Misty's car pulls up in front of Luke's brownstone. "Thanks for the ride," he tells her. "Thanks for coming to your senses," she responds, "There won't be any charges but I hope you realize, you owe me." He smiles a bit and steps out. As he approaches his house, he gets a call on his cell and answers. On the other line, Sugar's panicked voice ca be heard, "Luke. I didn't know it was gonna go down like that, man." "Sugar?," Luke becomes concerned, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
Some time later, Luke arrives on the scene at Harlem's Paradise. The building is burnt up and firefighters have already contained the flames. The chief walks over to him, "Clear the area, pal."
"That's my club," Luke tells him.
The chief looks at him incredulously, "This some kind of insurance thing?"
"This wasn't me."
"You don't gotta convince me, but you'll probably have to convince a jury."
The chief leaves and Luke spies Sugar across the street. He quickly makes his way over to him, "Start talking."
"After everything that went down with the Triads, the boys went to Tilda Johnson," Sugar tells him.
"Mariah's daughter?"
"She was the only Stokes left alive. They... I guess we thought it would be familiar, y'know? Things were changing and we weren't ready for it."
"You mean cleaning up Harlem? Yeah, I guess some folks weren't ready for that shit."
"Look, man, I'm being honest."
"Fine. So you called up Tilda Johnson. Then what?"
"She torched the place, man."
"I can see that."
"When I heard what she wanted to do, I bounced. Harlem's Paradise is an institution. You don't mess with that."
"So she's the new crimeboss of Harlem. What's her next move?"
"I dunno but I'm sure she's coming after you at some point."
"Yeah. Story of my life."
Frank sits in a holding cell. Colleen sits outside the cell with her sword in her lap.
"So I use guns and I"m a bad guy but you're walking around with that thing?," Frank scoffs as he examines the sword from behind bars.
"It's been in my family for generations, asshole."
"I'm sure it has. Tell me, kid, you ever use that on anyone?"
"I'm good enough that I can take people down and not kill them."
"But you have, haven't you?"
"What?"
"Killed someone."
"I'm just here to keep watch, not to have a debate."
"There's no way you haven't killed at least one person with that thing. Who was it? Some asshole rapist? A hitman? What?"
Colleen angrily leans in, "Keep talking and I'll show you what I can do with this. It won't kill you but believe me, it's gonna hurt like a bitch."
"Didn't mean to get you all riled up, kid. I'm sure the guy you killed deserved it."
"I guess they all deserve it, huh?"
"You're goddamn right."
"Some of us have a code."
"Yeah, where has that code gotten you?"
Colleen sits in silence.
The next morning, Jessica sits in her office at the New York Bulletin, writing her article. Mitchell Ellison enters, interrupting her.
"I'll meet the deadline," she groans without looking up from her computer.
"No need. The story broke. Everyone knows what happened in Harlem."
"Already? How?"
"Because most journalists report on the news instead of getting into fistfights."
"Hey, I found the Punisher. That should account for something, right? I know shit the rest of them wouldn't know about."
"You know, you're not the first person to sit at that desk and give me an ulcer."
Jessica rolls her eyes, "I've heard all about Phil Urich and Karen Page."
"But there's a difference between them and you."
"I can bench-press a refrigerator?"
"Not just that... They had a natural gift for being journalists. It was what they were meant to do."
"And they were much better people than me, right?"
"No, you're a good person, Jess. You're the best kind of person. You care just as much as they did even if you pretend otherwise. The difference is that, unlike them, you're not doing what you were meant to do. You wanna help but this is not the right fit for you."
"Wait, am I being fired?"
"I'm freeing you up to live up to your potential."
Jessica stands up and leaves in a huff, "Don't be condescending. Send my severance in the mail."
Jessica leaves the office and Ellison smiles knowingly to himself.
Rosealie Carbone meets with Typhoid on a bridge. "Any news?," Rosalie asks.
"Sherry Yang escaped. I got company from two women who said they knew me. Or at least they knew Walker."
"Those are the people I was warning you about. Two of them came to my house and tore up the place. You plan on doing something about that too?"
"Walker was smart enough to keep files on potential enemies and allies. I'll see what I can find."
"You can do homework later. I got a lead. One of these assholes is a sitting duck. I have a price on this one in particular."
"I'm listening."
"Frank Castle. The Punisher. I got a few cops who told me he's in a cell at a precinct in Harlem. Cops and other prisoners aren't allowed in that block since they found out I have a price on his head. Apparently, only one person is guarding him. Likely one of his friends. If you can manage to find a way to slip in unnoticed, you could take him out."
"I could slip in unnoticed but where's the fun in that?"
"Did you hear what I said? He still has one guard. More than likely, it's someone with gifts. And once again, this is a police station we're talking about. Don't be suicidal."
"This isn't suicide," Typhoid becomes serious as her voice lowers, "It's survival."
END OF EPISODE FOUR