Chapter 1 – Moving Day
Foggy
"Moving day! At last!" Foggy exclaimed as he walked into the room above Nelson's Meats that had housed the offices of Nelson & Murdock (and Page), ever since he and Matt revived their partnership, and Karen joined them as their investigator. Six months later, they were finally going to move to what Foggy called "a real office" on the first floor of a partially renovated brownstone, only a few blocks away. They had Luke Cage to thank for that. He decided to keep Foggy on as his lawyer after Foggy left Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz, and his new role as the boss of Harlem generated plenty of legal work. Luke wasn't only working to keep the criminal element in check in his neighborhood. He was also one of the leaders of the movement to end the injustices that the people of Harlem had endured, for far too long, at the hands of law enforcement. The latest check from Luke, plus the contingency fees for two personal injury cases that settled sooner than expected, made it possible for them to make the move.
"Yeah, I know," Matt said with a smile, emerging from behind the partition that divided his makeshift "office" from the rest of the space. Foggy watched as Matt made his way carefully across the room, finding a zig-zag path between the boxes scattered around the floor.
"Sorry about that, man," Foggy said. Matt turned toward him with a quizzical expression. "About the boxes, I mean," he explained.
"I know where they are, Fog," Matt said patiently.
"I know, but – " When he saw the expression on Matt's face, Foggy decided not to say whatever it was that he intended to say. Matt might have a habit of making lame blind jokes, the worse the better, but he could sometimes become a bit . . . touchy, shall we say, when people, even Foggy, called attention to his disability. Especially when said people were "only trying to help."
"Let's get to work, then," Matt said, bending over to pick up the carton at his feet.
"Not yet," Foggy said, "we need to get the table first."
"Oh. Right."
They climbed the stairs to the Nelson family's apartment above the shop. Since Foggy's parents' retirement to Florida, his brother Theo was the only one living there. Their parents had left the dining table behind when they moved. It was too big for their condo in Tampa but was just the right size for the law firm's new conference room. Theo wanted to convert the dining room into a home office and was happy for them to take the table off his hands. Together they maneuvered the table down the narrow staircase. For once, Foggy was thankful that Matt's senses allowed him to carry his weight, literally. When they reached the bottom of the stairs and set the table down, Matt asked, "Where's the van?"
"In the loading zone down the block," Foggy replied.
"Let's go, then," Matt said, picking up his end of the table. They made their way down the street with Foggy in the lead. Once the table was loaded in the rented van, they spent the next hour carrying boxes down the stairs and ferrying them to the van on a hand truck borrowed from Theo. After the last box was loaded into the back of the van, Foggy went back upstairs for a final check, making sure nothing was left behind. Satisfied, he returned to the van and climbed into the driver's seat. Matt was already there, in the passenger's seat.
"Karen's already at the new place, right?" Matt asked.
Foggy nodded. "Yeah, waiting for the furniture to be delivered." He was still inordinately pleased with himself for discovering the used office furniture warehouse in Long Island City where he and Karen had picked out their new desks, matching credenzas, and the rest of the furniture they needed, all at bargain prices. He started the van and pulled away from the curb for the short drive to their new office.
The van was half empty by the time the furniture arrived. Matt, Foggy, and Karen took a break from carrying boxes to help the delivery men move desks, credenzas, chairs, bookcases, and a couch for the reception area into the space. When one of the delivery men asked Matt where he wanted his desk, he shrugged. "Interior decorating isn't really my thing," he said.
Foggy caught the annoyed look Karen gave Matt before she answered for him. "Just put it in front of the windows."
When the last piece of furniture was in place, Foggy signed for the delivery and tipped the men. As soon as they left, he flopped down on the couch. "Not so fast, Nelson," Matt admonished him, "Those boxes aren't gonna walk in here by themselves." Foggy groaned but got to his feet.
"Why do I end up schlepping all the boxes with books?" Foggy griped. "You know, don't you?" Matt grinned at him and headed for the door. Foggy and Karen followed. An hour later, the van was empty, and Foggy left to return it to the rental company. When he came back, he brought pizza and beer.
They gathered around the former dining table in the conference room. Foggy raised his beer bottle. "To Nelson, Murdock, and Page."
Karen and Matt echoed him as the three clinked their bottles together. "Nelson, Murdock, and Page."
Then Matt raised his bottle again. "To having our own desks again."
They munched on pizza and drank beer in silence for several minutes. Then Karen jumped to her feet. "I almost forgot," she said as she walked out of the room. When she returned, she was carrying a flat, rectangular object. She held it up. "Voilà!" she exclaimed.
"What is it?" Matt asked.
"It's the sign from our old office," Foggy told him.
"I found it in storage, when I went looking for a client file from the old firm," Karen explained. She handed it to Matt, and he took it from her, running his fingers over the raised letters of his and Foggy's names, then gave it back to her.
"The landlord has already put up a sign for us," he pointed out.
"I know," Karen said, "but I thought we could put it up in here, in the reception area. As kind of a reminder."
She didn't finish the thought, but Foggy was pretty sure he knew whom she wanted to remind and what she wanted to remind him of. The pained half-smile on Matt's face told him Matt knew, too.
Matt
That night, Matt took up a position on the roof of the brownstone that now housed their office. Months had passed since they discovered "The Owl" was Lee Owlsley, son of the late Leland Owlsley, Wilson Fisk's money man, but Matt was no closer to stopping Owlsley's campaign to become the next boss of Hell's Kitchen. No longer laced with deadly fentanyl, the "Owl" brand of heroin was again flooding the streets of the Kitchen. Matt had turned over dozens of Owlsley's dealers and distributors to the NYPD, but there was always someone to take their places. Owlsley was also expanding his human trafficking, prostitution, gambling, and extortion operations. No matter what they did, Matt and the NYPD couldn't get ahead of him.
Now there was another problem. For the past week or so, he'd been hearing talk of a new player, someone who was challenging Owlsley for control of Hell's Kitchen. Clashes between Owlsley's and the challenger's thugs had become nightly occurrences. Unless innocent bystanders were endangered, Matt had stayed out of them. If two gangs wanted to take each other out, he wasn't going to stand in their way. But he needed to know who was going after Owlsley's operations. His usual informants all claimed not to know. Even Turk Barrett couldn't be persuaded to give up a name. This was not good. He had to find out, before an all-out war erupted in the Kitchen.
He stood at one corner of the roof, searching for the sounds of trouble. It didn't take long for him to hear them: the unmistakable sounds of a fight, a couple of blocks away. There were no screams or calls for help. It could be a bunch of belligerent drunks, but it might be Owlsley's men and their rivals. There was only one way to find out. Matt took off across the roof, in the direction of the fight. By the time he arrived, the fight was over. He crouched down on a roof overlooking the scene, scanning it with his senses. He heard footsteps in the distance, running away. Two men were on the ground, unconscious. Two others were standing next to them. One of them bent down and lightly slapped the face of one of the unconscious men, apparently trying to rouse him. He didn't respond. The man standing next to him swore, "Fucking Owl. We shoulda had them. The boss lady's gonna be pissed."
"Boss lady"? The new player was a woman? His heart skipped a beat. Could it be Elektra? She had gone after the Owl before, with him. No, he decided, it wasn't Elektra. She wasn't coming back, not after what happened the last time she did. Besides, it made no sense for her to come back. She wouldn't be interested in street crime in Hell's Kitchen, not after taking control of what remained of the Hand. But if not Elektra, who? There was only one answer: Vanessa Fisk. Shit. She must be rebuilding Fisk's organization, getting ready for the next time he manipulated the system and regained his freedom. She was also untouchable. His deal with Fisk made sure of that. He couldn't go after her, not if he wanted to keep Foggy and Karen safe. But if she and Owlsley weren't stopped, there would be war in Hell's Kitchen, and innocent people would die, caught in the cross-fire.
Author's Note: This chapter is a little shorter than my usual, but it's only the set-up. Chapter 2, where the story begins to unfold, will be posted soon.