Reader-anonymous-writer-Welsh? The idiot that sent a mook into Angelique's apartment. Probably wants to move up in the world. Pay him no mind, he's been dealt with. And one day, I will be nice to Matt and let him not feel guilty. But not today! Today, guilt. So very much of it. Many thanks!


"Matt." Yeah, Foggy's not a happy camper. "What did I say last night?"

"Foggy, listen-"

"That's it. I'm telling Karen about the goat."

"There was a-"

"Overruled! Karen?"

"There was a little girl being kidnapped practically on my doorstep, what was I supposed to do?"

"Oh." He hears Foggy deflate a little. "Never mind, Karen."

"No, really, what'd you want?"

"I forgot."

"Okay." She doesn't believe him. "If you remember, let me know."

The door shuts.

"Kidnapping? Really?"

"I swear, I was asleep, and then..." He shrugs. "What was I supposed to do, let her get grabbed? She was nine."

"Only you." Foggy groans. "This shit only happens to you."

Yeah, Matt's not entirely positive he's not being punished for...for what? Something.

"I'm noticing that, actually."

"Was it...related?"

"I think so."

"Great, they've left the park."

"I know."

"What now?"

"Still working on that one."

There's the tapping of a pen, followed by, "Come check out the new plant. It's spiky. I think it's some sort of palm."

Called it.

The plant is sitting by the window. It is indeed spiky-Matt jabs his finger on the tip and wonders if du Maurier sent this thing with that in mind.

"Is it poisoned?"

"It smells normal."

"Oh, good. That would have been a great assassination method though, I mean, really."

"Foggy, that's not funny." Karen scolds. "She said it wouldn't die no matter how bad we are with plants, by the way. I...don't really know how I feel about that."

He vows then and there to leave the plant alone.


Much as he doesn't want to, he takes advantage of du Maurier's unlocked window later.

"You know, the last person who didn't knock paid dearly for it." She's got absinthe this time, and she's not alone. "Daphne, dear, this is...well, I actually don't have a name yet. I'm sure you recognise him nonetheless."

"Oui."

"Mm. Sit down, darling, I don't like it when people tower over me." Just for that, he's tempted to stay right here, but he needs to keep her in a good mood. "Can I get you anything? Daphne's absolutely marvelous with her hands, I'm sure you're tense..."

"No."

"All work and no play." She takes a sip and moans. "Right there, dear...good girl. Very well. What do you want to see me about? Finish that little job I gave you?"

"I'm not working for you." he snaps. She laughs at him.

"Don't be coy." He glowers and she flaps a hand at him. "Whatever. What do you want."

He nods towards the other woman-girl, nervous, carrying two knives and a handgun.

"This really isn't a subject for sensitive ears."

There's a scoff and another hand-flap.

"Run along, Daphne. It's all right."

She leaves and du Maurier sighs.

"This had better be good, robbing me of my massage."

"They've moved out of the park." He won't mention exactly where. "And one of them is a woman, big, uses perfume from Sharpe's-Rosy Cheeks. The other is a thin man with glasses and a scar under one eye."

"Mm." She takes a long swallow. "And where are they looking now?"

"In town."

"That's not an answer."

"That's all you're getting."

"Such a tease." She stretches. He hears something pop-spine, sounds like. "Ohh...since you chased out my nice girl, you can come over here and get the kinks out."

He's actually going to leave now.

"Just thought you'd like to know."

"Oh, my god, you're pink." She laughs at him again, slightly tipsy but (probably) not to the giggly-drunk stage. "That's adorable."

"Good bye."

"Oh, very well. Here's a tip for you, before you leave-Timothy Nightingale."

"Thank you." he grinds out.

"Mm. Be careful, most of us are carrying shotguns now." She sighs. "Daphne! Come back."

He leaves, but this is one of those times that super-hearing is a terrible thing. He's a block out when she turns to her companion and murmurs, "I really do love to watch him go."


Timothy Nightingale is, for all intents and purposes, a janitor. Quiet, unassuming, lives alone with two cats and never causes any trouble.

Really, it's a shame he has to drag the guy out of bed and up to the roof, but there's the small matter of the cholorform he can smell in the apartment.

"What do you know?" he demands, forcing the man backwards over the railing. He could, in theory, drop him off the roof and not kill him, but he's not really in the mood. He's stuffy and his throat is sore and he really would like to go home and get a hot toddy.

"I know nothing, man, not one damn thing! I swear, I swear-JESUS CHRIST, I SWEAR!"

Matt notices that he's a little further over the railing than he intended. It's not that he's above dropping him, but he still needs him and he'd have to climb down and get him and...he really doesn't want to.

"Explain the chloroform."

"Kinky sex thing, honest-"

His pants may as well be on fire.

"Don't lie to me."

"Okay! Okay! This guy at the docks said I could make easy money supplying him with it. Not like it's that hard to get or nothin', I dunno why he wanted me to get it-"

More space between him and me.

"What was his name?"

"I don't know, he never gave me one!" Another inch backwards never hurt anybody. "Okay, okay! Solo, he said his name was Solo!"

You've got to be kidding me.

The guy's telling the truth, though, outrageous though it seems. Matt tugs him a little ways away from the railing and hisses, "You get rid of it, you get out of town. I catch you back here-I catch you doing this again..."

He has to stop there, thanks to having to swallow a cough, but the pause is effective-Nightingale starts blubbering promises about his children's children never stepping foot in Hell's Kitchen again, so help him God.

Matt can still hear him panicking-as he flings his clothes into a suitcase-a block away.