Chapter 5: The Owl

Matt

Matt was working late, preparing for a deposition. Foggy and Karen had already left for the day. Downstairs, Theo was closing up the shop. Then he heard the door to the shop open and close, and two pairs of heavy footsteps crossing the floor to stand in front of the counter.

"Theo Nelson?" a male voice demanded.

"Yeah, who wants to know?" Theo replied.

"This your shop?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?" Matt could hear the defiance, mixed with fear, in Theo's voice.

"Nice little business you got here," a second man's voice said. "Be a real shame if something happened to it."

"Yeah, you know, like what happened to Ferraro's," the first man added. Matt knew exactly what he was referring to, and he was sure Theo did, too. Ferraro's was the bakery in the next block that burned to the ground a week ago, in a fire "of suspicious origin," according to an article in the Bulletin. Not exactly subtle, these guys.

"So we're thinking you could use some fire protection, know what I mean?" the second man chimed in.

"Yeah, I know," Theo said warily. "How much?"

"How much you got in the till?"

"Only about $200," Theo said. "It was a slow day." Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that wasn't true. Theo must have taken the day's cash receipts into the back room, to prepare the bank deposit.

"That'll do for a down payment," the first man said. "But it's gonna cost you two grand a week. Make sure you have the rest when we come back."

Theo didn't reply, and a few seconds later, Matt heard the men's footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing.

Matt gritted his teeth, then moved. He took off his tie and hung it on the coat rack next to his suit jacket, then grabbed his hooded jacket and scarf. He ran up the stairs to the roof and followed the two men from the rooftops. They went around the corner and into a small shop – a children's clothing store, Matt thought – in the middle of the block. Apparently the shop owner already knew the routine, because it was only a minute or two before they emerged back onto the street. One of them was shoving something, probably a wad of cash, into his pocket. Matt seethed. This was not going to happen, not to Theo, not to any business owner in Hell's Kitchen.

Matt wrapped the scarf around his head and raced down the fire escape. When the two men were below him, he jumped, landing in front of them. One of them reeked of cigarette smoke, the other, of stress sweat. Smoky pulled a gun from his waistband. Before he could raise it and fire, Matt came in close and chopped down hard on his wrist. He dropped the gun and fled, holding his arm. Matt kicked the gun away. By that time, Sweaty had pulled out his own gun and began firing. Matt dodged the bullets with a series of leaps and twists. When the clip was empty, Matt charged. He landed a kick on the middle of his opponent's chest, sending him staggering. When the man didn't go down, Matt followed up with a series of punches to the head, then spun him around and kicked the backs of his knees. Already wobbly, Sweaty sank to his knees. Matt stood behind him and twisted his arm behind his back.

"Who do you work for?" Matt demanded.

"Fuck you."

Matt jerked up on the thug's arm, stopping just short of the breaking point. "Wrong answer."

"He'll kill me if I give up his name," the man protested, "if you don't kill me first."

"I don't kill people," Matt told him, "but I can make you wish you were dead." He paused to lick his lips. "Choose." There was no answer. He jerked up on Sweaty's arm again and heard the snap of bone breaking.

The thug howled in pain.

"His name," Matt growled.

"The Owl," he gasped.

"Give me a name, asshole," Matt snapped, not releasing his hold on the thug's arm.

"Owlsley, Lee Owlsley."

Matt let go of Sweaty's arm and pushed him to the pavement. "Tell your friends to stay away from Nelson's," he ordered. "Then get outta my city." He felt for the man's pocket and pulled out a roll of cash. "Well, look what I found," he said, holding up the money with a smirk. The thug groaned. Matt gave him a final kick in the ribs before darting away.

# # # # #

The next day, the deposition ran long, and it was mid-afternoon before Matt got back to the office. After he took off his coat and set his briefcase and cane down on the table that served as his desk, he went to talk to Foggy. "Hey, Fog," he said, standing in the opening between the partitions.

Foggy looked up from his laptop. "What's up? he asked.

"Have you heard of anyone running a protection racket?"

"What?" Foggy asked. "Here, in Hell's Kitchen?" Matt nodded. "No. Not recently, anyway. My dad told me about the Italians, or maybe it was the Irish, running one, back when I was a kid. But not since."

"I'm pretty sure it's not the Italians or the Irish this time."

"Why? What have you heard?"

Matt stepped into Foggy's office and sat down across the desk from him. "Last night, after you and Karen left, two assholes came into the shop and shook down Theo."

"God damn it," Foggy swore.

"They basically threatened to burn down the shop if Theo didn't pay them. Apparently, they were behind the fire at Ferraro's bakery last week."

"Shit, shit, shit," Foggy muttered. "How much did they get?"

Matt reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of cash, and threw it onto Foggy's desk. "They only got $200 from Theo. The rest is from other businesses."

Foggy picked up the cash and flipped through it. "There's a couple grand here, at least. I'll talk to Theo, make sure it gets back to the right people."

Matt nodded. "Good."

"So who were the guys who shook him down?" Foggy asked.

"I'm not sure who they are, but I don't think Theo has to worry about them coming back," Matt replied. "I followed them when they left the shop. After they shook down a business around the corner – the kids' clothing store, I think – I had a, um, conversation with them."

"I'll bet you did."

Matt surged to his feet and leaned across the desk, pointing at Foggy. "What're you tryin' to say, Fog? Just say it."

"Matt, I – " Foggy began, but Matt didn't let him finish.

"What was I supposed to do, huh? Sit up here and do nothing when those two assholes threatened your brother?"

"N-no, I mean, of, of course not," Foggy stammered. "I'm sorry, man, just forget I said anything, OK?"

"OK." Matt backed off and sat down again, before he continued. "As I was saying, I caught up with them in the alley next to the kids' store. One of them took off, but I, uh, persuaded the other one to give me a name: Lee Owlsley."

"Fisk's money man?"

"Yeah."

"But he's dead," Foggy objected. "Isn't he?"

"Definitely," Karen assured him as she walked into the space. "But I remember, when I was at the Bulletin, one of the business writers was talking about a 'Lee Owlsley.' Let me check it out." She turned and went back to her desk. Matt and Foggy sat silently, listening to her tapping the keys on her laptop. "Yes!" she whispered. Then she returned, carrying the computer. She set it down on Foggy's desk and turned it so Foggy could see the screen.

He read for a moment, then said, "Owlsley had a son, Leland, Jr., known as 'Lee.' He was working in Chicago when Owlsley was killed. Shortly after his father's death, he moved to New York and established a financial services firm. The article implies there was something hinky about where he got the money to do it, but doesn't exactly come out and say so."

"Like father, like son," Matt commented.

"Yeah," Karen agreed. "The business reporter thought it was Fisk's money. He said the Feds were never able to track down all of it, and Owlsley could have siphoned off the missing money for himself – and his son."

"There's one other thing," Matt said. "When I asked for a name, the first thing the guy said was 'The Owl'."

"The logo on the drugs," Foggy said.

"Exactly."

"So, what, you think he's the man behind the heroin as well as the shakedowns?" Karen asked.

Matt shrugged. "Makes sense. We know there's a vacuum in the Kitchen since Fisk's been gone. Someone was always gonna try and fill it."

"But Owlsley was just the money man," Foggy objected.

"True," Matt agreed, "but maybe his son wants to be more than that."

"So what do we do now?"

"Figure out a way to stop him," Matt replied grimly.

# # # # #

Late that night, Matt took up a position on the fire escape of the building next to the 15th Precinct and waited for Brett Mahoney to appear. When the detective emerged from the side door to the police station, Matt hurried down the fire escape, landing in Mahoney's path.

"You!" Mahoney exclaimed, sounding annoyed to see the masked figure in black in front of him.

"Nice to see you, too, Detective," Matt replied with a smirk.

Mahoney sighed wearily. "You figure out some new way to be a pain in my ass?"

"No, just here to pass on some information," Matt told him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper package with the owl logo. "You know what this is?" he asked, holding out the package so Mahoney could see it.

"Hell, yeah, I know," Mahoney replied. "Heroin. It's everywhere. Where'd you get it?"

"I, uh, interrupted a drug buy. The customer dropped it when he ran away."

"This must be my lucky night," Mahoney quipped, "I get to arrest your ass for possession."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but it's empty. I flushed the drugs."

"Of course you did."

Matt ignored him. "Why I'm here. The man behind this," he said, gesturing with the hand holding the package, "is someone named Lee Owlsley. His people call him 'The Owl'."

"I'd like to see that costume," Mahoney grumbled.

"So would I."

Mahoney fell silent for a minute, apparently thinking. "Owlsley?" he asked. "Wasn't he Fisk's money guy?"

"Yeah," Matt replied. "This is his son. He's not just a money guy. He runs a financial services firm down on Wall Street, but it's a cover for his real business. Now that Fisk is gone, he's making a move on Hell's Kitchen, trying to take control of all of the crime here: the drugs, the guns, the girls, the gambling. He's even got a protection racket going, threatening small businesses."

"Damn," Mahoney swore. "You know I can't arrest some Wall Street guy on your say-so."

Matt nodded. "I know. But sooner or later, he'll make a mistake. Be ready."

"I don't need you to tell me how to do my job," Mahoney said crossly. But he was talking to thin air. Daredevil had disappeared into the night.

Author's Note: In this story, "The Owl" is not "The Owl" of the comic book canon. He is a Fisk-style villain, who maintains a façade as a legitimate businessman while running a criminal enterprise.