves you right, dirtbag.