Chapter Four

Matt picked Francine out almost as soon as she exited the building. He wasn't in Hell's Kitchen anymore, and the fancier buildings were spaced farther apart, but he could still move well enough in the dark.

He'd spent most of the afternoon atop a building across the street, filtering everything else out and focusing on her offices to listen in. There was a flurry of activity as money was moved in and out of accounts. Matt didn't understand exactly what was happening, but he could tell that even for a group of people used to unusual financial transactions this was different. The tension levels were too high and there was too much whispering.

"Are you sure about that?" one would whisper.

"That's what he said," was the response, followed by head-shaking and paper shredding.

Matt wondered how much of this was because of the heroine business going under. They would have to shift assets to cover what the drugs paid for, find ways to legitimize what they were up to. It took a large team to work on the accounts and Matt listened, trying to see how much any one person knew about the entire operation. It appeared things were very compartmentalized. Owlsley would know better than to let one person know too much. Francine Thomas, however, was a coordinator and knew more than most, which was excellent news for Matt's purposes.

Late in the day, well after dark and past time all good cubicle-dwellers had gone home, Francine's desk phone rang. She picked it up and immediately stopped everything else. Up until that moment, she had taken numerous calls, all while continuing to type, text, take notes, etc. She had also called her husband twice to ensure that he was still at work, giving him a list of things he was supposed to do before she got home. Matt guessed the caller ID made the difference and focused his senses with laser-like precision so as not to miss a single word of the call.

"Ms. Thomas," the voice on the phone said, "I am very disappointed."

Matt instantly recognized Owlsley's voice even though it was very faint and almost beyond even his abilities to hear. Francine sat up straight in her chair, bristling with tension. She didn't like Owlsley's tone any better than Matt did.

"I'm sorry, sir. What's the matter?"

"I've trusted you with a great deal."

"Yes, sir," she said warily. "I've worked very hard to earn your trust. I would never do anything to jeopardize that."

"And yet I've received a report of your husband meeting late at night with those two nosy lawyers who've been poking around in our business ever since Union Allied became an issue. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"He went to a lawyer?" She couldn't hide the fury in her voice. "That… that… I'll kill him for this."

Matt wasn't entirely sure that was meant as hyperbole. There were more immediate problems, however. Someone was either watching their office or they were keeping tabs on Francine and her husband. He wondered if they kept tabs on all their upper-level employees.

"Ms. Thomas, I wouldn't recommend another domestic incident. Taking care of the charges is tiresome and it won't happen again. The fact that your husband sought out those lawyers, amongst all the lawyers in this city tells me that you have been indiscreet and he knows more than he should."

"That idiot doesn't know anything," Francine said desperately. "I barely trust him with the vacuuming, let alone something important."

"Your services are no longer required, Ms. Thomas. You have half an hour to vacate the building." Even as he said it, a security guard opened her office door and stood there, Matt presumed, to watch her gather her things and then escort her out.

For a moment, Francine remained seated, frozen at her desk, then she set the phone back in its cradle and picked up her cell phone. Her husband answered and for the next few minutes, she let out a blistering slew of names, curses, and threats that made Matt think he would need to go to confession just for having heard them.

While she reamed her husband, she gathered her meager personal items and shoved them into a hard-shell briefcase. Finally, she hung up on her sputtering husband and marched toward the door, practically shoving the guard out of the way.

Matt used the time it would take her to get downstairs to call Timothy. Matt knew something neither of the Thomases did. Men like Fisk and Owlsley didn't leave dead ends, especially ones that knew potentially damning information.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Thomas, this is Matthew Murdock."

"Oh," the man said glumly. "I suppose Franky called to warn you off. Well-"

"There's no time, Timothy. Are you already home?"

"No. Francine told me to go to the grocery. I'm on my way home now."

"Do not go home… Or anywhere you normally would."

"What? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Your wife works for dangerous men, Mr. Thomas, and they think either you came to us because you found out something, or your wife sent you to us to be an informant."

"What are you talking about? What dangerous men?"

"She's a mob accountant." It was a gross oversimplification, but it would get the point across. "And they think you're informing on them, Tim. You can't go home. They will be looking for you there."

"But-"

"Turn your cell phone off. Get a cheap burner phone and call me at this number to tell me your new one." Matt made a mental note that he was going to have to get a new phone after this, but it had to be done. "Find a hotel where you've never stayed and use cash to pay for the room. You will have to stay there until we can figure something out."

"How long will that be?"

"Not long, I hope." Matt ground his teeth. Hope was running a little thin at this point, but there was no other choice. He couldn't watch two people at once, and he already had eyes, so to speak, on Francine.

"What about Franky?" Tim asked.

"I'm trying to get her out, too. Just do what I've told you. Hurry."

"I… Um… Ok," Tim said and hung up. Matt frowned thinking the man's relatively easy acceptance was a testament to years of abusive training by his wife to follow orders without question.

Francine appeared down at the building's main entrance and began her usual marching walk in the direction of the nearest subway station. She didn't realize that as soon as she'd stepped outside, she'd picked up a tail. Matt guessed they either planned to follow her home and kill both her and her husband, or they planned for her to meet with a tragic accident on her way there.

Matt vaulted onto the next building, and then another to get ahead of them to the nearest one that had a usable fire escape. That was one problem with the fancy buildings in this part of town, all glass and no ladders. Matt slid his way down the fire escape into the long alley between buildings and waited for her to pass by. As soon as she was within grabbing distance, he jerked her into the alley away from the lights.

She fought him angrily, getting in a good smack to the side of his head with her briefcase. His ears ringing, he clapped his hand over her mouth and forced her deeper into the alley's shadows.

"You're being followed, Francine," he hissed.

She stopped struggling at the use of her given name. He eased up a bit and she said, definitely too loudly, "What are you talking about?"

"Your boss sent someone to kill you. Now shut up."

"Are you crazy?" she demanded. "You're that freak who's been running around Hell's Kitchen. "I don't have to-"

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley. The man stepped farther in. He reached into his jacket and when he let his arm fall back to his side, he had a gun in hand.

Matt and Francine remained perfectly still, hidden in the darkness.

"There's no need to make this harder," the man called. "I saw you come in here and-"

Matt his fast and hit hard. He was good, but bullets had a way of being too fast even for him. In a matter of seconds, the gunman was down and Matt dragged him farther into the alley, out of anyone's immediate line of sight.

"Francine?" Matt called.

In answer, Francine threw her briefcase at him and ran in the opposite direction toward the other end of the alley that opened onto the next block.

Matt batted the briefcase aside. It shouldn't be this much work to help someone. For a moment, he was tempted to simply let her go and leave her to her fate. After all, she wasn't exactly one of the good guys. Still, she had information that could bring down Fisk's operation, and Matt hurried after her.

He caught her before she got to the end of the alley. She fought like a caged rat, all teeth and claws and Matt could see why Timothy had been forced to knock her back. Matt pushed her into the side of the alley, his forearm hard across her throat. She continued to smack and scratch and hit, but Matt kept steady pressure until she was struggling for breath.

"We need to talk," he said calmly. "Don't hit me again or you won't like what happens. Do you understand?"

She nodded frantically and Matt eased up a bit. "You work for Leland Owlsley." Again she nodded. Matt released her and stepped back. "Do you handle Fisk's accounts?"

"Some." She coughed, rubbing at her neck. "I handle Mr. Owlsley's personal accounts, and I coordinate some of the work for Mr. Fisk. It takes a large team to keep the books for such a… diversified business."

Matt huffed. Diversified was definitely one way of looking at it. "That diversified business just put out a hit on you," Matt said, stating the obvious.

Francine shook her head. "Stupid, idiot husband had to go to those bleeding heart lawyers-"

"Focus," Matt snapped. "You need to turn yourself in. The Feds will put you in Witness Protection. You know where the money is and what they were doing with it. You know about the late night transfers when things started going wrong for Fisk in Hell's Kitchen."

Francine nodded. "Owlsley's moving all kinds of money in the last couple of days. Ever since Fisk's girlfriend got sick at that party and then when Mr. Wesley died."

"Died?"

"I was told to tag his accounts for any usage. There wasn't any and then I was ordered to roll his accounts into Mr. Fisk's. That can only mean he's dead."

Matt had been listening for anyone else following or for their original attacker to stir. He heard someone stop at the mouth of the alley just to one side.

"Quiet," he urged. He began edging toward the other end where it opened onto the next block, where Francine had been headed earlier.

A second later, bullets pinged off the stone only a few feet from them. He grabbed Francine's arm and ran. A rain of bullets followed and Matt felt one hit home like a punch to his right side, twisting him and nearly knocking him down as he ran. He stumbled forward, but kept going. Francine was ahead of him. Of all things, she was hailing a taxi. One stopped as he reached the end of the alley. Francine jumped in and Matt dove in behind her.

"Go, go go!" Francine ordered, and the cabbie hit the gas. A second later, however, he got one look at Matt and eased up.

"Whoa. I am not getting arrested for whatever dumb crap you're involved in."

"Just go!" Francine barked. "They're trying to kill me!" To emphasize her point, the second gunman reached the end of the alley and fired toward the slowly retreating taxi. He missed and the driver decided a faster exit was in order.

Francine gave the man an address inside Hell's Kitchen, which was the opposite way from her own apartment, so Matt let it pass for the moment. He was better on his home turf anyway. He let his head fall back and pressed his hand to his injured side.

It was his right side again. Claire had already patched up a stab wound and the nastiest wound Nobu had managed, both nearly in the same place on his side as the new bullet wound. Matt could practically hear Stick berating him. He kept injuring his right side because his movements had become too repetitive, too predictable. He must always turn in one direction. It was a weakness that left a potentially deadly opening in his defenses and he was going to have to work on that before it got him killed.

"The Feds," Matt said through gritted teeth. "Francine, you need to go to them now."

"Bastards tried to kill me," she snapped. "I'll tell the Feds, the national news, anyone who'll listen. I have files stashed and I will use them. Nobody treats me like that."

"You two wanna tell me what's going on?" the driver demanded. "Gettin' shot at is not in my job description."

"My boss fired me, but that wasn't enough," she snarled. "He wants me dead, too."

"What kind of work you in?" he asked suspiciously.

"Accounting."

"Hmph." The driver nodded sagely. "That's what took down Al Capone. Always the money trail." He stopped talking to make a turn. "And you… Mr… Devil?"

"I just need to get her somewhere safe."

"Well, Hell's Kitchen's a good place to disappear," he muttered.

After that they all fell silent. Matt could hear Francine grinding her teeth. The driver kept casting nervous glances in the rearview mirror and Matt just tried to stay conscious. He'd been healing well from the disastrous fight with Nobu, but he still wasn't one hundred percent and now this. He was bleeding again and his chest was back to feeling like it was on fire. He had an entry and an exit wound, not too deep, but it had cut through muscle, nicking and cracking a pair of ribs. His body was just too abused to tolerate another hit like this.

"What…" Matt grimaced at the pain in his side. "What was the address you gave?"

"My sister's. She'll let me stay there."

Matt immediately shook his head. "They'll find you. You'll lead them right to your family." He stopped for a second to listen. They'd been driving for a while and they were back in Hell's Kitchen. He knew the sounds and smells of his home. He could pick out every block just by the scent of the different restaurants and businesses on each street.

"Stop the car," he ordered.

"Here?" Francine asked, appalled. It definitely wasn't the nicest part of town, not even the nicest part of Hell's Kitchen.

The driver pulled to the curb and Francine opened the door, hopping out. Matt braced to do the same.

"Whoa, now," the driver said, calling through the plastic window. "Sorry about your luck and all, but I still need to get paid."

Francine turned back to look at him and said, "I dropped my briefcase in the alley."

Matt shook his head at the absurdity of looking to a masked vigilante to produce cab fare. He actually kept a stash of twenties in one of the utility pockets in his pants just in case of an emergency. They folded flat, they were light, and they didn't impede his movement. He could find a shirt to cover his get-up, but he'd figured he might need a bit of money in case he ever had to go to ground for a night, or pay for a cab home because he was too hurt to walk. Turns out he did need it.

Matt got out of the cab and groaned. Claire was right. He needed that body armor, sooner rather than later.

"Good luck, man," the cabbie shouted and quickly drove off, anxious to be away from them. Matt pulled Francine toward a shadowed entryway to a closed business and let his senses stretch, seeking anything out of the ordinary.

"Why did we stop here?"

Matt pointed. "There's a no-tell motel just up the block. You can stay there for the night." He handed her the rest of the cash to pay for the room. "Call the Feds. A racketeering case this big, they'll come pick you up. They'll keep you safe."

And they'll take down Fisk, he silently added. This was it. This was going to work. After all their running around, all the loss, the heartache, they'd finally found someone angry and vengeful enough not to be afraid to tell the authorities everything they knew.

Matt waited where he was, silently watching as Francine marched down the block to the sleazy motel. She hurried inside and Matt listened as she approached the clerk.

"Whoo… Fancy lady… You need a room?"

"Watch your mouth, and yes."

"Geez. No need to get snotty, lady. Sign the book and cough up the cash."

Matt heard the pen scratching against paper. He skirted the edge of the building and began climbing the closest fire escape. He would go to the roof and play lookout until he knew Francine was safe in the hands of the authorities.

"Mandy Thompson," the clerk read. There was a pause. "Funny. You kinda look like a Francine to me."

Matt immediately changed course and dropped back to the ground. He shot out of the shadowed alley toward the motel. He ignored his wounded side. He ignored everything except getting to Francine in time.

"See I got a call a few minutes ago, that if a snooty lady named Francine showed up, I was supposed to take care of business. That it would be worth my while. Seems they saw you hanging out with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and thought maybe you'd try to go to ground around here. They passed the word to all the hotel's around here, but looks like I got lucky, huh?"

Matt heard the hammer of a gun pulled back and pushed himself harder. He came through the door just in time to hear the shot, to see Francine fall, to see all of his hopes dashed because Fisk was one step ahead of him yet again.

More soon…