Chapter 1– The Setup

Foggy

Foggy dropped his briefcase in the entry hall of their apartment and flopped onto the living room couch next to Marci. He gave her a perfunctory kiss, then declared, "I can't take it any more!"

"Foggy Bear," she said, knitting her brows worriedly, "what's wrong?"

Foggy sighed. "It's Karen and Matt."

"They're fighting?"

"No. It's worse. I almost wish they were fighting."

"Worse than fighting?" Marci asked, puzzled.

Foggy frowned and shook his head. "They're being a couple of idiots. You'd have to see it to believe it."

"Oh, I believe it," Marci asserted. "What're they doing?"

"They're acting like a couple of teenagers with a crush on each other. You know, acting all nonchalant, like, 'nothing to see here, nope, not interested, just friends'."

"But they are? Interested?"

"Big time," Foggy assured her. "Karen's out of the office a lot, you know, doing research, tracking down witnesses, stuff like that. You should see the expression on Matt's face when he hears her coming back. He just lights up. But only for a second, before he shuts it down. Karen does the same thing when he comes back from court. And I've caught her gazing longingly at Matt a couple of times, when she didn't know I was there. They've both got it bad, real bad."

"Do they know," Marci asked, "how the other one feels?"

"They have to," Foggy told her. "I know Matt can't see how Karen looks at him, but he can sense how she reacts to him. And I'm pretty sure Karen has caught the expression on Matt's face when he hears her voice or notices that she's there. But they keep putting on their little act. It would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic."

"How so?"

Foggy thought for a minute. "They think they're putting one over on everyone, but in reality, you can see right through them. The way they talk to each other, you know, it's just a little too casual, like they're trying to convince themselves they're just friends. And if they touch each other accidentally, it's like they just touched a hot stove. Most of the time, I have to hide in my office so I don't laugh in their faces." After a moment, he added, "And that's not even the worst of it."

"Do I even want to know?" Marci muttered under her breath.

"I swear, when the two of them are there, the office feels like a pheromone swamp. I can almost see the pheromones flying around. And I bet Matt can smell them. Honestly, sometimes I just wish they'd go into the conference room and jump each other's bones right there on the table."

Marci shuddered. "Ewww."

"OK, OK, I know. I don't really want them to do that. We eat lunch at that table. But things can't go on like this. There has to be a way to get their heads out of their asses."

"Hmmm." Marci snuggled closer to Foggy and thought for a minute. "Maybe you should fix them up."

"Fix them up?" Foggy asked. "You mean, fix them up with someone else and try to make them jealous?"

"We could do that," Marci replied, "but that's not what I have in mind. I think we should fix them up with each other."

After she explained her plan, Foggy considered it for a moment. "That just might work." He kissed her, then said, "You know you're brilliant, right?"

Marci nodded happily and curled up with her head on his shoulder.

Foggy was the first to arrive at the office the next morning. Karen would be out of the office, doing research at the County Clerk's office, until at least lunchtime. Foggy took advantage of her absence to make his pitch to Matt. A half hour after Matt arrived, he strolled into Matt's office and took a seat on one of the client chairs. "You know, Murdock, you've been falling down on the job lately," Foggy began.

Matt raised his eyebrows quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, my friend, that you're not living up to your reputation as a ladies' man. That famous Murdock charm is going to waste. You need female companionship."

"Let me guess," Matt observed dryly, adjusting his glasses, "you have someone in mind." He came out from behind his desk and sat on it, facing Foggy.

"I do indeed," Foggy confirmed. "A friend of Marci's, Katherine Booker. Her friends call her 'Kate'." Matt waved his hand as if to say, "go on." "She and Marci were friends in college. After college, Kate went to the New School and got a Ph.D. in clinical psych, specializing in kids and teenagers."

"Wait a minute," Matt interrupted. "Let me see if I have this right. You think the right woman for me is a kiddie shrink?"

"I hadn't thought of it like that, but now that you mention it – " Foggy broke off when Matt punched him in the upper arm. "Ow!" he exclaimed. He rubbed his arm, then said, "But you have to admit, she would know how to handle it when you get all dark and broody like you do."

"It's called depression, Fog," Matt said quietly. "It's a real thing. And, for the record, I don't need someone to 'handle' me."

"You're right," Foggy said, chastened. "Not funny. I'm sorry, buddy." But he wasn't so sure about the "not needing to be handled" part.

"So what does this perfect woman do with her fancy training?"

"She works for a program for at-risk teenagers, you know, kids with parents in prison, or living in neighborhoods controlled by gangs, that kind of thing. Marci thought that would appeal to the do-gooder in you."

Matt smiled. "She wasn't wrong. It does."

"And she's a fighter in her own way. She goes up against the system all the time, like when they try to send the kids to juvie, or put them in some crappy group home."

"Like an orphanage, you mean?"

"You could say that. Let's just say, Marci and I think she would get you – uh, both of you."

"You told her?" Matt asked, looking alarmed.

"No, of course not," Foggy assured him.

"And she's OK with . . . ." Matt gestured at his eyes. ". . . the blind thing?"

"Yes," Foggy replied, making it up on the spot. "She said her dad had . . ." He searched his brain frantically for the name of an eye disease and blurted out the first one he remembered. ". . . um, glaucoma. So she's cool with it."

Matt shrugged. "OK, I'm sold. When do I meet this wonder woman?"

"How about dinner tomorrow?"

"Sure. That'll work. But if she makes a joke about a 'blind date,' I'm outta there." He went back behind his desk and sat down, his arms folded across his chest.

Foggy returned to his own office and breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. Somewhat belatedly, he wondered if Matt knew that everything about "Kate," including her very existence, was a lie. He probably did, Foggy concluded. But it didn't matter, he decided, as long as Matt went along with the plan.

By the time Karen returned with the results of her research, Matt had already left for a meeting with a prospective client. She gathered her papers together and went into Foggy's office to report. When she finished summarizing what she'd found, she rose from her chair and started to walk away. Foggy spoke up before she could leave. "Uh, Karen, do you have a minute?"

She turned around. "Sure. What's up?"

"I have this friend, from college. We met for a drink the other night. And, I don't know, but when I was talking to him, I thought of you . . . ."

"Wait a minute," Karen said. "Are you trying to fix me up?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"I'm not ready, Foggy," Karen protested. "I'm not sure I'll ever be."

"Just hear me out – please." Foggy gestured toward the chair Karen had just left, and she turned around reluctantly and sat down. "His name's Mark Parsons. Like I said, we were friends in college, undergrad, that is, not law school. After college, he went to the West Coast for law school. Stanford. When he graduated, he could have had a job at any of the big white-shoe firms in L.A. or San Francisco. He turned them all down and moved to San Diego to work for the California Innocence Project instead."

"You're trying to fix me up with some guy who lives in San Diego?"

"What? No, no," Foggy replied, nonplussed. "After a few years, he got homesick for New York and decided to come back. He's working for the Innocence Project here in the city now."

"So, what? You think we have the whole 'crusader for justice' thing in common?"

"Something like that," Foggy agreed with a smile. "Plus, he's a great guy, smart and funny – and good-looking, too." He took out his phone, pulled up the photo of a random good-looking guy he found on the Internet, and showed it to Karen.

"Hmmm, OK," she said thoughtfully, after looking at the photo.

"And there's one other thing," Foggy said. "He's kind of an adrenaline junkie. At least, he was when we were in college. He was into stuff like rock climbing and extreme skiing – anything risky, basically. But we both know you like the bad boys."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested archly.

"Two words," Foggy said, giving her a reproachful look. "Frank. Castle."

"Oh, c'mon, Foggy," she scoffed. "I cared about Frank. Still do, to be honest. But not like that."

"Really?" Foggy asked skeptically.

"Really," Karen replied firmly. She stared him down for a moment, then said, "If this Mark guy's so great, why is he still single?"

"He just moved back here," Foggy explained. "He doesn't know many people in the city anymore. You know what that's like. Just give the guy a chance. What've you got to lose?"

Karen folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair. "OK," she finally said. "But only because he's your friend. And if it's a disaster, that's on you."

"Good. You free for dinner tomorrow?"

Karen sighed. "I guess."