Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, and we wouldn't have to wait so long? And wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?
The jukebox echoed Wouldn't it Be Nice by The Beach Boys across the café a bit after the morning rush. I'd say about eighty percent of customers gave their praise of the jukebox addition. Most others didn't seem to mind whether it was in or out. I glanced left. Mr. Grumpy was in his usual seat by the front, eyeing the street through the window. I sighed and finished wiping off a table, then headed to the counter.
It wasn't too incredibly slow. We were actually quite full up at the inn, though I think most people just wanted out of the heat. They bought the occasional drink or snack item but that was where today's afternoon/lunch sales began and ended. I tightened my ponytail holder as I arrived at the register and Mary shuffled over to me from the hot plate. She leaned into the empty counter beside me with an exhale. "It's so hot outside. I took out the trash and almost died," she puffed, overheated.
"Stand in front of the AC for a minute," I suggested, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It'll cool you off. Take a break, yeah? You've been working hard all morning."
She stood upright. "Just earning my wages, boss."
"Well, I think you need a raise," I chuckled.
She widened her eyes a millisecond, like she wholeheartedly agreed, and left the counter to find an empty table. Just then, the bell of the door chimed and I glanced up. A tall woman in heels with a ginger ponytail effortlessly strutted across the Café and stepped up to the counter. "Good afternoon, welcome to Angel's. What can I get you?" I asked, plastering on my business smile.
She smiled back, clean and precise. "Good afternoon. I need two large Caramel Macchiatos to-go, please."
"Alright…would you like foam and syrup on those?" I asked, scribbling it on my scratch pad.
"Yes, please," she glanced around. "Is this place new? I haven't really been around this part of town before."
I tore off the note and sat it in front of the cash register, turned back to the woman and nodded. "Yeah, we just opened a few months ago."
"Oh, well, it looks great," she complimented, politely.
I nodded with a small smile. "Thank you. Oh, what's the name for the order?"
"Potts, P-O-T-T-S," she said, spelling it out. I wrote it down on the note and hurried over to the coffee machine. I was getting better at more exotic coffees, but they could still use some improving. Is there like a coffee makers and baristas of America union of some kind? There really should be.
I filled the two to-go cups and topped off with the foam and drizzled syrup, then hoofed the drinks to the front counter. "Potts?" I called. The ginger haired woman was over at the jukebox looking around when I finished. She snapped to attention as soon as I'd spoken and hustled over to the counter. "Here you are, and that'll be seven dollars even."
She reached into her purse with a thoughtful expression. "Wow, that's actually cheaper than Starbucks," she commented. And then she joked, "Should I be scared?"
I chuckled. "Not usually."
She laughed a little too as she finally unearthed her bill fold. Her fingers sifted a second, and then she pulled out a newer-looking ten dollar bill and held it out to me. "Keep the change," she said, as I took the ten. She picked up the drinks and I paused. "Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's no problem," she smiled.
"Alright, thank you. Have a nice day—enjoy the coffees."
"And you as well, thank you." She nodded once politely, before bustling right back out of the Café, just as fast and as elegant as she'd come in. Typical business woman in a rush. I blew a puff of air through my lips and wrote down the sale on my notepad. I've been keep track on paper all day. I can make credit card transactions but I can't take cash until the register gets debugged. And that could take a while.
To keep myself busy in the dull foot traffic, I start stacking clean mugs and glasses into the cupboards. A bit absentmindedly I twisted to glance over my right shoulder toward the front. Just as I expected, Mr. Grumpy was still there. Wow I really need something else to call this guy. Nothing really fit that I could think of at the time. Suddenly the bell above the door jingled.
"Excuse me?" I glanced up. My jaw nearly hit the floor but, somehow, I just barely managed to keep it together. Tony Stark stood just inside my Café. He held up a to-go cup from Angel's. "Who made this?" he was looking directly at me. It's not like I could pretend that he didn't see me. Great. I inhaled and turned around fully, raising my hand. "That would be me," I answered, calmly as possible.
He started for the counter and I inwardly braced myself. "This is the best coffee I have ever tasted," he said, matter-of-fact. I let go of the breath I was holding.
I smiled politely with a nod of thanks. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Enjoyed it? This is amazing, and you only charge three fifty," he pointed out, like it was absurd. "Let me shake your hand. Tony Stark." He held out his hand and I didn't hesitate to shake it. I felt like some star struck kid who just saw their favorite band play live and in concert. If I was, I'd have the pre-sale album, the tour t-shirt, and the backstage wristband. "Alison Fletcher," I replied.
"Fletcher…you wrote that article about vigilantes, right?" he asked, one eye narrowing in thought.
I nodded. "Yes, I wrote a couple of them actually."
"I read them—great writing. Why the interest in, uh, superheroes anyway?" He gestured around a bit with his sunglasses, acting in a confidence that could easily be mistaken for jittery anxiousness common with antisocials. My guess is he's asking because he is one. Does he think I don't watch the news? I wrote an article for the Bugle on him when he said he was Iron Man at a press conference years ago.
I smiled, closed-mouthed. "My son mostly. He's a big fan of The Avengers."
"Really? Who's his favorite?" It seemed like a loaded question. I knew he was waiting for me to say it was him but, if I was being completely honest, I would have to break his rich boy heart by telling him that it was Captain America. Just then, the bell at the door jingled just before the ginger haired woman from earlier hurried up beside Tony with a heavy sigh. "Tony, we're going to be late," she warned, sounding stressed.
He turned to her. "I'm talking to this wonderful woman right now."
"I can see that, but we have to go," she insisted.
He sighed, annoyed. "Fine, were going. See? We're going."
He started around her to the door and she flashed me a round-eyed, stressed and stretched thin look before following after him. She kept a hand on his back to make sure he would keep walking. Even so, he turned while he was still moving and held up the to-go cup he had. "Thanks again for the coffee."
"Anytime! Have a nice day," I replied, just before they exited the building completely. It was an extremely random encounter, and I briefly wondered why he was even in Hell's Kitchen. But then Mary came back behind the counter, pulling her hair up into a hair tie, and she looked a bit bewildered. "Are my eyes deceiving me or did you just talk to Tony Stark?" she asked, in disbelief.
"I just talked to Tony Stark," I nodded once.
She smiled. "Think you'll get super famous?"
"Fingers crossed." I crossed my fingers and held them up with a mock hopeful expression and we both laughed. The day went on in its usual easy pace. For a while it picked up about an hour before closing but, other than that, it stayed fairly decent. Mary worked on cleaning up behind the counter while I rounded up various used dishes around the dining area. It didn't go unnoticed that Mr. Grumpy remained at his table pretty much all day.
And even now that we're cleaning up to shut it down, he's still there. I set my plastic tub of dirty dishes on an empty table. Exhaling, I walked across the dining area to his table. "What are you still doing here?" I asked, lightly, stepping up beside the table.
He glanced up, just enough to see his eyes. "Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you."
"Talk?" I loosely crossed my arms and twisted, looking at Mary in the kitchen. She wasn't really paying attention. I turned back toward the table. "About what?" I sidestepped and dropped into the chair opposite him. His eyes followed me as I did. Something was obviously on his mind. "I have a story—and I want you to write it," he replied.
One eyebrow propped up as I leaned back in my chair. "I'm retired. Why not go to someone else?"
"Because someone else didn't write about the Angel of Hell's Kitchen and The Man in the Mask," he answered, simply, resting his forearms on the table. He was slightly leaned in, like it was some big secret he was divulging. "Point taken," I nodded once. "What's the story?"
He sat back. "Mine."
"A story about you? Did you win the lottery?"
"My family was murdered," that shut me up pretty quickly. "There was a shooting at the park—my wife, my son, and my daughter were killed." I paused, trying to think back. Did I hear about any shootings? It didn't ring a bell. I sat up in my chair. "Why wasn't it on the news?" I asked, curiously.
He started shaking his head. "I don't know. But no one knows what happened; no one knows what really happened. It's just getting swept under the rug and the piece of scum that killed them is still running around. I need you to tell people the truth about me—about everything."
"Wait—the truth about you?"
"I've done some things…things people won't understand," he answered, calmly. As he spoke, I couldn't move my eyes from his face. It was so familiar. I'd only seen the whole thing at once a couple of times, but I knew that face. Suddenly it hit me and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Frank. It took all my will power to act like I was fine. In all honesty I was not. I knew this man—I'd met this man!
He came to the Café six months ago, around when we first opened, with his…oh…oh. Two kids and a wife. He was with two kids and a wife that day and one of the kids said they were going to the park. My stomach was twisting into knots thinking about it. I'd missed most of what he said, but I tried to pretend I didn't.
"So you want the truth to come out about what happened to your family because no one cares about it," I summarized, looping myself back into the conversation. "And you're hoping I'll be willing to stick my neck out there to do it even though I'm in journalism retirement."
He eyed me a moment, silently. It was like he was scanning for something. For a second I almost thought he'd found it, and he knew that I'd recognized him. But then he sat back again with a small sigh. "Will you write the story?" he asked, an undertone of tiredness to his tone. When was the last time this guy slept? I hope he didn't think I was stupid enough not to notice the light purple tone to his under eyes.
Maybe he was insane. He probably escaped from some prison, where he was serving a sentence for something unfathomably horrible. His eyes refused to leave mine. It was almost like he was trying to read what I was about to say and, judging by the look on his face, he was leaning toward me saying no. Frankly, I was leaning that way as well. Against my better judgment, I said otherwise.
I leaned my crossed forearms into the table top. "Let me look into it, dig around. I'll see what I can find but I make no promises."
"Thank you, ma'am," he nodded once.
My eyes narrowed just slightly—my natural reaction to most odd things these days—but I stood and let my arms fall to my sides. I sighed through my nose and put a hand on the edge of his shoulder. "Get some sleep, yeah?" I didn't wait for a response to head back to the counter. This whole situation made me tired. I wish I would just go to Dani's and talk her ear off about it all but something in my gut told me I should keep this to myself.
Best keep it in house until I know the details. Then I can keep Dani up 'till all hours gabbing about it. I grabbed my note pad at the front counter and started reading through it to make sure I'd kept the right notes. The bell above the door chimed and my eyes glanced up. Mr. Grumpy was leaving. He held the door open as he turned toward the counter. "Goodnight. Thank you for your time," he said, before slipping out.
Dani's POV
(Nightwing27th)
I walked into the law firm. Full of sweaty old people. Wonderful. Gotta love the smell of sweat and depression in the morning. It sounded like Karen was giving the morning briefing. "Um, and, uh, Miss Jacinto's working papers have been denied for the third time," Karen said. "Her father's gone and she says that factory work is the only way she can support her family."
"Well, tell her not to worry," Matt said.
"Yeah, I've already pulled her applications from the DOE."
"Good, because we're gonna find her something better."
"And that's just the appointments for the first hour," Karen said, way too enthusiastically. "You wanna talk about our 10ams?"
"Dylan," I looked up at Foggy and he was smiling. "Come on. Took you long enough."
"Yeah," I sighed. I followed them into Matt's office. Karen closed the door behind us. "Sorry, about that. I was in jail." Everyone instantly looked concerned. Matt put his hands on his hips, clearly not happy. Though I think he was a little more concerned. Karen instantly piped up, "What happened?"
"You need a lawyer?" Foggy joked.
I smiled. "Uh, not this time." I turned to face the group. "A client came in to my office last night. Or rather, broke in. He said he needed help, so I humored him and listened to his story. He then proceeded to tell me, in grave detail, about how he murdered someone. His wife's boyfriend, to be exact."
"Oh, my goodness," Karen covered her mouth. The others looked just as shocked. "Yeah, I know," I said. "I asked him why he did it and he said quote, 'That expletive racial expletive had it maternal expletive coming'. Anyway…the cops showed up, he went nuts. We ended up in a fist fight, and for some reason they arrested me. But I think that was just for my safety…?"
"Why? You look pretty-" Foggy started saying. But I removed the paper thin scarf I was wearing, revealing the large bruise the guy's hands left. Foggy's expression quickly changed. "Oh."
"Yeah." I put the scarf back on and then sighed. I glanced over at Matt. He was livid. I looked at Karen. "So, how's business?"
She caught the cue and then started talking. "Uh, so, I installed this free trial of accounting software on my computer. And the good news is that I can re-up it every thirty days with a fake email address. But um…the bad news is that…we're broke." Yeah, that's the perfect way to get their minds off of my jail episode.
"As in, literally no money. And our income can't cover our bills," she continued.
Matt shrugged. "We'll manage. I don't know how, but we will." Foggy smiled, happy with that answer. So was Karen. "So," Foggy said. "Shall we get started?" Karen left the room and walked out to the front desk.
"Actually…" Matt glanced at me. I sighed and then looked up at Foggy. He nodded, "Sure. Take as much time as you need." He left the room, closing the door behind him. A few moments of silence passed between us. "Matt-"
"Is that why you didn't come out, last night?" he asked. I nodded. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips again. "Are you okay?"
"Just some bruising on my neck, that's all. I broke his nose and a few ribs." I walked closer to him, closing the space between us. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he returned the hug. "I had it handled. This guy was nothing, okay?" I felt him nod. I pulled back and looked at him.
"Yeah, you're probably right," he said. I kissed him. He instantly kissed me back. I pulled away, hovering my face near his. "I have to go," I said. "See you tonight?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Hey…cheer up, dude." I pulled back and looked at him straight on. "I love you."
"I love you, too," he smiled. I quickly left the law firm and then headed to Dylan Investigations. I walked in the front door just as Mary was speeding out for work. She was VERY rattled by that guy breaking in, but insisted on going to work. She thinks Alison can't handle her own café alone. Though she may be right, Alison would understand.
I quickly got to work, jumping right into my first client meeting. We discussed the mission Chase and I went on last night. I left Chase out, of course. But at least she knows now what kind of man her husband is. She left, another paying customer. I slipped her check into the safe as the next one came in.
Like Nelson and Murdock, Dylan Investigations has become the number one place people go to. Both businesses were mentioned in Alison's last article as having 'taken down Fisk'. Now everyone wants us. It'd be better if I had more of me. But I don't. So things are busy.
Like this guy. Mr. Wyman. He wants to find his son. The cliff notes for the last hour of conversation are: his son, Mark, was on a camping trip nine months ago. He claims his son came back different. And then two months later, he vanished from the face of the earth. I had him write down the usual information and drop it at the front desk on his way out.
My twelve thirty came in sobbing, with another missing person's case. Though this one's different. Mrs. Sun wants me to find the daughter she gave up for adoption almost forty years ago. Only once before have I tried a case like this and that one didn't end well. But she was very adamant. I told her I'd try and she lit up like the Fourth of July.
My two o'clock cancelled on me so I was able to breathe. I sighed and then leaned back in my chair. I heard Chase's footsteps and sat up. "What else we got?" I asked. He looked down at his paper on the clipboard in his hands. He's my temp receptionist, since he doesn't have a life.
"You don't have another appointment until four," he said. Then he looked up at me. "But you have a walk in." I groaned. "She says she knows you…?"
"What's the name?"
"Jones…?"
I got up out of my chair and walked past Chase into the main room. I almost couldn't believe my eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Crummy place you got here, Dylan," Jessica said, turning to face me.
"You're the one to talk."
"And what's with the pipsqueak behind the desk? He yours?"
"No!" I scoffed and walked up to her. "You know I don't have kids. But, what are you doing here?"
"I came to tell you, in person, to stop sending people to me."
"You came all this way, for that?"
"Yes. Since my phone calls aren't doing any good." She sighed, annoyed. The standard emotion for everything in life. She walked over to the couch and sat down. I sighed, knowing there was something on her mind. I walked to the couch and sat down next to her. "What?"
She glanced at me, and then looked away. She rolled her eyes and then reached into her pocket. "I wasn't going to say anything…but Trish convinced me otherwise." She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and gave it to me. I took it from her and unfolded it. "Your dad's looking for you."
The paper she handed me was a letter that he'd sent to her PI business: Alias Investigations. I rested my elbows on my knees, having a hard time getting past the fact that I knew this was his hand writing. How'd he know I was I New York? "I haven't spoken to him in…fifteen, twenty years." I gave her back the letter. "Why now?"
"He fed me a line about how he lost touch with you when your parents got a divorce and now he wants to reconnect," she mocked. "He said it was very important that he find you."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That he's already in Hell's Kitchen. Might as well go the rest of the way."
"Jessica."
"Don't worry, I didn't say that…exactly. I told him I would look in to it, but that if I found her and she didn't want to see him, I didn't have to tell him where she was. He seemed fine with that. At the time. But he's been tailing me for the last three days."
"He knows you know."
"Yep. He wants you bad. Any chance you'll reconsider?"
"Any chance you'll reconsider breaking Kilgrave's neck?" I asked. She nodded, thinking. She stood, tucking away the paper. "Good point," she said. Chase walked up to her, a confused look on his face.
"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked.
She looked at him weird. "I'm Jessica Jones." She turned and looked at me. "I don't know what you want to do with that information, Dani. If I were you, I'd skip town. Start over somewhere new."
"Yeah, me too," I said. "Thanks for the heads up." She then turned and left.
Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)
The cue ball slammed right into the cluster of striped balls, sending them all scattering, and leaving at last two deathly close to one of the corner pockets. "That sounded like cheating," Matt said, jokingly. "Foggy, I think we're being hustled."
Karen chuckled and moved to a different spot around the table, and Dani sighed. "Sure you're not just awful at pool?" she asked, rhetorically. She was leaning into her stick on the opposite side of the table as me. The odd lighting at Josie's always seemed to cast weird shadows on her face. "As sure as Josie's AC is busted," Foggy nodded. Just then, Josie hefted two pitchers of ice filled water to a shelf by our pool table. "What AC?" she commented, exhaling.
Karen sighed din relief. "At least she brought water." She reached for one of the pitchers and both Matt and Foggy made up a collective, "No!" She stepped back and raised her eyes at them questioningly. "You don't wanna drink that," Foggy warned.
Matt shook his head. "You can't drink the water here."
"Josie's pipes have…issues," Foggy further explained. "I think I can actually see the bacteria floating in there." Karen made a sound of disgust and flailed her hands, quickly moving away. Matt held up his drink. "See that…that's why we, uh, keep our cocktails neat," he said.
"Pretend you're abroad on vacation some place exotic," Foggy said, gesturing with his bear bottle. "But, no mojitos, Josie just throws mint in the beer. Take over, buddy. I gotta hit the head." He handed Matt his pool stick and headed off—thankfully. Dani sighed. "My turn," she bent down and leaned into position, aiming at the cue ball. "Striped ten, corner pocket."
"Are you serious? That's too far to the right," Karen pointed.
I smirked, reaching into my pocket. I slapped a twenty on the edge of the table. "She can make it," I assured. Karen smirked back in a challenging way and grabbed her purse. She added some money of her own to the pot. "Raise you by ten," she said, pointing a finger at me.
Dani scoffed. "You guys are ridiculous."
She adjusted a little, then hit the ball. The pure white ball spiraled into the solid six. The six shot to the right and clattered into the striped ten, shooting it into the wall and causing it to bounce off, straight into the corner pocket. Matt had a wide smile on his face and Karen nearly dropped a brick in her skirt. Her jaw was on the floor. "No way—now that? That is cheating," she said, causing Matt to laugh.
I took the bills off the table and Dani stood upright, giving me a look. I shrugged. "What?" I asked, innocently. "You're good at it, I believe in you—it's easy money." She rolled her eyes and moved back to her original position. Karen sighed and grabbed her purse. "You guys have at it, and I will go buy another round." She held her thumbs up and then disappeared into the crowd, headed toward the bar. Dani positioned herself for another shot.
"Hey, Alison?" Matt's voice caught my attention.
I glanced up. "Hm?"
"There's a guy at the bar, looking this way. Does he look familiar to you?" he asked, in all seriousness. His voice was quiet, with a certain familiar edge to it. It almost put me on alert. But I casually looked over Matt's shoulder toward the bar. Sure enough there was a ratty looking guy occasionally taking careful glances at our group. He looked nervous, jittery—he couldn't stop tapping his foot. His general appearance didn't ring any bells.
I shook my head. "No. Why?"
"His adrenaline's high. His heart rate's out of control," he paused, tilting his head slightly. "There's something in his coat."
"He's wearing a coat? Then he's probably packing," Dani stood upright, looking over that way. Matt turned to head over and I quickly moved to grab his arm, stopping him. "Matt, no," I shook my head. "I don't think making a scene is the best idea for this."
"Half the people in Josie's have guns," Dani pointed out, thinking.
"Yeah, but none of them have their finger tapping the trigger," Matt replied. He tried to move again but I held him tighter. He looked at me and, this close, I could actually see his eyes through those extra dark red sunglasses. "Let me check it out before you go all kung fu panda, yeah?" He nodded slightly and I let him go before heading over to the bar. Karen passed me with shots and I stepped up next to the ratty looking guy.
I tried to act as natural as possible. "Are you new here?" I asked, glancing left just slightly.
"No, actually," he adjusted nervously.
I looked a little more his way. "That's fine, it's okay. This place is safe. It's a good place, with good people. There are a lot of other bars in town-"
"Look, it's not what you think. I got business here," he interjected. "With Nelson and Murdock. I saw you over there with them—you know 'em?"
I nodded, turning to face him. "Yeah, I do. They're good friends. You need a lawyer?"
"That's what I'm thinking," he nodded quickly. I tilted my head in the general direction of the group and he got the message, following me over to the others. Dani stepped up beside Matt as soon as she saw I was bringing him over. "This man needs a lawyer," I announced, stopping a foot in front of them. The guy stood just to my right. Just then, Foggy emerged from the bathroom and arrived back at our group.
He must've caught what I'd said, because he looked at Matt and Dani. "Well, then, let's talk," he bobbed his head, all too happy to have another client. "Let's sit down, shall we?" All of us found an empty table near the pool area and took a seat. The guy didn't waste any time getting to his story. Apparently there was some gathering of the Irish. And it would seem that all who showed up were shot literally to pieces.
"Fifteen men, tough Irish. Armed. All of them blown away. It was a massacre. We weren't hit by any rival family there, I'm telling you, we were…were hit by an army," he explained, slightly less nervous, but still on edge.
"That's quite the story you got there, Lone Survivor," Dani commented, with dead sarcasm.
"It's a fact," the guy corrected, calmly. "Don't believe me? Go see for yourself. Burren Club, 47th and 10th. Can't miss it, it's the…part of New York that looks like a war zone."
"What's your involvement in their organization?" Karen asked, sounding skeptical. The guy looked at Matt and Foggy a few times, eye brows raised. "Who is she?" he asked.
"Answer the question," I insisted.
"Brannigan. I've run with them for a long time—I don't deny it. Pick-ups, drop-offs, sometimes doing things I…shouldn't be," he answered. "No question, I'm no choir boy. I'm tellin' ya, I just skirt the surface. Unlike the men I work for and the guys that did this. I'm tellin' ya, I had nothing to do with that massacre." I glanced at Matt. He was listening closely. You could tell by the way he was slightly leaned in and the way his eyebrows crinkled just so.
After a second, he looked up, meeting my eyes. He nodded and I looked back at the guy. "If you're right and the Irish were hit by another large group then, if you're the only survivor, that's not going to make whoever did this very happy," I said, earning his attention. "So, what exactly can Nelson and Murdock do for you, mister…"
He noticed my run off and sat up a bit. "I'm Grotto."
"Grotto what?" Dani asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Just Grotto. Witness protection. You guys need to get me out of here before I end up in the only place hotter than this permanent," he said, mostly looking at the table instead of up at us. Matt adjusted in his seat and exhaled. "We're a private law firm," Foggy said.
"Yeah, a trustworthy one," Grotto replied. "Quite a reputation after you took out Wilson Fisk."
"The DA's office is the only place that can make a deal," Dani reasoned. "We can't do that."
"Yeah, I'm not walking to the DA without representation," Grotto said, looking up at her. "I know a lot, I see a lot. I'll give the cops anything to get me out of Hell's Kitchen."
"Well, we have a reputation for representing the good people of Hell's Kitchen," Matt pointed out. "Not for negotiating on behalf of career criminals."
"What if a criminal wants to change his career? A second chance—that's all I want. I know I'm only coming to you on my word, I got nobody to vouch for me, I can barely cover your fee. But word is…that Nelson and Murdock put their faith in people. And I need a little of that right now," Grotto said. He leaned in a little. "Please."
Matt looked to Foggy and Foggy looked to Matt. Dani glanced between the two of them and I sat, watching quietly. Personally I believe the guy. Karen didn't seem like she knew which way she swung in the matter—frankly neither did Dani. But Matt gave a solid nod. "Lie low," Foggy nodded. "We'll look into it."
"You have somewhere you can stay?" Matt asked him. I noticed him passing out before the whole sentence was even said. Grotto collapsed, falling off the chair, and slammed into the floor. I quickly slid off my chair and hurried around Karen and Foggy's, kneeling beside him. Blood stained the side of his gray shirt. I checked for a pulse. It was weak, but steady. "Guys? He needs a hospital—he's bleeding."
