Chapter 6 – Undercover, Part Two

Matt

He thought Vanessa would be more patient, but he was wrong. He returned to Mike Murphy's apartment late one evening, to find Jay, the "neighbor" Vanessa had installed in apartment 8D, waiting for him in the hall. He opened the door and followed Jay inside. His visitor sat down on the couch, and Matt took a seat on one of the chairs facing it.

Jay wasted no time getting to the point. "Mrs. Fisk called," he said, "she wants to know what the fuck you think you're doing?"

Matt was pretty sure those weren't Vanessa's exact words. "The job," he said mildly.

"Yeah, well, she doesn't think so," Jay retorted. "It's been three weeks now, with no results."

"Seriously? More like only three weeks. Do you have any fucking idea what I'm tryin' to do here?"

"Stop The Owl," Jay declared, "and that's not happening."

"Not yet, maybe. And it never will, if we make a move too soon. Right now, I'm still the new guy. Anything happens, I'm the one they'll look at. I have to make sure my position in the organization is secure, before I make a move."

"And how long is that gonna take?"

"As long as it takes."

"Mrs. Fisk isn't gonna be happy."

"Tough shit. You tell Vanessa – "

Jay interrupted, "You mean Mrs. Fisk."

Matt leaned forward and pointed at him. "You tell Vanessa she chose me for this job. She needs to let me do it. She doesn't like the way I'm doing it, she can pull me out. I'm the one walking into Owlsley's office every fucking day. It's my fucking ass that's on the line. And I'm telling you – I'm telling her – if we rush things now, it's all gonna go to shit. I'm not getting my ass killed because she can't handle a little delayed gratification. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Jay said unhappily.

Matt wasn't so sure. "If you don't have the guts to deliver the message, I'll tell her myself."

"I said I got it," Jay said, sounding like he was talking through clenched teeth. Maybe he did have some guts, after all.

Matt stood up and walked Jay out of the apartment. When the door closed, he leaned back against it and took a deep breath. Shit. The message he sent with Jay would buy him some time, but not much. He needed to show Vanessa some results, without jeopardizing the operation – or himself.

Matt went back to the living room, stopping in the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. He sat down on the couch and took a long drink. "What the fuck are you even doing, Murdock?" he asked himself. Then he remembered why he was doing this: Foggy and Karen. With a pang of guilt, he realized he had hardly thought of them over the past several weeks, too focused on being "Mike Murphy." Damn, he missed them. He'd give anything to be able to sit down with them now and figure out a way to placate Vanessa and buy himself some time. Or even just hear their voices. That wasn't gonna happen. He was on his own.

Thinking of Foggy and Karen brought back the memory of his conversation with Karen at Josie's, the night before Vanessa's call and his departure. What was it she had said? Something to the effect that she was "done" trying to save him from himself. She was right, of course. You couldn't save people from themselves. But what did Karen mean when she said she was "done"? Obviously, she wasn't going to try to save him or change him. But was that because she had decided, like Claire Temple before her, that she couldn't let herself fall in love with the man he was? Or did it mean she accepted that he was that man? He pursed his lips, thinking, but the answer eluded him.

He drained his bottle of beer, then went to the kitchen and threw it in the recycling. From there, he made his way to the bedroom closet. He pushed aside the hanging clothes and pulled out the duffel bag where he stashed his Daredevil gear. Time for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen to make an appearance. He'd been going out several nights a week, to establish that Daredevil was active at a time when Matt Murdock was supposedly at a religious retreat upstate. That wasn't the only reason. After a day or two of being "Mike Murphy" and hiding his abilities, it was a relief to be himself for a change – the Daredevil part of himself, at least – and hit a few bad guys. And Hell's Kitchen still needed him.

So far, Owlsley's people didn't seem to suspect his nighttime activities. He wore gloves to protect his hands, and his business suits hid most of the injuries he sustained. There weren't many. Some of the petty criminals he encountered didn't even try to fight; they took off as soon as they saw him. Most of the others, those who stayed and tried to fight, were no match for him. On the few occasions when one of Owlsley's people noticed a cut or bruise, he played the "clumsy blind guy" card. It worked, just as it had worked with Foggy and Karen – until it didn't. He only hoped he could make it work with Owlsley's people for as long as he needed it.

He opened the duffel and put on the armored leggings and undershirt made for him by Melvin Potter, then pulled on a black shirt and pants over them. He grabbed his mask and gloves and headed to the front door of his apartment. There he paused to listen. The hallway was clear, the elevator silent. He stepped out of his apartment and quickly covered the short distance to the end of the hall, where he opened the door to the stairwell.

He took up a position at one corner of the roof and scanned the surrounding blocks. Amid the myriad sounds of the city, he heard a woman's scream. Time for Daredevil to get to work. He took off in that direction.

A couple of days later, Matt was working late, catching up on his assignments in his cover job as a financial analyst. Since his first two jobs in Hell's Kitchen, Owlsley had been sending him on errands there more frequently. Matt wasn't complaining; it meant he was gaining Owlsley's trust. But he was starting to fall behind in his other work. He couldn't let that happen; he didn't want to give Owlsley or Callahan any reason to think he couldn't do the job. When he finished updating the numbers on one of the "investments" the firm offered, he took out his earpiece and rolled his neck. Then he stood up and headed to the break room for coffee.

When he returned, there was a file on his desk that wasn't there before. He scanned the surrounding area, but no one was nearby, only a few scattered individuals on the far side of the floor. Owlsley, Callahan, and Greco had left together an hour or so earlier, probably for drinks and dinner. Matt hadn't yet been invited to join them. Not that he minded; he had to be "Mike Murphy" all day, and he was just as happy not having to play the role in the evening, too. He picked up the file folder and examined it. There was no Braille label, so it probably wasn't meant for him. He opened the file and checked its contents. Nothing in Braille, and his fingertips couldn't pick up what, if anything, was written or printed on the pages.

He considered the possibilities. It could be a message, but if that was the case, surely it would be something he could read. He went through the file again, more slowly this time, but again found nothing that might be a message he could decipher. He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, and thought. The answer finally came to him: it was a test. Owlsley or Callahan or both of them wanted to see what he would do with the file and the hidden information in it. It was a pass-fail test, but failing wasn't an option. He needed to find out what, if anything, was in the file. That would dictate what he did with it. But he couldn't risk scanning the file here; he would have to take it back to his apartment. He shoved it into his top desk drawer and went back to work.

An hour later, his work was finished. He took the file out of the drawer and put it in his briefcase. Getting it out of the building could be a problem. He'd overheard Greco saying that some of the security guards were on Owlsley's payroll. It could be a set-up, intended to catch him trying to take the file out of the building. Or the guards could have been instructed to let him leave with it, as part of the test. There was no way to know. He would just have to chance it.

Matt's heart rate ticked up as he stepped off the elevator in the lobby and approached the guard station. He recognized the guard on duty by the smell of cigarette smoke that always surrounded him, but he waited for the guard to speak first.

"Evenin', Mr. Murphy," the guard said. "Working late?"

"Evenin', Jerry," Matt replied. "Working late – again," he added with a pained half-grin.

"It's really somethin', you know," Jerry commented, "how you always know it's me."

"Not really," Matt assured him. "How could I not recognize that voice?" he added with a laugh.

Jerry guided his hand to the line for his signature on the sign-out sheet, he signed, and he was out. As soon as he stepped out of the revolving door, he breathed a sigh of relief, then headed for Mike's apartment. Once there, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and got to work. An hour later, he had his answer. The file contained the details of the Owl's drug distribution operation in Hell's Kitchen, including days and times of pick-ups and deliveries, along with where and when the street-level dealers were expected to hand over their cash to the distributors. Shit. This was exactly the kind of information Vanessa was pressing him for, but there was no way he could use it, because Owlsley knew he had the file. There was only one option. He deleted the files from his laptop and put the papers back in his briefcase. He would give the file back in the morning, pretending ignorance of its contents.

The next morning, he showed his employee badge and signed in as usual. Then the guard, someone new to him, stopped him as he turned toward the elevators.

"Your briefcase," the guard said. "I gotta look inside."

Matt handed it over. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. He listened to the guard rummaging through the briefcase's contents. Then he heard the zipper closing. "All good," the guard said.

Matt slung the briefcase over his shoulder and headed for the express elevator before the guard could change his mind.

When he arrived at the 52nd-floor offices of Owlsley and Associates, he went straight to his desk, ignoring the "good mornings" he heard from several co-workers. Not bothering to sit down, he took the file out of his briefcase and made his way down the hall to Callahan's office.

"I found this on my desk last night," Matt said, dropping the file on Callahan's desk. "Could you see it gets back to the right person?"

"Sure," Callahan said. "What's it about?"

"How would I know?" Matt asked, smiling innocently (he hoped).

"Oh. Right." Callahan sounded embarrassed. "Uh, well, thanks for bringing it back."

"No problem."

"Hey, before you go," Callahan said, "the boss has something in Hell's Kitchen he wants you to handle." Matt listened as he described the problem they were having with a new gun seller. "I don't care how you do it, just make sure he stays in line," he concluded.

"You got it," Matt said as he turned to leave.

Apparently he passed the test. He kept his head down, showed up for work every day, and did what he was asked to do, whether it was crunching numbers or running errands for Owlsley in Hell's Kitchen. When he was in the office, he monitored his co-workers' reactions to him and eavesdropped on their conversations. After ten days, he relaxed, a little. As far as he could tell, no one suspected him. He had to make sure it stayed that way, but he also needed to do the job he was sent to do. Vanessa wasn't going to wait forever.

For a few days, he puzzled over his dilemma: how to give Vanessa some intel without arousing Owlsley's suspicions. Then he remembered the night that Fisk blew up Hell's Kitchen and what Vladimir Ranskahov had said about Al Capone's accountant. If they couldn't take down Owlsley for the drug distribution or the gun sales or the human trafficking or any of his other criminal enterprises, they could still follow the money and uncover the money laundering and the Ponzi schemes. Owlsley could go away for a long time for those crimes. Look what happened to Bernie Madoff. And Matt had the evidence right in front of him, on the computer that gave him access to the firm's database. Vanessa wouldn't be able to use the intel immediately, unless she decided to burn him and end the operation before he delivered any other results, but he thought that was unlikely at this stage of the game. If nothing else, it would show her he was holding up his end of their deal.

On his way home from work that evening, he stopped at an office supply store somewhere between the Financial District and Hell's Kitchen and bought several flash drives. He took them with him to the office the next morning. That evening, he decided he would "work late" to "catch up," despite being up to date, for once, with his number crunching. He listened as the 52nd floor emptied, leaving him alone. Then he identified the most damning financial files and began copying them onto one of the flash drives. He had been working for more than an hour when he heard the elevator doors opening. Someone was coming. Shit.

He hurriedly stopped the file transfer and pulled out the flash drive, slipping it into his pocket. Then he closed the file he had been copying and found an innocuous file to open. He was apparently reviewing it diligently when Tommy Greco appeared in the entrance to his cubicle, only seconds later.

"Hey, Murphy," Greco said, his gravelly voice and Chicago accent unmistakable.

Matt got to his feet. "Mr. Greco."

"Working late?" Greco asked.

Matt nodded. "Yeah. Some things take me a little longer," he explained apologetically, gesturing at his eyes. That was a lie. With his screen reader set at its maximum speed, he could review a document as quickly as any sighted person. Sometimes more quickly. He was betting Greco didn't know that.

"Oh. Right," Greco said. "Well, uh, don't stay too late. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." Matt sank back into his chair as Greco walked away.

The sound of Greco's heavy footsteps grew fainter. Doors opened and closed as Greco apparently checked the floor. Then his footsteps stopped in front of the elevator. Matt let out his breath when he heard the ding of the elevator arriving and its doors opening and closing. He waited for several minutes, until he was sure that Greco was gone, then got back to work. An hour later, he was done. He shut down his computer and left.

When he got home, he copied the contents of the flash drive onto a second flash drive. That one was for Foggy and Karen. He just needed to figure out a way to get it to them.

Karen

"I don't like this," Foggy declared, walking into Karen's office and depositing himself in a client chair, "none of it."

Karen looked up from her laptop. She had a pretty good idea what Foggy was talking about, but she asked him anyway. "Don't like what?"

"You know," Foggy told her, "this whole thing with Matt. I have a bad feeling about it."

"So do I," Karen agreed. "But it's not like we could've stopped him, after he made up his mind to do it."

"I know. I just can't help thinking that if his cover's blown, he'll just, you know, disappear, and we'll never know what happened to him. I don't think I can do that again."

"Me neither," Karen said grimly, closing her laptop. "But if it happens, I don't think it'll go down that way."

"Why do you say that?"

"Remember the man who worked for Owlsley, the one who was murdered a few months ago? Martin something?" Foggy nodded. "It was never published, but my buddy T.J. at the Bulletin thinks he was the one who was lacing Owlsley's heroin with fentanyl. He had a sister who died of an opioid overdose, and the fentanyl-laced heroin disappeared from the streets after his murder."

"And your point is?"

"This Martin, he was executed, and his body was dumped where it would be found. Owlsley wanted to send a message. He'd do the same thing if Matt is burned."

"And this is supposed to reassure me?" Foggy stood up and started pacing back and forth, shaking his head. "Jesus, Karen."

"No, of course not," Karen hurriedly answered. "I just meant . . . ."

Foggy stopped pacing and waved his hand. "I know what you meant. I just wish there was some way we could contact Matt, make sure he's OK."

"As if he'd tell us if he wasn't," Karen pointed out.

"I know, I know." He resumed his seat and thought for a moment, rubbing his forehead. "Maybe we could go down to the Financial District, just happen to be there when Matt's leaving work one day."

"Too dangerous," Karen objected.

"We don't have to talk to him or anything, just get eyes on him."

"Still too dangerous."

"So, what, we're just supposed to wait and hope Matt doesn't get himself killed?"

Karen nodded. "Basically, yes. At least, he's still going out as Daredevil, so we know he's alive."

"Good point," Foggy conceded. "But it's already been more than a month. How much longer is this gonna take?"

"It could be a while," Karen replied. "Even after he's in, it's gonna take time for Owlsley and his people to trust him. It's not like he can just show up one day and start messing with their operations. The new guy is the first one they'll suspect."

"Damn." Foggy slumped down in his chair, looking deflated. "So what do we do?"

Karen sighed. "I don't know. Be patient. Check for Daredevil sightings. And hope that no news is good news."

"I guess," Foggy said, "but, damn, I miss him."

"So do I," Karen said quietly. "So do I."

Foggy frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "You know, I thought things were gonna be different, when I wrote our names on that napkin."

"Me, too."

He looked up at her. "But nothing's really changed, has it? Matt's gone, doing his own thing, and all we can do is hope he comes back." He sighed wearily. "It's not like it's a surprise. I know he's not gonna change."

"No, he isn't. But he'll come back."

"You really believe that?"

"I do," Karen said. She gave Foggy a quick hug when he stood up to go back to his office. "He'll come back. We have to believe that," she whispered before she let him go.

That evening, Karen was thinking about going to bed when she heard a scraping sound coming from one of her apartment windows. The one that opened onto the fire escape. She grabbed her handbag and pulled out her gun and pepper spray, then crept silently into the living room. She let out her breath all at once when she saw who was climbing in through the window.

"Matt."

"Hey, Karen," he replied, pulling off his mask.

"You couldn't knock?"

"Wasn't sure you'd let me in," he said with a pained half-smile.

"Well, you're in now, so you might as well sit down," she said, gesturing toward the couch. He took a seat at one end. She placed the gun and pepper spray on the coffee table and sat down at the other end of the couch. "Nice haircut, by the way."

He winced and ran a hand over his head. "That bad, huh?"

"Well," she said slowly, "at least no one will recognize you."

"That's kind of the point," he observed.

"Yeah, I guess it is." She considered the implications of this for a moment, then asked, "So why are you here, Matt?"

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "To give you this."

"What is it?"

"You know Owlsley's cover is a financial services firm, right?" She nodded. "Part of it's legit, but the other part is running Ponzi schemes and laundering money. This – " He held up the flash drive. " – is evidence of that. If we can't nail him for the drugs and the guns and the other stuff, we should at least be able to nail him for that."

She took the flash drive from his outstretched hand. "OK. But what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Nothing, for now," Matt said. "Just keep it safe. When this is over, we can turn it over to Brett."

"All right." She fell silent for a beat, then said, "You said 'when this is over.' How long is that going to take?"

Matt frowned and shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm in, but not really in, not the way I need to be to do what I need to do." He shrugged. "It'll take as long as it takes." He paused, then asked, "How's Foggy?"

"Worried," she said. "He misses you. We both do."

"I miss you, too. Both of you. And I'm getting tired of pretending to be 'Mike Murphy'."

"Why?"

"He's kind of a dick." Karen stifled a laugh. "I know," he said. "It isn't Mike. I'm the dick."

"That's not what I was thinking."

Matt smirked. "Liar." He stood up. "I should be going. Got to show people Daredevil is still around."

Karen followed him to the window. Before he opened it, she pulled him into a brief hug and whispered, "Be careful."

"I will."

"Liar."

He chuckled, then opened the window and slipped into the night.