Chapter 5 – Undercover, Part One

Matt

Working for Owlsley wasn't what Matt expected. Most of his co-workers were friendly enough. Some simply ignored him, clueless about how to talk to a blind guy. ("Like anyone else," Matt thought irritably whenever that happened). For his part, Matt walked a fine line, trying to appear friendly while keeping his distance. He wasn't there to make friends.

One day, he overheard a woman commenting that she'd like to know what it was like to "do" a blind guy. "Yeah, so would I," another voice replied. A man's voice. Matt smothered a chuckle and shook his head. Nope, not gonna happen, not with either of them. He wasn't lying when he told Owlsley he tried to stay clear of workplace hook-ups. In this workplace, they weren't only messy, they were dangerous.

To his surprise, Owlsley & Associates was a functioning financial services firm, serving wealthy clients who wanted to become even richer. Matt's cover job was as an analyst. His pre-law classes in economics and finance weren't his favorites, by far, but what he'd learned in them came in handy now. He soon discovered that the firm's business wasn't all about serving the clients; some of the "investments" the firm promoted looked a lot like Ponzi schemes. And, as he expected, the firm's transactions were also used to launder the proceeds of Owlsley's criminal enterprises.

It didn't take long for Matt to figure out that what Owlsley was really looking for was a "fixer" – someone to deal with the problems that cropped up every day, it seemed, in a criminal enterprise, mostly because the people involved were, well, criminals. If that's what Owlsley needed, Matt would fill that need. It was easier than he expected. Solving problems was what he did, as a lawyer and as Daredevil. Only the problems were different. As were the solutions.

His first assignment was a street-level dealer who had been putting his product into his own veins instead of into the hands of paying customers. His distributor had tried to find him to collect what he owed for the product, but he was a slippery son of a bitch. It took Daredevil two nights to locate the abandoned building where he had set up shop. Mike went to see him the next day.

"Hey, man!" the dealer called out from his seat behind a flimsy table, as Matt entered the empty space. "What can I do you for? I got H, oxy – " He broke off suddenly. Apparently Matt's dark glasses and white cane had belatedly registered in his consciousness.

Matt walked across the room and stood next to the dealer. "Neither," he said. "I'm just here to talk."

"Uh, OK, I guess."

"The Owl sent me," Matt said. "To collect the money you owe him."

"You?" The man laughed, but Matt could sense his confusion.

"Yeah. Me."

"Well, I don't got it. What you gonna do about it?" the dealer asked as he got to his feet.

"I was hoping you'd ask that," Matt muttered.

The dealer lunged at Matt, swinging wildly. Matt sidestepped him, then dropped his cane and unleashed a right jab that connected with the left side of the dealer's head. He fell back into the chair. He scrambled to get to his feet again, but as he did so, Matt landed a series of punches to his head and body. He fell back into the chair again, and Matt's final blow sent him and the chair toppling over backward.

Matt stood over the dealer as he lay on the floor, half-conscious. "That answer your question?"

The dealer didn't answer. He didn't resist, either, when Matt searched his pockets and took out a wad of bills, along with what remained of his drug supply.

The dealer moaned. "No, please," he begged.

Matt considered his options. There was really only one: cutting off the man's drug supply. He knew what that would mean, but his priority was proving himself to Owlsley. He would do what he had to do.

"You're done," Matt told him. "We're cutting you off, as of today."

"Please," the man pleaded, "I'll get you the money."

"No second chances," Matt told him. Then he held up the rolled bills. "This is just a down payment. If you don't come up with the rest, we'll be back. If you didn't like this – " He waved a hand above the battered dealer. " – you really won't like what happens then. Or you can leave the city tonight. Or you can choose this."

Matt took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and pressed it into the man's hand. It had the contact information for a clinic in Queens where he could detox under medical supervision. Then he turned and walked away.

Matt's next assignment was a mid-level distributor who'd been skimming from the cash his dealers turned over to him. Owlsley wanted him taken care of. He didn't specify how. Matt found him in a bar in Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the afternoon. The man was already half in the bag. He gave a startled jerk as Matt slid into the booth across from him. When Matt confronted the man with what he'd done, he could sense him going into full "fight or flight" mode. Then he crumbled.

"Oh, God," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I'll pay it back, please, don't – " He stopped, apparently unable to give voice to what he thought Owlsley was going to do to him.

"You're right," Matt told him, in his most menacing voice, "It's not gonna happen again."

The man pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and put it on the table. "Here, " he said, "take it, it's all I have left." Then he broke down and sobbed. "Please, you don't understand," he pleaded, "I had to. My son is sick, real sick. I got no insurance. I needed the money for him."

He wasn't lying. Shit. Matt considered this for a moment, then decided it didn't change what he had to do. If the man kept doing what he was doing, he would be dead or in prison, and his sick kid would grow up without a father. Besides, if Matt succeeded, the man would be out of a job soon, anyway.

"If you were in trouble, you should've gotten word to The Owl. He could've helped you," he said. That was a lie. Probably. If Owlsley had a humanitarian side, Matt had yet to see any evidence of it. "But it's too late for that," he continued. "We're cutting you off. From now on, you're getting no product."

"But, but, you can't – " The man began to plead again.

"I can," Matt replied coldly. He wouldn't only cut off the man's supplies from Owlsley, he'd also get word to Vanessa and make sure her people didn't supply him, either. "You're out of business. You need to get yourself and your family out of this city. Then find a real job, take care of your boy."

"Easy for you to say," the man countered.

"Not really," Matt replied, gesturing at his eyes.

The man had no answer for that. Matt picked up the roll of bills, then got to his feet and walked out of the bar.

Owlsley seemed satisfied with Matt's handling of his first two assignments and started handing him more and more problems to deal with. Not everyone was happy, however. No one said anything to his face, of course, but he heard the complaints. Most were of the "What was the boss thinking, hiring a blind guy?" variety. Others were about accommodating his disability. He only needed a few accommodations, but people bitched about them anyway.

His most vocal critic was Jimmy Callahan. That was not good. Callahan was a long-time associate of Owlsley's who had recently taken over the position of The Owl's second-in-command and moved into the office next to the boss. He'd been tapped for the job after the murder of Owlsley's former right-hand man, Martin Broadus, several months earlier. Matt wouldn't last long in Owlsley's organization, if Callahan was his enemy. He needed to make him an ally, or at least not an enemy. His opportunity came one afternoon, when Callahan was talking to Tommy Greco, Owlsley's head of security, in Greco's office. Matt ducked into the empty office next to Greco's to listen.

"I'm telling you, there's something 'off' about him," Callahan was saying. His high-pitched voice and strong Chicago accent made him easy to recognize.

"'Off' how?" Greco asked.

"I dunno, it's just a feeling," Callahan replied. Then he added, "He looks like he's staring at me, and listening, all the time."

"Dude's blind," Greco pointed out. "He's not staring at anything, and of course, he's gonna be listening. What d'you expect?"

"It's not that. It's like he's looking right through me, like he knows stuff. It's creepy."

"He's just a guy," Greco protested.

"Oh, yeah? So tell me he's not going after my job."

"Jesus, Jimmy, you really think that?"

"Yeah."

"How long you been with the boss?"

"Fifteen years, give or take."

"You really think he's gonna replace you with some guy he just met?"

"Look at the jobs he's giving him," Callahan pointed out. "They're jobs I should be doing."

"No, they're not," Greco replied firmly. "They're penny-ante stuff. You're the Chief Operating Officer. You don't need to be doing chickenshit jobs like that, not in your position."

"Maybe," Callahan conceded.

"You know what I think?" Greco asked.

"What?"

"I think you got an overactive imagination. You need to chill."

"Don't you think it's just a little fishy that he just happened to be in that bar when that asshole hit on that girl, and the boss was there?"

"I looked into him after the boss took him on, and he checked out." Matt breathed a silent thank-you to Vanessa and her people. "Besides, assholes hit on girls in bars all the time," Greco pointed out. "And I gotta say, he handled himself pretty well. You weren't there, you didn't see it."

Callahan huffed. "I still don't trust him."

Matt had heard enough. He left his listening post and stepped into Greco's office. "You got something to say to me, say it to my face," he declared.

"That was a private conversation," Callahan said.

"Oh, yeah? Well, maybe you should learn to keep your voices down," Matt told him. "And, for the record, I didn't 'get lucky' when I took down that asshole in the bar."

"Yeah?" Callahan scoffed. "Prove it."

"You got it," Matt said, starting to take off his suit jacket.

Greco moved to stand between Matt and Callahan. "Not here, guys."

Matt answered first. "You're right. I know a place."

A little after eight o'clock that evening, Matt was standing next to the ring at Fogwell's, after wrapping his hands and warming up a little on the heavy bag. As he warmed up, he reminded himself to stick to the basics, no fancy moves. He couldn't afford to make Callahan more suspicious than he already was.

While he waited for Callahan and Greco to show, he began to second-guess his choice of location. There were too many connections between Matt Murdock and Fogwell's. If someone came, when someone came, Callahan and Greco might not be alone. They might arrive with Owlsley's enforcers, ready to take him out. Or there might be a solo assassin, sent to eliminate him with a single shot from a silenced weapon. Then he shook his head, pushing back against his doubts. As part of his preparation, Vanessa had provided a dossier on the backgrounds of Owlsley and his top aides. Like their boss, Callahan and Greco were from Chicago. It was unlikely they'd ever heard of Battlin' Jack Murdock or his son, the blind lawyer. If he was wrong, well, there were worse places than Fogwell's to die.

He heard footsteps approaching and tensed, then relaxed a little when he picked up only two heartbeats, both steady. The door opened, and Callahan and Greco walked in.

"Shit, man, what is this place?" Callahan asked.

"Used to be a boxing gym," Matt replied. "Went out of business a coupla years ago."

"How'd you know about it?"

"I grew up in Hell's Kitchen. Everyone in the Kitchen knew about Fogwell's, back in the day."

That answer seemed to satisfy Callahan. He took off his jacket and said, "Let's do this."

"OK." Matt took a minute to size up his opponent. Callahan was about his height, maybe an inch taller, thin instead of muscular, with long arms that would give him an advantage in the fight. Matt climbed into the ring. Callahan and Greco followed.

Callahan wasted no time once they were in the ring. He threw a roundhouse punch that partially connected with the left side of Matt's face. Matt chose not to dodge it completely, moving just far enough out of its path to avoid the full force of the blow. As he delivered the punch, Callahan rushed Matt, apparently thinking to take him down. Instead, Matt used Callahan's momentum to flip him onto the mat on his back. Callahan quickly scrambled to his feet. "Nice move," he said. Matt's reply was a series of punches to Callahan's midsection. He staggered but didn't go down. Matt hoped Callahan and Greco couldn't tell he was pulling his punches, trying not to do serious damage to his opponent. Owlsley wouldn't like it if he did. Callahan regained his balance and attacked again. Wherever he had learned to fight, it wasn't in a gym or a dojo. He would be effective in a street fight, but he didn't have Matt's skills. Matt let him land a couple of punches, then moved in close and unleashed a flurry of blows to Callahan's face and jaw. When he sensed Callahan was feeling their effect, Matt moved in behind him and kicked his legs out from under him. Callahan went down on his knees. A final blow to the jaw put him all the way down on the mat.

Matt backed off and leaned over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. When he sensed Callahan starting to get to his feet, he took a couple of steps toward him and held out his hand. "You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah," Callahan grunted, waving off Matt's hand and pushing himself to his feet.

"Buy you a drink?" Matt asked.

"No," Callahan replied. "I'm buying."

They ended up at the bar where "Mike Murphy" had first met Owlsley. Apparently Callahan or Greco knew their boss wouldn't be there that evening. Callahan was still rubbing the left side of his jaw as he slid into the booth. "Damn, man," he said, "how'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Lessons, when I was a kid."

"You had lessons?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. I was a blind kid, growing up in Hell's Kitchen. I needed to be able to defend myself."

"Makes sense," Greco commented.

Matt continued, "I found out I was good at it, and I liked it, so I kept up my training."

"Apparently," Callahan said dryly. "What're you drinking?"

"Scotch, neat, with a water chaser," Matt replied.

Callahan slid out of the booth and went to the bar. When he returned with their drinks, he took a long pull from his bottle of beer before setting it down. Then he and Matt spoke at the same time.

"So – "

"Look, man – "

Matt waved his hand. "You first."

"So – um, if you don't mind me asking, you said you were a blind kid. Have you always been blind?" Callahan asked.

"No. Accident, when I was ten."

"That sucks."

Matt shrugged indifferently. "You learn to live with it."

This killed the conversation for several minutes. The three men drank in silence until Callahan said, "So, Mike, you were gonna say – "

Matt took a drink of Scotch before answering. "Sorry if I've been creeping you out," he said with a pained grin.

"Son of a bitch," Callahan muttered. "You heard that?" Matt nodded. "I'm sorry, man, that was out of line."

"No problem," Matt told him. "I'm not made of glass, you know."

Greco chimed in. "Yeah, we noticed."

"And, for the record, I'm not tryin' to take your job, Jimmy. Now that I've got a job again, I'm just tryin' to keep the one I have."

"OK," Callahan said, "you do your job, and I'll do mine."

"You got it," Matt said. He finished his drink and set the empty glass on the table before asking, "So how'd you end up working for the boss?"

"You know he's from Chicago?" Callahan asked. Matt nodded. "I grew up there, in the system, one crappy foster home after another. When I turned 18 and 'aged out' of the system, I ended up on the streets."

"Jesus," Matt muttered under his breath.

"Then, one day, Mr. Owlsley found me and saw something in me, I guess. He sent me to college and then to business school. He saved my life. I can never repay him." Callahan drank the last of his beer and started to stand.

Matt slid out of the booth quickly and got to his feet. "I got this round," he said. Callahan didn't object.

After the second round, they agreed to call it a night. After all, it was a work day tomorrow, as Matt pointed out. Callahan and Greco got into a cab, heading downtown, and Matt walked in the opposite direction, toward Mike Murphy's apartment. All in all, it had gone well, he thought. He and Callahan would never be BFFs, but he had gone a long way toward defusing the man's hostility. Still, Callahan's first loyalty would always be to Owlsley. He had no doubt Callahan would kill him without hesitation if Owlsley ordered it. He would have to make sure it never came to that.