Daredevil
Season 2: Episode 2 30:00
Frank walked into the pawn shop, seeing the owner in some kind of deal with a man far to jittery to be a saint. The Owner looked up at him, hand immediately flinching to his right despite the nylon bag straps in his hands. Frank hesitated, standing in the doorway in case he had gotten a notice from some thug about him. He swaggered forward, hoping that was the case. The Owner grabbed a small wad of cash from the counter and held it under the Addict's nose, "Go on, get the hell out of here."
The Addict took it, too excited about his next high to count it right away, or take his bag. Frank looked around the shop, confidence rising with each step. Cockroach aisles, saint statues, steady supply of beer, the sound of a twelve gauge with a sawed off barrel pointing towards him; oh yeah, this was the place.
The Owner's eyes shot up and down his frame, hand on the shotgun. Seriously, Frank thought, I'm not that pretty to be jacked off in front of, don't think I can't see it! "Do I know you?" The Owner demanded. There was a slight squeak, he had the shotgun suspended by a belt or holster or something. If it went off, buckshot would rip a hole through the wood on the thin counter and could do some serious damage. Frank kept his face level, not the time to be cheap.
He slowed to a stop before the Owner. "I need an NYPD mobile communications rig." The Owner's eyes expanded, but he didn't falter. "One that gets encrypted tactical frequencies."
The Owner scoffed once before blurting, "What do I look like, RadioShack?"
It's in stock, Frank observed. He took a sip of his coffee, a move that told the owner he could taste the bullshit.
The Owner began to breathe faster, "Anyway, dealing in this shit is illegal."
In stock, on the premises, Frank thought. He couldn't pass this up, he needed to track what was going on and where. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the dirt money he picked up from the Irish and tossed it onto the counter. This was going to be expensive.
Immediately, the Owner blossomed. "Sure you're not a cop? 'Cause that's trouble I don't need."
Frank grumbled and took his money to turn away, not to leave the deal, but to hurry negotiations.
"Woah, woah, woah! I gotta ask, right?" The Owner shrieked, holding out his palms. "Just hold on." He turned his heel and flew to a cabinet locked with a foot long padlock and quickly opened it. Meanwhile Frank fiddled with the cash in his pocket, lightening the bundle so that he could buy dinner that night. The Owner pulled from the cabinet a tactical duffel bag and set it on his counter, smiling. "Straight outta Officer McDipShit's dashboard." He beamed. "Gets your tactical bands, surveillance feeds. Hell, it'll probably pick up the mayor banging his boyfriend." He looked up at Frank, huffing as though Frank would share his enthusiasm.
His smile faded when Frank only nodded his head. "It's a grand. We're talking about a one-of-a-kind item."
Frank withdrew his bundle of money and counted out the bills. Ten one hundred dollar bills for the machine, the surveillance tape came free. "What about the double-barrel under the counter?"
The Owner leaned away, impressed or frightened Frank couldn't tell with him. He counted out three hundred more dollars and tossed it onto the counter, changing the Owner's face again. Diligently, he pulled it from its suspension and unloaded it in front of Frank, handing it out handle first. Frank took up the buckshot, leaving the gun behind. He didn't want to be cleaning Dirtbag shotgun all night, and his other double barrel was already seasoned.
The Owner shrugged and surrendered the duffel bag, content with his sale. Frank took his purchases and turned to walk away.
"You- you sure I can't get you anything else? You know, I got it all, man."
Frank could hear him clatter around, picking up what sounded like DVDs or CD cases. By the sound of the types of porn he was naming off, possibly B-rated desperate-to-get-laid smut.
"Or maybe you're in the market for something younger! She's barely 12. Guaranteed!"
Frank stopped dead in the middle of the shop. He wasn't talking about the twelve disciples. He looked at his reflection in the shop door windows, the face of the Owner gleaming with delight at the prospect of making another sale. Something to count while that little girl did things to a stranger he would have never allowed his daughter to even think about.
Frank leaned over and set his bag down, earning teasing praises from the Owner. Frank stalked to the "open" sign and flipped it closed, the Owner laughing and moving towards the stairs he kept locked by the back door. Frank sipped his coffee, setting it on one of the glass cases where he could find it later. He marched back to the Owner, eyes settling on a trash can of aluminum baseball bats.
"What the hell are you doin'?" The Owner stuttered, eyes growing wide when he saw Frank take a perfectly shiny bat.
Frank tossed it up, ready to bat.
"Hey, man, just take it easy."
Frank looked at him. Nah, he thought. You didn't take it easy when you had your way with somebody's baby.
"I-I'm just trying to make a buck!"
Frank gripped the handle and coiled his arms back, You did. Not anymore. He swung, connecting with the Owner's arm and sending him flying halfway across the back counter floor. That arm was broken, Frank knew it as he jumped over the counter in one solid leap and stalked the Owner. The scumbag whimpered and blubbered, too dazed to scream. Frank kicked him over, staring him down. "Where is she?"
"You broke my arm!" The Owner screamed, "You broke my arm you sonofa bitch!"
Frank took the bent baseball bat and brought it crashing down on the Owner's leg, hearing a pleasant Crack! "Where is she?" He demanded again.
The Owner screamed, leaning his head back to wail. Frank heard a noise upstairs, a thump. Frank moved to the staircase and tried the door handle, finding it locked. He raised the bat, "Give me the keys."
The Owner didn't hesitate. With his good hand, he pointed to a ring of keys on the counter. "The- the green one!" He moaned.
Frank took the keys and tried it, swinging the door wide open. Quickly, Frank took the stairs, cautious in case there was a guard. The stairs were carpeted, better for concealing noise. There was an apartment on the top floor that opened to a living room with a flea trap for a couch. Frank looked at it, seeing water stains on the cushions and no TV, only a video camera. This was one place where the girl would do her screwing. He heard a noise again, this time coming from the room on his left.
Frank tried the doorknob, finding it locked and hearing more movement from inside. "Stand back!" He called inside. With one kick, the door swung open, revealing a mattress with no sheets or blanket, wood floors, and a little girl dressed in a sparkly pink thong bikini with smeared lipstick on her face. The moment she saw Frank she shrunk away, face frightened. Slowly, she straightened and swallowed, walking towards him in what music videos would consider to be a "sexy gait."
"Business is done on the couch," She told him, pointing behind him. "I can start the camera if you want for an extra $50."
Frank watched her, chest aching and eyes stabbing as she moved towards him. "Stop," He commanded, looking away from her. "Do you have any clothes? Anything other than what you're wearing?"
She hesitated. "I have a school girl outfit, and a corset."
"Where did they get the school girl outfit? From a uniform place?"
"I think so. The skirt fits me down to my knees, though. This is easier to work with-"
"Put on the school girl outfit. Leave that thing here, and take off your makeup. We're leaving here." He turned his heel and thundered down the steps, gripping his bat in an even tighter fist.
The Owner, still crying, kicked his good leg with fear, trying to get away from Frank as much as possible. Frank saw nothing but red as he lifted the bat above his head and brought it crashing down on the Owner's face, over and over again until the hamburger meat was sprayed over the cabinets. He dropped the mangled bat, hearing it roll with satisfied clanging over the linoleum tiles, rising with the power surging through his veins.
"You have a jacket, kid?" He asked, turning his head to hear her response.
She squirmed from her post behind the corner, her breathing fast. Frank turned to look at her, waiting for her answer. She twitched her head left and right, "No-no." She breathed.
"Where does this dirtbag sleep?" He gestured to the body behind him.
"Up-upstairs. The room with the money."
"Go in there, find a shirt, pants, and a jacket. Meet me down here in five minutes. Sharp."
She bolted upstairs, likely knowing punishment for lesser crimes. Frank walked back to the business counter and took his money back, along with what other thousands were there for illicit deals. Girls weren't cheap.
The Kid came down wearing a plaid shirt and leather belt so that it looked like a dress. On her feet were boots three sizes too big for her but laced up tight, and draped over her arm was a leather jacket that could probably serve as a trench coat. She looked up at him, waiting for her next orders.
Frank looked at her, "I told you to get pants. Probably couldn't find any so I'll let it pass. Put the jacket on." Slowly, she donned the jacket, eyes still questioning his next move. He jerked his head out the door, "Let's go."
He walked around the counter, saying nothing. The Kid didn't move, she only watched him and the dead body of her pimp. Frank looked over his shoulder, "Do I have to repeat myself?"
The sound of her ridiculous shoes sledded to him, catching up when he leaned over to pick up his duffel bag. "You have family?"
The Kid shook her head. "My uncle sold me to Reddie," She looked back at the counter. "I don't want to go back to him. Please don't let me go back to him!"
"Nah, I won't take you back to him." Frank grunted. "I'm your uncle to anyone who asks. Not the one who sold you, the one who found out what happened and got you out. Now come on, when was the last time you had a good meal?"
"I get a cheeseburger every time I make a customer have an orgasm. I had cereal for breakfast this morning."
Frank shook his head. "Come on," He opened the door for her, trying to see clearly.
Lower East Manhattan
Frank watched as Candice ate her roasted chicken with both hands, sipping his coffee. For being twelve, she scarfed the thing like it was a bag of chips! Malnourished, intimidated, Frank thought. She can't go back into the system. He looked at her, "So you're name's Candice?"
She looked at him, face smeared with grease. She nodded.
"What happened to your parents?"
She lifted her head, cheeks full of chicken. Taking a sip of water, she cleared her throat, "My dad left when I was a baby. My mom worked to support us, but she went missing the night the bombs blew up Hell's Kitchen. My uncle didn't want me so he sold me to Reddie."
"Did you go to school?"
She nodded. "I was good at reading and social studies. I had to take math tutoring, though."
Frank chuckled, "Numbers was my thing for a while, then they started adding all these crazy symbols and it didn't make much sense after that. Reading was always good, you know, reading with a flashlight and watching everybody sleep." He smirked as her face lifted. Hope. "Where'd you go to school?"
She shrunk immediately, "P.S. 359 in Hell's Kitchen." Then she added quietly, "My uncle was the principal."
Frank looked away, vision blurring. Good memories of learning, but not of the place itself. She was first raped there. He inhaled, "Alright, Candice, here's what's going to happen." He leaned onto the table and looked at her, "You see the place across the street?" He jerked his head out the window for her to see a decently kept storefront.
She looked, "Yeah."
"It's called a Battered Women's Shelter, its where women and young girls can go get help. It's a safe place, only women and kids allowed in. You're going to spend the night there, I'll pick you up in the morning."
She leaned back, "Am I yours now?"
He looked at her. She meant it, she thought that now the world revolved around who owned her, that she had no control over herself or her body. "You listen here, no one owns you. No body can demand ownership of your body just because you're a kid or girl. No body! You hear me?"
She nodded, eyes wide.
Frank leaned back slightly, "These women are going to help you so feel free to take down any phone numbers to therapists or helpers that you need. They usually have clothes donation boxes so you can find a proper fitting wardrobe. And shoes." He reached into his pocket and took out two, hundred dollar bills. "If not then ask them to take you to Payless or somewheres." He handed her the money.
She looked at the money, looking at it like it was either a snake or the greatest thing in the world, Frank couldn't tell. She looked at him, "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"
Of all the bullets in the world, those two questions broke the Kevlar. "I punish bad people." He told her, "I try to help those little guys who've been stepped on by bad guys."
She swallowed, still looking at him, "Do you want me to pay you back?"
He shook his head. "No. I don't want you to pay me back. I want you to be the kid you were meant to be." He motioned to her chicken, "Finish eating."
Frank watched from the sidewalk as Candice knocked on the door to the shelter, summoning a thicker set woman with red hair. From where he stood, Frank could see a scar on her breast from where her brand tattoo used to be. They were in the right place.
"Um, can you help me?" Candice asked.
"Sure, honey, what do you need?"
Candice looked back to Frank, uncertain. He nodded, trying to look encouraging. Immediately, the woman tensed, "Is this man bothering you?"
"No!" Candice told her, "No, he's my uncle. He took me away from my owner. He doesn't have room at his house right now."
Frank moved closer, holding his hands out when the woman straightened. "One bedroom, not in a good place. I found my niece and figured that she wouldn't appreciate sleeping in a bed with another stranger. You ladies know a couple of people who can help her, right?"
The woman nodded, "Yes, sir. We do."
"I'll come pick her up in the morning. I should have an idea of where I'll be staying by then. I'd appreciate it if she had age appropriate clothes."
The woman chuckled, "We can take care of your niece, Mr…?"
"Frank. Just call me Frank."
The woman nodded, her face full of skepticism that he'd be back. "Frank."
He looked at Candice, uncertain of what she should do next. "See you tomorrow?"
"What are you doing tonight?" She asked leaning towards him.
He smirked, "Working."
