Chapter 11 – Undercover, Part Seven
Matt
When Matt got back to Mike's apartment, Nick was waiting for him outside his door. "Man! Am I glad to see you!" he exclaimed as Matt stepped off the elevator. "How'd you get away?"
"Took the stairs."
"Oh." Nick paused for a beat, then continued, "You were right, man, The Owl's got something big planned. He's – "
Matt interrupted him. "Not here," he said as he opened the door to his apartment.
"Oh. OK." Nick followed him inside.
Matt went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, then made his way into the living room. Nick was already on the couch. Matt handed him a beer, then took a seat in one of the chairs opposite him.
After they both drank, Nick gushed, "That was so cool, man, the way you cracked that safe. I've never seen anything like it. How'd you do it?"
"Practice."
"You're gonna keep working for us when this is over, right?"
"Probably not gonna happen." Matt took another drink and set the bottle down on the coffee table in front of him. "So, you were saying – "
"Oh. Yeah. Um, Owlsley's got a huge shipment of H coming in, two nights from now. All the details were in the safe."
"How much?"
"Tons?"
Matt raised his eyebrows. "Tons?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah, like ten tons, coming in on a container ship."
"Jesus," Matt breathed. This was it, his chance to take down The Owl, but he only had two days to plan. "OK," he said, "send me a text with the details, then get everything to Vanessa. Now."
"Tonight?"
"Yes, tonight."
"You got it." Nick finished his beer and left. A few minutes later, Matt's phone pinged. An incoming text. He listened to the information sent by Nick and committed it to memory, then deleted the message. Time to get to work. A plan was coming together in his mind. If it worked, he would be back at Nelson & Murdock with Foggy and Karen in a few days. Don't think about that now, he told himself. Too many things could still go wrong.
The next morning, he went into the office as usual. He could sense an undercurrent of excitement swirling around the place, but otherwise it seemed like "business as usual." Then, as he was returning to his desk after lunch, he overheard Callahan talking to someone. He didn't recognize the other voice.
"I'm telling you," Callahan was saying, "There's something familiar about him. I've seen him somewhere before."
"You know what they say," the other man said, "everyone has a twin somewhere."
"No, it's not that. There aren't that many blind guys from Hell's Kitchen. Not guys his age, anyway. No, I've seen him before, I'm sure of it. I just can't place him."
"It'll come to you, eventually," the other man assured him. "Just give it time."
"Yeah, I guess." Callahan's footsteps walked away.
Shit. Matt's mind raced. His picture had been in the papers and on the Internet, after the Aaron James trial. But that was more than six months ago. Was that what Callahan was remembering? His blood ran cold. His appearance had changed since then, but maybe it hadn't changed enough. There was no way for him to know.
He left the office in the middle of the afternoon, saying he had "things" to take care of in Hell's Kitchen. He did, but it wasn't Owlsley's business, it was his business – taking down The Owl and coming out alive.
On the morning of the next day, the day of the shipment's scheduled arrival, he had just come back from the break room with a cup of coffee when his co-worker told him, "Denny was looking for you. You're wanted in the boss's office."
Matt put his coffee cup down. "Oh. OK." Then he turned and headed down the hall, to Owlsley's office. When he got there, Owlsley, Callahan, Greco, and several men he didn't recognize were waiting for him. Shit. This was not good. Callahan must have figured out that he was in the office, two nights ago. He stood in the doorway, gripping his cane, waiting to be invited in.
"Mike. Come in, come in," Owlsley said. "Have a seat."
Greco guided him to the only vacant chair in the room. He sat down and folded his cane, then turned his face toward Owlsley, waiting for whatever was coming.
"We have an . . . important operation planned for tonight," Owlsley said, "and I may have a need for someone with your . . . skills."
"Uh, sure. Whatever you need."
"Good. Tommy will meet you here at 10. He'll give you a ride to the, ah, . . . location."
"Understood. I'll be here."
"And this stays in this room."
"Got it." Matt stood up, unfolded his cane, and turned to leave. "See you tonight."
Once back at his desk, Matt tried to puzzle out what was behind Owlsley's invitation. He didn't think for a minute that Owlsley wanted him at tonight's operation for his fighting skills. He had plenty of men who were skilled fighters, men who weren't blind. Had Callahan finally remembered where he'd seen "Mike Murphy" before? Would his ride with Greco be the last one he'd ever take? He hadn't picked up any lies or threats when he was in Owlsley's office, but it was still possible.
If that was Owlsley's plan, what was he going to do about it? One option was not showing up to meet Greco tonight. But that would only make Owlsley suspicious, or confirm his suspicions if he already was. There was no guarantee Owlsley would be taken down at the pier tonight. If he wasn't, he would find out who "Mike Murphy" was, sooner or later. When he did, Matt Murdock wasn't the only one who would be in danger; Foggy and Karen would be, too. That was unacceptable. No, he would just have to show up and trust his ability to find a way out of the situation he found himself in, whatever that turned out to be.
He left the office as early as he could without arousing suspicion. He spent the early evening at Mike's apartment, finalizing the arrangements he'd put in place. When he was finished, he put on the black business suit made for him by Melvin Potter. The armored lining might prove useful tonight. Then he put on his dark glasses, picked up his cane, and headed downtown to meet Greco.
When Matt arrived at the office building a little before 10, Greco was waiting for him in the lobby.
"No point going all the way up, then coming right back down," he explained.
"You got that right."
"Car's out front." Greco moved next to Matt, who took his arm and followed him outside.
Greco led Matt to the passenger side of the car, then got behind the wheel. After he pulled away from the curb, he turned to Matt and asked, "Aren't you curious about where we're goin'?"
"Sure," Matt replied, "but I thought it was 'need to know,' you know."
"Yeah, it is, but that don't make no difference now." Matt's heart leaped into his throat. That sounded ominous. Then Greco continued, "You'll be there soon enough. We're going to Pier 88, West 48th Street. The boss has a big shipment coming in."
"A shipment?"
"Heroin, top of the line shit. When it hits the streets, it'll be enough to keep all the junkies in the city happy for . . . hell, I don't know how long. A long time, though."
"Wow," Matt breathed.
They lapsed into silence for several minutes, then Matt said, "You know, I'm still not clear on why Mr. Owlsley wants me to be there tonight."
"To be honest, neither am I," Greco told him, "but he said he wanted you there, and I was to bring you. So here we are."
"Here we are," Matt agreed. After a moment, he added, "Don't get me wrong, I got no problem doing whatever it is he needs me to do. I'm just grateful he gave me a chance. It's not easy for someone like me to get a job."
"No, I guess it's not," Greco said, as if it was the first time that had occurred to him. A minute later, the car turned toward the curb and stopped. "We're here," he announced.
They got out of the car and walked onto the pier. Owlsley and Callahan were waiting for them at its midpoint. Owlsley acknowledged their arrival.
"Tommy. Mike."
"Lee."
"Mr. Owlsley."
Machinery whirred: a crane lowering a shipping container onto the pier. It landed with a soft thud. Two men approached it.
"Open it," Owlsley ordered.
One of the men opened the doors, while the other started up a forklift standing nearby. He drove it to the open container, lifted out a pallet, and set it down on the pier. The two men removed the straps and plastic securing the contents, then opened the large box that was on the pallet. "What the fuck, man?" one of them muttered. "It's a washing machine."
Owlsley turned to Callahan and ordered, "Check it. I don't trust those sons of bitches."
"You got it, boss." Callahan took a box cutter from one of the men and opened the carton, throwing aside the packing materials inside it. Then he opened the door on the front of the washer and reached inside. He pulled out something oblong, wrapped in plastic. He used the box cutter to slice open the wrappings and tasted the contents.
"It's the real shit," he told Owlsley.
"Good," Owlsley said. Then he turned to a group of men standing farther down the pier. "Get moving. This shit needs to be at 37th Street before morning." Not waiting for them to respond, he turned and walked away, entering the warehouse at the base of the pier.
A second shipping container landed with a thud. It, too, was opened and checked. As soon as Callahan pulled a package from a clothes dryer and confirmed its contents, Brett Mahoney's amplified voice boomed over the pier. "NYPD! Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!"
Not a moment too soon. A convoy of vehicles was approaching, a few blocks away. Vanessa's people. Then they turned away from the pier, apparently having noticed the police presence.
On the pier, heads turned as The Owl's men looked at each other. Matt could sense their uncertainty. But there was no one to tell them what to do. Owlsley was long gone. Finally, one of them raised his gun and fired in the direction of Mahoney's voice. His round failed to find its target. A moment later, a well-placed shot brought him down. He was still breathing. Good. That made the decision for them. One by one, they put down their weapons and got down on the ground. Greco and Matt did the same. There was nowhere to run.
Four hours later, Matt was sitting in the corner of a reeking holding cell at the 15th Precinct, breathing through his mouth. He had sensed Mahoney's shock at seeing him among the arrestees, but fortunately, Brett kept his mouth shut. Callahan and Greco were there, along with about a dozen of Owlsley's men. Over the past couple of hours, a few of them had been taken out of the cell, then returned shortly afterward. They all reported the detectives were trying to find someone to flip on Owlsley. All denied cooperating. Then it was Matt's turn. An officer came to the cell door and called out, "Murphy!" Matt felt his way along the wall – the cops had taken his cane – until he reached the front of the cell. The officer handcuffed him, then grabbed his arm to lead him to an interrogation room. Brett Mahoney was waiting for him there. He ordered the officer to uncuff Matt, then guided him to a chair.
"Mike Murphy, is it?" he asked sarcastically after the officer left the room. "I like the haircut, by the way."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, imitation is the best form of flattery, you know."
"Oh." Now he knew how Brett wore his hair.
"What the hell d'you think you're playing at, Murdock?" Brett demanded.
Matt waved his hand. "Isn't it obvious?"
Brett gave a disgusted huff. "You really went undercover in Owlsley's organization? Jesus Christ."
"We weren't getting anywhere, Brett, you know that. Someone had to do it."
"And that someone just had to be you."
Matt shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"
"Not so much."
Shit. "What d'you mean?"
"I don't think we have to worry any more about Owlsley taking over Hell's Kitchen, and we seized a shitload of H. But we don't have Owlsley."
"Damn. What happened?"
"He got past us at the pier. He went into the warehouse next to it. He must've gotten out through the basement. The buildings along there are all connected. A private jet left Teterboro a little after 2 this morning. We think he was on it. Flight plan said it was headed to the Caymans, but I doubt that was his final destination."
"No, it wouldn't be. Probably just a stop to stash some money," Matt observed. "He'll find a place where he can't be extradited."
"Yeah," Brett agreed grimly. "Oh, well, at least I finally got a chance to arrest your ass."
"You did. What're you gonna do about it?"
Brett sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. You were there, on the pier, with Owlsley's men, but we have don't have evidence you actually did anything to aid and abet the transportation of the drugs. Why were you there, anyway?"
"No idea. Owlsley never said."
Brett frowned. "I really don't want to know what you've been doing for the last couple of months, but you did phone in the 'anonymous' tip about the shipment, and that counts for something. I'm gonna recommend to the ADA that we cut you loose, for now."
"OK. Thanks." Matt thought for a moment, then added. "But can you make it look like I got bailed out? Once I get out of here, 'Mike Murphy' will disappear, but I need to keep my cover until then."
Brett nodded. "Yeah, I can do that, but you'll be stuck here longer. You'll have to wait until the morning to go in front of the judge to be arraigned and have your bail set."
"I know. And now I should get back. I shouldn't be here too long."
"Right." Brett stood up and called for an officer to take Matt to the holding cell.
When Matt got back there, Greco was waiting for him. "How'd it go?" Greco asked.
"About what you'd expect," Matt replied. "They wanted me to flip on the boss, 'the first to make a deal gets the best deal,' the usual bullshit. They probably thought I'd be an easy mark. I told them to pound sand and demanded a lawyer."
"Good."
"That detective, Mahoney, he let something slip," Matt added, trying to sound casual. "He said they think the boss left the country."
"Son of a bitch," Greco growled.
"Yeah."
It was early afternoon by the time Matt was bailed out. His lawyer, who introduced himself as Ray Phillips, one of Ben Donovan's associates, led him to a waiting cab that dropped him off at Mike Murphy's apartment. After he stepped off the elevator and approached the door to 8B, he realized there were people already inside the apartment. He opened the door and stepped in.
"Hello, Matthew," Vanessa said.