New York City, New York

The Past, Five Weeks Ago

Daredevil was perched on the cement ledge of the high-rise apartment building, crouched with his elbows resting on his knees. The ledge overlooked a second apartment complex. The two buildings on this block were of a similar height, but the apartment he faced was just a story below and across an alley. It was the perfect venue for a would-be attacker to wait for his target to appear. Daredevil had leapt from this very spot less than twenty-four hours ago to crash feet-first through Gambit's apartment window. At the time he had believed he was on the tail of a cartel member; it wasn't the first time The Juárez Cartel had enlisted the aid of a super-powered criminal. Daredevil thought to nip the problem of the acrobatic high-stakes thief in the bud, and once again rob the Cartel of a powerful player.* Little did he realize that he had only just missed an assassin. That assassin's target had been Remy LeBeau. But instead of killing his intended target, the assassin had instead murdered a clone. The clone was, by Jean's account, an innocent man.

Daredevil had been thinking of the assassin as a 'he', but there was a hint of something decidedly feminine in the air that he couldn't quite place. Night had fallen, but the light from the streets below illuminated the black sky. Not that Daredevil could see any of it. He instead relied on his other highly-acute senses to paint the scenery around him. He turned and hopped off the ledge and onto the rooftop. Keeping to a crouch, he searched the rooftop with his sensitive fingers, seeking a clue to the assassin's identity. The clone had been killed in a single shot, which required the accuracy of a sniper rifle. Daredevil speculated that the assassin may have had military training. He searched for a casing, but found nothing. Which could mean that the assassin was using a bolt-action rifle, rather than a semi-automatic, or that he was just diligent about picking up his (or her?) spent rounds. Daredevil deduced the placement of the rifle on the ledge, and where the sniper's feet must have stood while he waited for his victim. It seemed unlikely that the assassin would have used one of the apartments below as his vantage point. This was a residence and the apartments would have been occupied at the time of morning when the clone was shot.

Daredevil had to wonder how a thief managed to rent an apartment on the Upper East Side of New York in the first place. Remy LeBeau certainly hadn't earned the money to pay for such a place, at least not by legal means. That really stuck in Daredevil's craw. He'd spent years scrimping and saving and eating Ramen Noodles for weeks to pay for his degree, to found his own law firm. What had LeBeau done to have the privilege of living in such a posh neighborhood? Lie, cheat, and steal, that's what. Maybe when this was over, Daredevil could arrange to have LeBeau flagged by the IRS. See if a little audit wouldn't put a crimp in Gambit's laissez-faire, free-wheeling-and-dealing lifestyle. Even as Daredevil entertained the fantasy of Gambit up to his eyeballs in receipts and government forms, he knew he wouldn't go through with it. Maybe Gambit was right, and he'd been quick to judge the thief a little too harshly. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that Gambit was a male thief and not a curvaceous female in a skin-tight catsuit that happened to purr.

He accused me of being sexist! Daredevil fumed to himself. Like he's got any room to talk!

He dragged his index and middle finger across the concrete at his feet. He brought his fingertips to his nose and inhaled. Daredevil's sensitive nose detected the scent of earth, but not just any earth. This was vegetal, nutrient-rich dirt. River mud, to be exact. And the hint of chemical he detected could mean that it came from the East River. There was something else as well, the smell of soot and ash. But that might mean nothing. The entire city had been ablaze with the Phoenix Force attack. At one point, the river itself had been on fire. Daredevil stood and ran his palms over the concrete ledge surface. He leaned forward slightly, as if he were to peer down at the apartment below with its shattered window. There was that feeling again, that the person standing at this particular place at this particular angle had been female.

When he turned from the ledge, he had an idea of where he might start searching for the killer. Daredevil had made it his business to learn which buildings had suffered the most amount of damage. It wouldn't do to go swinging about the city skyline only to land on a burned-out shell of a building and fall through the rooftop. You had to take certain precautions when you couldn't see where you were leaping to. Daredevil made his way over towards the East River, dashing across tops of buildings and water towers and swinging over alleyways and streets. He came to a block of buildings along the East River that had been razed by the Phoenix Force's fire. The buildings were cordoned off with cement barricades and chain link fencing. Construction vehicles sat at the ready. One of the buildings had all ready been demolished to its foundation.

Returning to street level, he took in the perimeter of the construction site. Daredevil hopped up onto a concrete barrier, took hold of the top of the chain link fence and pulled himself up to stand upon the fence. The fence rattled slightly as he balanced there. He used his radar-sense to feel out the lay of the ground below him. It would be a treacherous walk across a construction site, full of unseen hurdles and pitfalls.

Searching the first burned out building turned up nothing. The second was just an empty shell. He crossed over an empty space where a building once stood. The concrete slab was solid beneath his feet. There was one final building to search. He skirted the exterior and gained access through a door that had been covered over with a piece of plywood. The interior was burned, but of all the buildings, this one had sustained the least amount of damage. It still had the support structure. The walls and ceiling had been ripped down to the steel beams. Below his feet was a concrete floor. It once had been covered in tile. The remnants of tile and grout crunched under his booted feet as he walked. His senses scanned the space, but the radar flashes he received in return relayed false walls where there were none. Daredevil used his hand, trailing from one support beam to the next, to feel out the walls. His toes searched out before him, his feet barely leaving the ground. One of his feet came down upon a wooden surface. When he crouched, he found another plywood board laying flat on the ground.

From somewhere in the building, he thought he detected movement. He turned his head, searching for the source of the sensation; a gentle stirring of air brought a strange scent to his nose, one he couldn't place. Daredevil had his fingertips on the edge of the plywood board. He pushed it forward gently. It scraped across the cement floor. He found himself on the edge of a stairwell, covered over so that no one would fall into the empty space below. From the stairwell came an updraft of cold damp air. The draft brought along the smell of river mud, and something more. It was the smell of death. Cautiously, he took the first step that would bring him down the staircase.

He felt as if he were descending into a tomb. His footfalls were swallowed by the damp surroundings. He came to the base of the staircase and turned. Daredevil could sense the heat leaching from the cooling body at his feet. He stooped to search the figure for signs of what had killed him. It was a male form. His hands found that the man was one part flesh, the other, mechanics of some kind. Daredevil guessed the man must be a mutant or a super-human. Judging from the rigidity of the flesh beneath his touch and the residual body heat, the man had been dead for less than an hour. Daredevil could not figure out how the man had died. There were no injuries on him.

There was something else as well. Daredevil found the remains of plastic ties, cut up and scattered on the ground. He found a bolt affixed to the cinderblock wall with the remnants of bindings dangling from it. Someone had been held prisoner here. In the floor was a metal grate. Daredevil laced his fingers through the bars and leaned down. Cold damp air filtered through the bars, bringing with it the smell of fear.

The soft scrape of a foot on concrete alerted him to the presence at the top of the stairs. He turned his head slightly.

"If you had any intention of killing me, I assume you would have done so by now," he said without turning around, his voice echoing in the dank basement.

"I was just admirin' your dimples," said the voice from above. It was a deep voice for a woman, but definitely female.

"You haven't even seen my face," he told the woman, aware that he was crouched face down on the floor, his posterior raised and pointed directly at the woman.

"I wasn't talkin' about those dimples," she informed him, her voice amused. "I meant the ones I can see through your cute little red pajamas."

Daredevil stood and turned slowly. The woman was standing above him on the first step. He gestured to the corpse at his feet. "I'm guessing this guy's dimples were less to your liking."

"He looks much better dead," she answered and took a few slow steps down the staircase.

"Is that why you killed him? Aesthetics?" Daredevil asked, his body tensed.

"No," she said and came to a halt at the second to last step, bringing her head level with Daredevil's. She was petite, almost a foot shorter than him. She brought with her that same strange odor he'd smelled from the rooftop near Gambit's apartment. It was almost a lack of scent. "I killed him because I was fulfilling a contract."

This gave Daredevil pause. "A contract? Then you were hired to kill him."

The woman considered him a moment. "Yes. In a sense."

"Who hired you?" Daredevil asked.

"As a professional, it would be against my personal ethics t'give you the name of a client," she began. "But seein' as how he's dead, I suppose it wouldn't do no harm."

She pronounced 'harm' as if to rhyme with 'warm.' It was not an accent he had heard often, but he'd had an earful of that New Orleans patois from just the night previous. It was too much of a coincidence for there to be two Louisianans involved in this caper. "If your client is dead, why go through with the assassination?" Daredevil asked.

"All part of de contract," she answered. "A bounty on de head of de killer who'd murder Remy LeBeau. A bounty transferred t'my account wit' de proof of success."

"Someone contracted you to kill Remy LeBeau's killer?" he asked. "Why?"

He could hear the woman's wry smile in her voice. "Why, t'keep Remy alive. That kinda money – t'ree million dollars – was incentive...Remy himself took out an open contract on the hide of any fool assassin who'd try an' kill him years ago. Any number of killers-for-hire be champin' at de bit, just hopin' someone'd be dumb enough to take de chance and put a bullet in Remy's head."

Daredevil indicated the dead man. "He was dumb enough," Daredevil said. "A professional, too, I'm guessing. Wouldn't he have known about the contract?"

"Any assassin who's worth his salt would've known," the woman answered coldly. "Maybe he had a death wish."

"Then what is it? An act of stupidity or suicide?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't ask. He died faster than I'd have liked."

"How did you kill him?" Daredevil asked. "There are no marks on him."

"That's a trade secret, mon Diable. But they were friends, once."

"Who were?"

"That man...name of John Greycrow – called Scalphunter, and Remy. They was friends back when Remy was just a pup," she answered.

"I gather that their friendship is over," Daredevil said.

"Maybe they can make amends in de hereafter," she suggested.

"I'm afraid you won't be getting that bounty," Daredevil told her.

"Oh? And why's that? You gonna turn me in to de authorities, my little horny one?" she asked as she reached out a fingertip to touch one of the horns on his forehead.

Before she could touch him, he reached up and clasped her wrist. "You'll be disappointed to discover that Remy LeBeau is very much alive," Daredevil told her.

The woman gave a small, barely audible gasp. "Alive?" she repeated softly. "But that's not possible. I saw him dead on de floor. Shot in de head."

Something in her voice made him loosen his grip. There was a tiny hitch in her throat as she spoke of LeBeau's death. "That was a clone," he told her. "The assassin shot the wrong man."

She let out a breath. "Merci le bon Dieu," she whispered. "I thought I was too late."

Daredevil released the woman's slack arm. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Excuse me if I'm slow t'make introductions," she told him. "On account of you bein' a costumed do-gooder and all. But I hear tell you're...sympathetic to assassins. At least those of de female variety."

Dammit, Daredevil thought. My reputation precedes me.

"Don't frown, mon chèr," the woman said. "I hate t'see such a lovely mouth look so sad. Y'can call me Belle," she told him.

"Who is LeBeau to you? Family?" he guessed.

"In a way," she said lightly. "We was married once."

"Oh," Daredevil said, disappointed for some reason. "I had no idea Gambit was ever married."

"It didn't last long," she told him. "Irreconcilable differences, abandonment, and infidelity, de paperwork says. I told that lawyer man t'put down 'no-good-yella-belly-coward-runaway-scoundrel.' For de money I paid him, he should'a wrote down what I say."

"I admit, your terminology is certainly more...colorful," Daredevil said, his interest once more piqued.

"Well, I only wanted to hurt Remy," Belle admitted. "I was cruel. I confess, at de time I wasn't in de right frame of mind."

"Divorce has the tendency to bring out the worst in people," Daredevil conceded.

"It was more than that. I was outta my head crazy," Belle said.

Daredevil felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. "I wish you wouldn't make light. That isn't funny."

"Was I tryin' to sound humorous?" she asked. "I wasn't jokin'. I was for real. It's no fun wakin' out of some kinda nightmare of a dream and not know who you really are."

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "I – I'm sorry to hear that. My wife, I should say – my ex-wife, was driven...insane. It's a bit of a touchy subject."

Belle paused and shifted her stance. "Didja divorce her 'cause she went nuts?" she asked, testing him.

"No," he replied. "Her parents intervened."

"Heh," Belle said flippantly. "In-laws. Can't live wit' em, can't murder dem."

"Or in your case –," Daredevil began.

"Can't. It's bad PR. And my father-in-law and I...have come to an understandin'," Belle said, then asked: "Do you love her still? Your ex-wife?"

He paused to consider his answer. It was a very strange thing to be standing over a corpse discussing failed marriages with an assassin. "I do. Yes."

"C'est ça," she said with approval. "I suppose I won't kill you after all."

"May I ask," Daredevil paused, "what perfume you're wearing?"

Belle leaned forward until her face came alongside his. She said softly beside his ear: "I don't wear perfume."

"Soap?" he asked, his nostrils now suffused with her unusual scent. Her accent (unlike Gambit's) was charming, and wrapped around his head, entered his ears and curled up like a cat inside his skull.

"Hunter's soap, dey call it," she answered. "I never know when I might run inta someone a bit...nosy." She touched the end of his nose lightly.

"So no perfumes, no scents. That's just – you."

"Mm, hmn," she said and leaned away. "As much as I'd like t'chew de fat wit' you, chèr, I'd best be gettin' on."

She turned and began back up the staircase.

"Where are you going?" he asked and started after her.

"I have work t'do," she answered, her voice floating back over her shoulder. "Greycrow was a mercenary for hire, not one t'act independent-like. Someone sent him after Remy."

"Do you know who?" Daredevil asked.

"I got an inkling," Belle answered, her voice like steel. "Seein' as how dis man tried t'hire me for de same purpose. No coincidence, another assassin showin' up to fulfill de same hit. Little do he know, I'm all ready contracted...by his lover."

"Do you mind cluing me in?" Daredevil asked and took her wrist again as they reached the top of the staircase.

She turned slowly and raised her opposite arm. Her fingers brushed his jaw and came to grasp his chin. "I'm afraid I can't," she told him and ran her thumb over his lower lip. "Can't have you follow me...and stop me from killin' who needs killin'."

The pressure of her thumb left a tingling sensation on his lip. He unconsciously wet his lips with his tongue, tasting her there. "You're right. I can't let you murder anyone else."

"'Let me'?" she said, a hint of mocking in her tone. "Nobody lets me do nothin'. And I'd have shut you up permanently for talkin' t'me like that...if I didn't like watchin' your lips move so much."

"Belle," Daredevil began. "Gambit – Remy – trusted me to find the man who tried to kill him. We're on the same side. Let's work together."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Diable," Belle told him. "Remy don't trust anyone. And I work alone. But I will answer one of your questions."

"What's that?" Daredevil asked. The tingling sensation that began with her thumb on his lip began to spread to his tongue. His lips now felt numb.

"Poison," Belle said.

"Poison?" Daredevil repeated, suddenly alarmed. The tingling numbness had spread outward from his tongue, which now felt dumb in his mouth. His fingertips and toes began to tingle as well.

"How I killed Greycrow," she said. "But don't worry, I didn't give you a lethal dosage."

"Wha – what?" he said, and suddenly, his knees felt like water. He began to collapse forward. Belle managed to catch him under the arms. Though small, she was quite strong.

Daredevil's chin fell against her shoulder and she slowly lowered him to the cement floor, her body covering his briefly. She released his arms and he relaxed bonelessly onto his back. Belle leaned over him.

"Sorry 'bout dat," she said. "You should be right as rain long before de construction crew comes t'fill dis pit with cement tomorrow morning."

"See-ment ta-marrah mowrnin'," he slurred, imitating her accent.

She knelt beside his head. "You know, back home dey call Remy le Diable Blanc," she told him. "And here I come up north and find me a devil of a different color." Belle ran her fingertips along the side of his face.

"Starting to think...Gambit...was right...about my judgement...of women," Daredevil stammered.

Belle laughed in her throat. "You've made dis little business trip a real pleasure, Diable Rouge. If you're ever down N'Awlins way, feel free to ring me up. Here's my number." She folded something in her hand and tucked it behind his belt buckle.

"You...might...still – be crazy," he forced through his numb lips.

"Wouldn't that be just your luck," she told him. "Fais do-do, Diable."

Daredevil could sense her rise and move away. Her footsteps were silent across the ground and she slipped from the building. For some immeasurable amount of time, Daredevil floated in a numb fog. Whatever she had drugged him with made him too stupefied to care that he'd just been hoodwinked by a femme fatale. And Gambit's ex, to boot.

A strange buzzing noise and sensation roused him from his haze. He turned his head slightly and found, to his astonishment, that he'd regained some mobility. The buzzing came again. He realized it was coming from his waist. His arm dragged slowly towards his belt, numb fingers felt the pouch at his thigh. The buzzing was coming from his phone.

Must...answer, he thought, the compulsion to speak into his phone was too strong, it overrode all other thoughts. He loved his phone.

He fumbled the device free of the pouch at his belt and mashed the button to unlock it. He brought it to his ear.

"Hullo...?" he slurred.

There was a pregnant pause at the other end of the line. "Hello?" asked a woman's voice. "Is this...Remy?"

What the HELL? Daredevil thought. "Who is this?" he asked irritability as he struggled to sit upright.

"I'm sorry to be calling so late," the woman continued. "After I left the voice mails...and I never heard from you. I assumed you didn't want to speak with me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Daredevil responded.

"I'm sorry. I'm a little flustered," she laughed nervously, a hoarse cough of a laugh. "This is Helen. Helen Moreux."

Daredevil searched his memory for the name. "I think you might have the wrong number," he told her.

"Oh...I...I'm so embarrassed. I got this number from – from one of those agencies that can find phone numbers and information. I guess it wasn't a very reputable source," Helen responded.

Daredevil thought his mind must still be reeling. "But you asked for Remy, didn't you?" he asked, confused. How many Remys could there possibly be?

"I did," she answered.

"Remy LeBeau?" Daredevil said as he climbed to his feet. He put out a hand and felt for a support beam to hold himself upright.

The woman paused for a long moment. "Yes..." she answered slowly. "Do you know him?"

"Yes," Daredevil answered. "And he's turning out to be a huge pain in – a huge problem."

"Is he all right?" the woman asked, her voice raised in alarm.

"I don't know about that...," Daredevil said.

"Can I speak with him?" she asked.

"Well, he's not here right now, and I don't know how to get ahold of him," Daredevil said as he staggered from one support post to the next.

"It's just that – I think his life is in danger," Helen told him. "And it might be my fault."

Daredevil came to a halt. "What makes you think that?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

"I've seen some messages, heard some things...that make me believe someone might be trying to...to hurt him," she said nervously.

"You know, Helen," Daredevil said, "I think you might be right. Why don't we have a chat?"

"I don't know..." she began. "I don't know who you are. How do you know my – how do you know Remy?"

"We're colleagues," Daredevil responded.

"At the school?" she asked.

It took him a moment to recall that Gambit served as a teacher at The Jean Grey School. "We know each other through work," Daredevil said. "And how do you know him?"

The woman was slow to respond. There was a long pause.

"Hello? Helen?" he prompted.

She took a breath and answered: "Remy is my son."

*Daredevil #23 – DD takes on Coyote, who used his powers to aid the Juárez Cartel in muling drugs to NYC.

Merci le bon Dieu – Thank the good Lord

Fais do-do, Diable – Go to sleep, Devil. My mom told my baby nephew to "fais doo-doo" the other day, and I told her: "Mom, it's 'doe-doe.' Not 'doo-doo.' You're asking him to do something completely different."

Next time: A road trip with Jean and Remy. Remy's brain takes a detour into Angstville.