Oh, yes, I'm quite dead, thank you very much. I've been rotting in an unmarked potter's grave for roughly twelve years 'real world time.' Lemme see, in 'Marvel Time' that'd be about what, three, four years tops?
If he is dead, it was only a matter of time. The Arranger was a fellah whose whole life depended on keeping one man (a powerfully fat man, I might add) happy. I guess the boss just wasn't happy anymore.
You don't know the half of it!! Formerly a mere accountant in the Kingpin's organization, I steadily climbed through the ranks until I became Kingpin's must trusted advisor. Hell, I got a pretty shweeet moniker for only being a bald, nearsighted fat man! Sometimes, though, I truly regret the things I did to achieve such power and prestige. It certainly is a treat not to hear Mr. Fisk bellow, "tonight the Arranger cleans my ass." You can bet that shit (no pun intended) got old REAL quick.
Anyways, I met my fate in Spectacular Spider-Man #165, aptly titled, "The Arranger Must Die!" When I first heard I'd be making another appearance in a Spidey book, I was thrilled -- I could've sworn the original title proposed was, "The Arranger Must Dine!" Sadly, this was not at all what occurred. After I got wind that Fisk was gonna do me in, I begged the other crimelords (i.e., Hammerhead, the Chameleon) to "bring me into their families" and grant me protection. Unfortunately, they wanted nothing to do with a marked man. Who could blame'm? That's where Spider-Man entered the picture. Oh, how I pleaded with him. Oh, how I begged!! But my past trickery* had ultimately been my undoing, for Spider-Man would not trust me. Fisk brought in two men, Fogg and Knight, to do the deed and I was skewered like a sweltering sow!!
And I --
yeeouch!!!... with one of Mephisto's daemons stabbing me in the ass with a pitchfork, I can only assume its time for me to go. Just remember folks: try not to wind up in Hell, if at all possible. Farewell.