Chapter 4 – The Approach

Matt

Matt spent the next week preparing. For the first two days he studied Mike's story, until it was second nature. He was surprised at how similar it was to his own. Easier to remember, he supposed, and less chance of a slip-up. And the most effective lies always had an element of truth. He only hoped Owlsley and his people didn't notice the similarities.

The only part of Matt Murdock's life that came with him was his Daredevil gear, packed in the duffel he brought with him. He had insisted that Daredevil couldn't disappear when Matt Murdock "went upstate." Someone might notice and put the pieces together. Vanessa reluctantly agreed. For his part, Matt assured her he would try to avoid visible injuries, so as not to arouse suspicions on the part of Owlsley's people. What he didn't tell her was that he would still do what was necessary to keep the Kitchen and its people safe.

The rest of the week was devoted to planning the approach to Owlsley. Vanessa's watchers had reported that The Owl liked to spend his evenings drinking and talking with a few favored associates at a bar not far from Mike's apartment. Matt decided to check it out one evening. He sat at the bar, drinking Scotch and scanning the place. He was surprised to discover it was a real Hell's Kitchen bar. A couple of notches above Josie's, maybe, but still a place where he could feel comfortable. It didn't seem like the kind of place Owlsley would frequent; he expected the crime boss would prefer something more upscale. Maybe Owlsley was trying to make a statement, or maybe he just liked the bartender's pours. Matt shrugged inwardly. Whatever Owlsley's reasons were, this was the place to make the approach.

Matt sat at the bar for a couple of hours, nursing his drinks and turning over ideas in his mind. Owlsley and his associates arrived a half hour after he did. Occasionally, he listened in on their conversation. None of it was particularly interesting, until one of the underlings laughed and said, "Hey, look at Mr. Magoo over there, at the bar," and pointed at Matt.

Owlsley's reaction was immediate and unexpected. "Get him outta here," he ordered. "Moron." Two other men dragged him out of the bar. Matt heard a thud as the offending associate hit the pavement outside. The two men returned and rejoined their boss at the table.

Matt held his breath for a few minutes, hoping that Owlsley wouldn't approach him. That would ruin the whole plan. He could improvise if he had to, but that wasn't a great option. Finally, he relaxed. Apparently Owlsley thought he hadn't heard the comment. He finished his drink, paid his tab, and left. A plan was coming together in his mind.

When he got back to his apartment building, he didn't go to his own apartment. Instead, he knocked on the door of 8A. Like all the other apartments on the floor, it was occupied by Vanessa's people. Among other things, they were his pipeline when he needed to communicate with Vanessa.

His knock was answered by a woman named Mandy. She was petite, with a high-pitched voice that grated on Matt's ears, but Vanessa had assured him she was a competent operative. Tonight, she was all business.

"You have something?" she asked.

"A plan," Matt replied, then explained his idea for the approach to Owlsley.

Mandy listened intently, then nodded. "I'll get word to her. Anything else?"

"No."

She walked him to the door. "OK. We'll be in touch," she told him as she closed the door behind him.

The next day, two operatives appeared at Mike's door. They introduced themselves as Paul and Lila, no last names. Matt doubted those were their real names, but then again, he wasn't using his real name, either. They both listened without interrupting while Matt explained the plan.

When he finished, Lila said, "I like it."

Paul nodded, "So do I," he said, "but what if Owlsley doesn't bite?"

Matt frowned. "Then we're screwed," he said. "There really isn't a Plan B. Not involving me, anyway. No matter what the plan is, I only have one chance to hook him."

"That's a problem," Paul pointed out. "Boss lady isn't gonna be happy if we don't get it done."

"I know," Matt agreed. From what he'd seen of her, Vanessa was not the forgiving type. "It is what it is. If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears."

"No," Lila said, "I think this is our best shot."

"Then let's do it," Matt told them.

They spent the next three days rehearsing and refining the plan. All three of them went to the bar, separately and at different times. Paul explained that it might look suspicious if he and Lila both showed up there for the first time on the night of the approach. Then he added, sounding embarrassed, "No offense, man, but we need to make sure you didn't miss anything."

Matt waved it off. "None taken," he said. "Do what you need to do."

Finally, they agreed they were as well prepared as they were going to be. They would make the approach to Owlsley that evening. A little after six o'clock, Matt stood on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the bar. This was their only shot. They had to make it work. "Showtime," he told himself. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Lila was already there, sitting alone at the bar. Matt took a seat at the bar, leaving several empty bar stools between them. He folded his cane and set it on the bar. The bartender took his order and returned with a glass of Scotch. He scanned the room as he drank. Owlsley and his associates were at their usual corner table. He listened in on their conversation but heard nothing of interest.

When Matt's glass was half empty, Paul walked in and sat down at the bar between Matt and Lila. He ordered a beer and took several swallows before turning toward Lila. "Too soon," Matt thought, but he couldn't do anything about it now.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked her.

"No, thank you."

"Oh, c'mon," he said, "a pretty lady like you shouldn't have to drink alone."

"I'm not," Lila replied, "I'm waiting for a friend."

"Well, then, I'll keep you company until your friend arrives," Paul said.

"That's not necessary," Lila told him. "I'm fine." She stood up, picked up her drink, and began to move away from Paul.

"Don't you walk away from me, bitch!" Paul yelled.

That was Matt's cue. He slid off his bar stool, grabbed his cane, and unfolded it with a flick of his wrist. He heard the scrape of Paul's bar stool on the floor as he got to his feet to follow Lila. Matt took a couple of steps toward Paul, then tripped him with the cane. Two swift, well-placed kicks to the back of his legs, and Paul went down to his knees. Matt crouched behind him and grabbed his right wrist, twisting the arm behind his back.

"'No' means 'no,' asshole," he growled. "Got it?"

"Fuck you," Paul replied.

"Wrong answer." Matt pulled up on Paul's arm, enough to be painful without doing any real damage.

"Ow!" Paul yelped in pain.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Matt asked. "Want to reconsider?"

"OK, OK," Paul panted. "Just don't hurt me."

"Here's how it's gonna go. I let you get up. You apologize to the lady. Then you pay your tab and hers. Then you leave. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"All right. I'm letting go of your arm now. But if you do anything other than what I just told you, well, I'm still here."

Matt gave a final jerk to Paul's arm, then stood up. Paul groaned and got to his feet, rubbing his arm. He turned to Lila and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

Lila nodded but said nothing. Paul pulled out what sounded like a stack of bills and threw them on the bar, then walked out, muttering curses under his breath. A couple of customers clapped as Matt resumed his place at the bar. He picked up his half-empty glass and drained it. Footsteps approached from the direction of Owlsley's table. Someone pulled up the bar stool next to him and sat down.

"Can I buy you a drink?" a man's voice asked.

Matt shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Lee Owlsley," the man said, extending his hand for a handshake. Matt ignored it. Owlsley realized his mistake and lowered his hand.

"Mike Murphy." Matt held out his hand, and they shook. Owlsley's handshake was firm and dry. He was about Matt's height, maybe an inch or two shorter, and a little broader. He gave off the aromas of a single-malt Scotch and a musky cologne.

After they shook hands, Owlsley said, "That was very impressive." He didn't say the words, but Matt heard them anyway: ". . . for a blind man."

"What're you having?" Owlsley asked. His voice was a pleasant baritone, with a hint of a Midwestern accent.

"Macallan, neat," Matt replied. If Owlsley was paying, might as well order the good stuff.

When their drinks arrived, they both drank, then Owlsley said, "I like the way you handled yourself with that asshole. But if you don't mind my asking, how do you do it?"

Matt fell back on his stock answer to questions like this. "Sight is overrated."

Owlsley barked a laugh. "Apparently so." He took another drink and swallowed. "What line of work you in?"

"Actually, I'm, uh, between jobs at the moment," Matt replied, trying to look and sound embarrassed. "I, uh, I was working for a real estate guy until a couple of weeks ago."

"Doing what?"

"Basically, whatever he needed." Matt paused for a moment, as if remembering. "Deliveries, collections, relocations, helping people understand what was in their best interests. That sort of thing, you know?" He smirked. "They never saw me coming."

"Ha!" Owlsley gave a short, sharp laugh. "I guess not." Then he lifted his glass and drank, apparently considering what Matt had told him. When his glass was empty, he set it down and said, "I might have an opening in my organization for a man with your, ah, skill set. You interested?"

"Maybe," Matt replied. "What kind of organization?"

"I own a financial services firm, full-service, and . . . other things."

Matt nodded knowingly.

"Why don't you come to my office, say, tomorrow morning at 10? We can talk then."

"All right."

Owlsley reached into his pocket, as if to take out a business card. "It's Owlsley and Associates . . . um, how do I – ?"

Matt anticipated the question and pulled out his phone. "Just put your information in here. I'll find you."

Owlsley tapped on Matt's phone, then returned it to him."I'm sure you will. See you tomorrow." He stood and started to walk away.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow," Matt replied.

At two minutes to ten the next morning, Matt was standing in the reception room at the 52nd-floor office of Owlsley & Associates. The receptionist – or maybe he was a security guard – was on the phone. When the conversation ended, he spoke to Matt. "Yeah?"

"Mike Murphy, to see Mr. Owlsley," Matt replied.

"You got an appointment?"

"Yes."

"You know how to get to his office?"

"Never been here before."

The guard-receptionist paused for a beat then yelled, "Hey, Denny, do me a favor and take Mr. Magoo here to see the boss." Matt knew that voice. It was the same man who'd called him "Magoo" in the bar, several nights ago.

Footsteps approached – Denny, apparently – and a man grabbed Matt by the arm and took a step, pulling Matt with him. Matt seethed. Then he remembered why he was here. He wasn't going to let a couple of idiots throw him off his game. He jerked his arm from Denny's grasp and took hold of Denny's upper arm. "If you're gonna lead me, this is the right way," he said mildly.

"Oh."

As they walked away, Matt heard the guard-receptionist on the phone telling someone, "Tell the boss Mr. Magoo is here to see him."

He followed Denny through a maze of corridors and open workspaces until they arrived at Owlsley's outer office. Denny turned to Matt and asked, "What's your name, again?"

"Mike Murphy."

"Mike Murphy, to see Mr. Owlsley," Denny said. "He says he has an appointment."

"He does," Owlsley said, walking out of his office. "Thanks for coming, Mike."

"Mr. Owlsley," Matt said, extending his hand for a handshake.

With the pleasantries taken care of, Owlsley guided Matt to a chair in his office. Owlsley sat across from him, behind his desk. "First, I want to apologize," he said, "for my associate calling you 'Mr. Magoo'."

"Apology accepted," Matt said mildly. "It wasn't the first time."

"No, I suppose it wasn't," Owlsley said. Then he called out, "Denny! A word, please, before you go."

Denny walked into the office and stopped a few steps inside the door. "Sir?"

"Tell Shawn to pack up his stuff and get out," Owlsley ordered. "He's fired. We'll mail him his final paycheck. I never want to see him here again."

Denny nodded. "You got it, boss." Denny left, closing the door behind him.

Owlsley leaned back in his chair for a moment, steepling his hands in front of him. Then he sat up straight and asked, "Where you from, Mike?"

"The City."

"Where, exactly?"

"Hell's Kitchen. Born and raised." Owlsley's heart rate ticked up. That answer had gotten his attention.

"That could be very helpful," Owlsley said. "You may not be aware of it, but I have certain . . . business interests in Hell's Kitchen."

"I still live there, so . . . ."

"Even better." Owlsley fell silent for a moment, seeming to look down. When he raised his head, he said, "If you don't mind my asking, have you always been blind?"

"No, I don't mind," Matt replied. "And no."

"How did you lose your sight?"

"Accident, when I was ten."

"Oh." Owlsley seemed at a loss for words. Then he asked, "So you learned to fight before that?"

"No, after."

"Really?"

Matt nodded. "After the accident, where this happened," he said, gesturing at his eyes, "I went to live with my aunt and uncle, my dad's older brother." He paused, then anticipated Owlsley's next question and added, "My parents were killed in the accident."

"I'm sorry, man, that sucks," Owlsley said.

Matt ignored the obligatory response. "When I was twelve, my best friend from school got martial arts lessons for his birthday. I wanted lessons, too." He gave a wry smile. "I wouldn't shut up about it until my uncle finally gave in and found a place on the Upper West Side where they were willing to teach a blind kid. Years later, he told me he decided to let me have the lessons, because a blind kid growing up in Hell's Kitchen needed to be able to defend himself."

"He wasn't wrong," Owlsley observed.

"No, he wasn't," Matt agreed. "Anyway, I got the lessons and found out I was good at it, so I kept doing it. End of story."

"You were educated in the City?"

"Yeah. Undergraduate at City College, then Fordham Law."

"You're a lawyer?" Owlsley asked, sounding surprised.

"No. Quit in the middle of my second year, decided the law wasn't for me. Too many rules, and too many exceptions to the rules." Matt smirked. If Owlsley checked the records created by Vanessa's people, he'd find out that Mike Murphy had flunked out in his second year. But Matt decided Mike's ego wouldn't allow him to admit it. It was true, more or less. Mike did quit, in a manner of speaking; he quit going to class and doing the work.

"And your last job?"

"Like I said last night, I worked for a real estate guy," Matt replied. "I was basically his go-to guy. If something needed to get done, he came to me. He knew it would get done."

"So why'd you leave?"

Matt paused, as if he was deciding how to answer. Then he said, "I didn't leave, I was fired."

"Oh?"

"The boss's girlfriend was getting a little too friendly. The boss knew it was her, not me, but one of us had to go, and it was never gonna be her."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Owlsley told him, "my girlfriend doesn't work here."

"Thanks for the heads-up, but I try to stay clear of workplace hook-ups. Too messy," Matt replied, trying not to think of Karen and how it had all gone so wrong.

"Good policy." Owlsley leaned back in his chair again. He seemed to be thinking. Matt waited. Then Owlsley said, "I think there's a place for you here, if you're interested."

"What would the job be, exactly?" Matt asked.

"Basically the same as your last job – whatever I need you to do."

"OK," Matt replied. After a couple of seconds, he added, "As long as you don't need me to drive."

Owlsley chuckled. "No chance of that."

"You haven't said anything about compensation," Matt pointed out. "I don't work for free, you know."

"Of course not." Owlsley named a figure.

"That's acceptable . . . to start."

"Show me what you can do, and there's no limit."

"Good."

Owlsley got to his feet and came out from behind his desk. Matt held out his hand, and they shook. "See you tomorrow morning at nine," Owlsley said.

Matt nodded. "See you then."

Owlsley walked across the room, opened the door, and said, "Carol, can you walk Mr. Murphy to the elevator?"

Matt waited until she was standing next to him, then took her arm and let her guide him out of the office. He managed to contain himself until the elevator doors closed and he was sure he was alone. Then he exclaimed, "Yes!" as he pumped his fist and grinned. He was in.