AN: Angelique definitely has a Tumblr. It's probably 'maybeitsmishap_maybeitsmurder' or something. But...Matt. And his 'I'm Not Daredevil' sweater. Yeah.

vxmpire-Matt can.


"Matt, you see the news this morning?"

"...I'll just let you think about that, Foggy."

"Very funny. Seriously, something went down at du Maurier's last night. One of her night watchmen got thrown through a window. Guess he was all cut up and everything."

"Probably tried to rob her."

"Police are saying it's a death threat."

"They would."

"Think it's related to your...extracurricular activity?"

Possible but not probable. There really isn't as much honour among thieves as the media likes to say there is. She probably ticked someone off, or this guy tried something.

He'll be dropping by, though. If he can prove she did it, he can cart her ass to jail.

Oh, that would be nice...one less problem to deal with.

Also, she can't flirt at him from prison. Hopefully.


"I didn't kill him." she informs him. She's telling the truth, which almost disappoints him. "Thought you should know that before you break my collarbone."

"I wasn't here about that."

"Oh? I'm surprised." There's the soft clack-clack of beads and he notices the faint scent of sandalwood. "Why are you here, then?"

"What do you know about a man who calls himself Solo?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Again, truth. He ignores the question.

"Why was that man killed?"

"Why should I know?" She stands up and crosses the room. There's the striking of a match and a second later the muted scent of incense (rose) strengthens. "There's plenty of people that would like to get rid of me, it's nothing new."

"No ideas at all?"

"No."

She's lying. She has ideas, she knows, or at least knows something.

"Don't lie to me."

"Stay in your lane." she snaps. "This has nothing to do with you, I can handle it myself. You just take care of our little trafficking problem. Marvelous job, by the way, they've gone to ground. No whispers at all now."

"They can't hide from me."

"Cockiness doesn't suit you, darling. Especially in that fashion disaster. This isn't Gotham City, there's no reason to treat every day like Halloween."

He ignores that, too. Uncalled for.

"I think it's related." Maybe. There's a tiny chance it's related.

"I think you've seen too many detective movies." There's the sound of the beads being set down and she comes towards him. "As I said-stay in your lane. This has nothing to do with you. The police will do their jobs, it'll turn out to be some nut-probably a stalker or something-and that'll be the end of it."

"You think they're related, too." he accuses. "You wouldn't have called the police if it didn't rattle you. You would have taken care of it yourself."

"One tends to call the police when corpses appear in their hallway, dear."

"Not you." She stops where she is. "Not you, you take care of these things without their help. You're nervous, you know what this is about and you're nervous."

"So what if I am?" Ah, she's on the defensive. He's right after all. "I don't need some lunatic in a costume to come to my rescue. I can manage."

"Never said you couldn't. You're the one insisting."

Her breath catches, but she doesn't say anything for a long moment.

"Perhaps you're right." she says at last. "You didn't see...the papers didn't have everything. His heart was ripped out. Not cut-ripped. It was horrible..."

Her voice catches, but her heart is calm. Maybe it was horrible, but she's not nearly as broken up as she'd like him to think. He'll go with it for now.

"I'm sorry."

She sniffles a bit and he hears her pull a tissue from her pocket.

"You're very sweet." She's not crying. She's not even trying to cry. She's probably turned away from him to hide this fact. "Look. I don't want anyone else to get hurt, that's all. But if you think you can...take care of this..." Alarm bells go off in his head. He knows how this plays out-crying, sympathy, he gets lured into a trap and dies horribly. Foggy would raise him from the grave to slap him upside the head for his stupidity. "My security camera-the police took it, but I took a look myself first-it showed two men. One tall, thin, with glasses and a scar under one eye, and the other was built like a linebacker. They jumped the wall, and then they must've lured David into one of the blind spots. They've been here before, if they knew where one was."

"Does it show them leaving?"

"Yes. Into a white van, I think it might have been a catering van-there was a fork on the side of it."

He'll look into that. Carefully, else he suffer the Wrath of Foggy.

"Thank you. That's...helpful."

She laughs, shaky and carefully nervous, and comes over to him. He stays where he is, braced to restrain her if she tries something stupid, like grabbing for his mask. She won't, he's sure, but still.

"Stop them." He will, but not because of her damsel-in-distress act. "Please."

He's prepared for her to move, but not for her to hug him, and certainly not for her to kiss him. Before he can shove her off, she's let go and walked away.

"Is there anything else you wanted?"

He can't laugh at Foggy now. He could-it's not like he has to share-but somehow...somehow the amusement is gone.

He leaves without a word.


It's the (blatantly corrupt) dock worker's bad luck that he happens to need a cigarette break right now, and that his friends don't smoke.

Matt takes the opportunity and runs with it.

"Who's the guy calling himself Solo?"

"Jesus Christ!"

"I don't believe that. Try again."

The guy remembers his cigarette and tries to use it as a weapon. Matt is decidedly unimpressed, and lets him know it by flicking the ashes off his shirt.

"I don't know, man, I swear!"

Liar.

He punches him in the face, hears his nose break. Too bad.

"This is how it's going to go. The more you lie to me, the more I hurt you. Sound good?"

The guy gets a burst of adrenaline and manages to knee him in the stomach and make a break for it. He gets maybe five steps.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He wrenches the man's arm backward, just shy of popping the shoulder out of its socket. "So. Who's Solo?"

"I don't know nothin' about this guy! He shows up with the money, that's it!"

Still lying. This calls for a dislocated shoulder.

He pulls back hard, hears the pop and feels the give, and a second later there's screaming and a stream of information. Apparently Solo's checks are from a 'Luke Solo' (he calls bullshit, absolute bullshit), he's always alone, and walks with a limp-needs a heavy cane. Said cane has a skull on it and his new friend is convinced that it's a child's skull, but there's no way to see for sure.

For Solo's sake, it better not be. He will not be responsible for any terrible things that could happen if it is.

"That wasn't so bad." He gets up. "Go get that checked out, then go turn yourself in to Brett Mahoney."

He feels a little bit guilty about that last one-Brett's been complaining to Foggy that 'I am not Jim Motherfucking Gordon, man' and 'it's like a cat bringing you murder presents or something'. But it can't be helped-he trusts Brett not to kill the guy or let him out.

Though maybe, just maybe, he'll get the man a Batman shirt or something for Christmas. It'll be a complete coincidence.

Foggy will have to describe Brett's face in detail later, though.