Chapter 9 – Undercover, Part Five

Matt

"Be right there," Matt said, but the man who delivered Owlsley's summons was gone. He got to his feet and put on his suit jacket. His heart pounded. Why did Owlsley want to see him, and why now? He started toward the corner office, then turned back and picked up his cane. Most of the time, he didn't use it in the office, but it might come in handy, this time. As he walked down the hall, he clenched his jaw, then took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. He had to be ready, physically and mentally, for whatever awaited him.

When he reached Owlsley's office, he stood in the doorway, holding his cane in front of him and waiting to be noticed.

Owlsley snapped out orders to two men standing along the wall. "You got it boss," one of them said as they pushed past Matt and left.

"Murphy," Owlsley said, "come in, come in."

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Matt asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Yes," Owlsley replied, waving a hand, "have a seat."

Tommy Greco came up behind Matt and whispered, "Two o'clock."

Matt found the chair and took a seat. "What the hell?" he wondered. He didn't detect a threat, not even any hostility. Thoroughly baffled, he waited for Owlsley to speak. Finally he did.

"Jimmy and Tommy here have been telling me what a good job you're doing, up in Hell's Kitchen."

That's what this was about? Holy shit. Matt found his voice and managed a hoarse "thank you" from his constricted throat.

"No," Owlsley said, "I should be the one thanking you. You're the first person since . . . well, in a long time, who can keep those assholes in line."

His heart rate returning to normal, Matt took a deep breath and quipped, "Must be because I'm one of them."

Owlsley barked out a laugh, then said, "Yeah, well, you know how to talk to them. I can use that. Someone in Hell's Kitchen is fucking with us, passing information to Vanessa Fisk. You're gonna find him for me. From now on, I want you reporting directly to me, or to Jimmy, if I'm not available. Anything you know, I know. Got it?"

"Understood." Sensing the conversation was over, Matt started to get to his feet.

"One other thing," Owlsley said. "Join us at dinner tonight."

"Uh, OK. Sure."

"Seven o'clock. Tommy, you bring Mike with you."

"You got it, boss," Greco replied.

"See you tonight," Matt said as he walked out. He struggled to maintain an even pace on the way back to his desk. Once there, he fell into his chair and let relief wash over whispered "yes!" and pumped his fist under the was finally in, all the way.

Matt waited ten days before making his next move. He knew Mandy was right – Vanessa's patience wouldn't last – but if he acted too soon, Owlsley would be suspicious. He couldn't afford that. He spent most of those ten days in Hell's Kitchen, keeping up the pretense that he was looking for the spy in Owlsley's organization.

His target was the Owl's gun-running business, a part of the operation he hadn't been heavily involved in, so far. On the tenth night, Daredevil went in search of Turk Barrett. If anyone could tell him what he needed to know, it was Turk. Matt found him in a boarded-up storefront on 11th Avenue.

"Awww, shit," Barrett grumbled when he spotted Daredevil approaching. "What d'you want now?"

"Just some information."

"I'm not a snitch," Barrett objected.

"Not asking you to snitch," Matt assured him. "In fact, you help me, you'll be helping yourself, too."

"Yeah?"

"The new man in the Kitchen, the one they call 'The Owl,' I figure he's been taking a big bite out of your business."

"No shit," Barrett muttered.

"So where does he keep his stock?"

"How should I know?"

"You're lying," Matt told him. "It's your business to know. And you're gonna tell me. You know how this goes. You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Barrett fell silent, apparently considering his options. Then he said, "If I tell you, you gotta leave me out of it. This can't come back to me."

"It won't."

"Only location I know of is a vacant building on 44th, between 9th and 10th."

"How'd you find out about it?" Matt asked.

"Customer of mine bought some pieces there. No such thing as loyalty anymore. Turned out, they were junk. He came crawling back."

"Where're the guns in the building?"

"The heavy firepower is in the basement, the rest of the stuff is on the ground floor."

"OK." Matt turned to leave.

"You remember," Barrett called after him, "you didn't hear it from me."

"You got it."

As Matt loped away, he heard Barrett's parting shot. "It was real nice around here, you know, while you were gone. Why'd you have to come back, anyway?"

Matt didn't answer him.

Matt passed on the information to Vanessa's people in the morning. That night, he scouted the location Barrett had given him. Barrett hadn't lied: Matt could hear the sound of metal on metal as weapons were being assembled, and he could smell the gun oil. A couple of The Owl's men were there, too, debating the merits of the Ruger and Glock 9 mm. semi-automatics. Matt maintained his surveillance for the next two nights but stayed hidden. He didn't want anyone to spot Daredevil near the location.

Vanessa's crew came on the third night. They moved in quickly and took out Owlsley's men so quietly that Matt could barely hear them. Apparently, no one else had heard anything, and no one called the cops. After a few minutes, a truck pulled up in back of the building. Vanessa's people brought out the weapons and loaded them onto the truck, then drove away.

Matt frowned as he listened to the truck leaving. He would have liked to see the guns taken off the streets, but he couldn't risk an anonymous call to Brett Mahoney. Vanessa would surely suspect him of being the caller, and that was a betrayal she would not forgive. He jogged to the edge of the roof, relieved to be getting away from the place. It was . . . unsettling. It wasn't the guns. It was the location, only a block from Midland Circle. He could almost smell the smoke and ash, and his hip was starting to ache. He rubbed it irritably. He thought he'd put all that behind him. He shook his head. Suck it up, Murdock, he told himself, you have a job to do. He leaped to the roof of the building next door and headed back to Mike Murphy's apartment.

In the morning, Matt heard the worried whispers as soon as he arrived in the office. Something had happened last night, something bad, but the people who knew weren't talking. He spent the morning at his desk, pretending to work but really listening and deciding how to play it if Owlsley summoned him.

The summons finally came a little before noon. As usual when he was called to the boss's office, he paused in the doorway, grasping his cane, and waited to be told to enter.

"C'mon in, Murphy," Callahan said, "take a seat."

Immediately, Greco was at his side. Matt took his arm and allowed him to guide him to a chair. When he was seated, Callahan asked, "You know what happened last night?"

Matt shook his head. "No."

"She cleaned us out, God damn her," Owlsley said.

Matt turned toward him, his eyebrows raised.

Callahan explained. "The Fisk bitch. She hit our gun supply, took all of our stock."

"And took out four of our people," Greco added.

"Damn," Matt said, shaking his head again.

"She's costing us a shitload of money," Owlsley griped. "I want her stopped. Now."

Listening to Owlsley's complaint, Matt realized the loss of money angered him more than the loss of his men's lives. It was a reminder of why he was doing what he was doing, and why he had to succeed. Then he set that thought aside. "What can I do?" he asked.

"You've been looking for the rat who sold us out to the Fisk bitch."

"I have."

"So, what d'you got?" Owlsley asked. "Anything?"

"Maybe."

"What?" Owlsley demanded. "If you've found the traitor in this organization, you need to tell me now."

"Actually," Matt replied, "I don't think it's someone in the organization."

"What?"

Matt steepled his hands in front of his face, as if he was thinking. Then he said, "My money's on Turk Barrett."