Chapter Five

Still parked across the street from Matt's building, Nick checked his phone: 1:30 a.m. Karen wasn't going anywhere tonight. The frustration that had been growing through the long hours of watching and waiting finally boiled over. Breathing heavily, he slammed a fist against the steering wheel. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out his treasure box – a small wooden box containing mementoes of "his" girls. He fondled a large apple-red plastic hoop earring that had belonged to Candy. He unzipped his fly, intending to jack off. Then he changed his mind and zipped up. He had a better idea. He started the engine and drove away.

He spotted her standing alone near the corner of 48th and 11th: petite, skinny, her delicate features obscured with too-heavy makeup, her long dark brown hair streaked with purple and pink. Dressed in a mini skirt, midriff-baring top, and knee-high boots with stiletto heels, she shivered in the chilly nighttime air. He pulled to the curb and lowered the passenger side window. She came over to the SUV. "Hey, mister, I'm Jewel. They say I give the best head in the Kitchen. Wanna have some fun?"

He nodded, and she got in the car. They negotiated the price for a blow job, but Nick wasn't thinking about the price. He wasn't going to pay her, anyway. He drove downtown on 11th Avenue, heading for a vacant building owned by his mother, near 36th and 10th. He pulled into an alley next to the building and parked. He unzipped his fly and gestured to Jewel, who lowered her head toward his crotch. When her work was done, Nick took a syringe out of the center console and jabbed it into her neck. She looked up at him, her eyes becoming unfocused. Then she closed her eyes with a sigh and fell across his lap.

When he was sure Jewel was unconscious, Nick carried her into the building. He descended the stairs to the basement, where he secured her to a chair with duct tape. He left her there. She wasn't going anywhere. It would be a while before the Special K wore off. After she woke up, it would take time for her fears to take over. He wanted her terrorized, and compliant, when he returned. He went back to his SUV and drove away.

Half-awake, Carlo Morelli swatted ineffectually at the insect that seemed to be buzzing around his head. Gradually he became aware of the source of the buzzing: his phone. He grabbed it from the nightstand and answered the call. "Yes," he barked.

"Sorry, boss." It was Pete Silva, the man assigned to watch Nick overnight. "Nick snatched a hooker off the street."

"Shit," Morelli swore. "Where'd he take her?"

"A vacant building on 36th, near 10th, south side of the street, three doors east of 10th."

"Got it," Morelli said. "Is Nick still there?"

"No, he took off. I think he's waiting for whatever he gave her to wear off. And – " Silva hesitated.

"Yeah, what?" Morelli demanded.

"I, uh, . . . I lost him."

"You lost him?"

"Sorry," Silva replied helplessly.

"Well, find him!" Morelli bellowed, and ended the call.

A half hour later, Morelli arrived at the vacant building, one of several in Hell's Kitchen owned by Rosalie Carbone. He finally found the hooker in the basement, duct taped to a chair. She screamed when she saw the light from his flashlight.

"It's OK, honey," Morelli told her in his most soothing tone. "I'm going to get you out of here. There's nothing to be afraid of."

She sniffled and whimpered as he approached her and pulled out a knife to cut the tape. When she was free, he helped her to her feet, and she began to sob. "C'mon, let's get you out of here."

Morelli put his arm around the girl's thin shoulders and hurried her out of the building and into his SUV, parked in the alley next to the building. As he drove away, she asked, "Where're you taking me, mister?"

"Across the river, to Jersey," he replied. "You can't stay in the city, it's not safe. I'll drop you at the train station in Newark. You can go anywhere you want from there."

"Thanks, mister." She paused for a moment, then added, "You want a blow job? They say I give the best head in Hell's Kitchen."

Morelli didn't respond. As they drove through the Lincoln Tunnel, he glanced over at his passenger. In the lights of the tunnel, he could see she was young, probably no more than 16 or 17. Dress her in jeans and a t-shirt and give her a backpack, and she could be a student at any high school in the city, instead of hustling on the streets of Hell's Kitchen. He shook his head sadly and drove on in silence.

When they reached Newark, Morelli drove into an alley near the train station and parked. He pulled out his wallet and took out $500 in cash. He handed it to the girl. "This should get you anywhere you want to go."

Her eyes widened at the sight of the cash. While she was preoccupied with counting it, Morelli took a cord from his pocket. Before she could react, he looped it around her neck and tightened it. She struggled, clawing at the cord in a futile effort to free herself. It was over quickly. Deprived of oxygen, she soon stopped struggling and went limp. Even then, Morelli did not release the cord until he was sure she was no longer breathing. Then he checked for a pulse: she was gone.

Before leaving the alley, Morelli wrapped the girl's body in a tarp and put it in the covered cargo area of the SUV. He picked up the cash she had dropped while fighting for her life and put it back in his wallet. Then he drove to a wooded area about a hour west of Newark, where he dug a grave and placed her in it. After he shoveled the dirt back into the grave, he scattered leaves and branches over it as camouflage. Before he walked away, he made the sign of the cross and whispered, "Sorry, honey." But it had to be done. If he had let her live, she would be a threat to Nick, and to their plan to protect him.

In the pre-dawn hours, Nick returned to the vacant building on 36th. When he discovered Jewel was gone, he let out a howl of rage. He picked up the empty chair and slammed it against the wall, then paced back and forth, swearing under his breath. When he finally regained control of himself, he went back to his SUV, still wondering how the little bitch had freed herself. He shrugged. Time to check on Karen. He went into a coffee shop that was open early, down the street from the lawyer's building. He sat next to the window, sipping coffee and keeping watch. He didn't have to wait long for Karen and the lawyer to come out of the building. They kissed, then went in opposite directions. Nick threw some bills down on the table and followed Karen, keeping to the other side of the street. Six blocks later, she went into an apartment building. Nick smiled. He had a plan.

Carlo Morelli returned to his apartment and fell into an exhausted sleep. Hours later, his phone woke him – again.

"What the hell's going on, Carlo?" Rosalie Carbone demanded. He reported on the night's events, leaving until the end the fact that they had lost Nick.

"God damn it! How could you let that happen?"

"I had Silva on him, boss – he's my best man. But Nick's smart, he must've spotted him."

"Silva's the best you got?" Rosalie scoffed. "Puh-leeze."

"I know he has his limitations," Morelli conceded, "but there's no better watcher than Silva. I'm sure he's picked up Nick again."

"You better hope he has." Carbone ended the call.

Morelli immediately called Silva. Nothing. No answer. No voicemail. He sent a text. No reply. "Fuck," he muttered, throwing the phone down on the nightstand. He picked it up and made a couple of calls. No one had heard from Silva since last night. No one had seen Nick, either. He made some more calls, barking instructions at the men who answered. They had to find Nick – and soon.

That evening, Karen and Matt had dinner at a Greek restaurant near Karen's apartment. Matt walked her home after dinner. When they reached the front door of her building, she asked, "Coming up?"

Matt shook his head. "Not tonight," he said. "I still have to finish preparing for the Estrada hearing first thing tomorrow morning." He took her hand and pulled her close. His goodnight kiss was filled with longing. He finally broke away and unfolded his cane.

"Sure you won't change your mind?" Karen teased him.

He responded in kind. "No, I'm not sure," he said with a smile. He started to walk away. "Goodnight, Karen."

She watched him until he disappeared from view, down the stairs of the subway station at the end of her block. She wondered if "preparing for the Estrada hearing" meant actual legal work, or his other work as Daredevil, keeping the Kitchen safe. She still remembered her shock when Matt revealed he was Daredevil, and she realized he wasn't the man she thought she knew. He wasn't only the smart, funny, and often infuriating blind lawyer she found so attractive. He was also another person entirely, someone with extraordinary abilities – abilities which, even now, she struggled to wrap her mind around. And he had saved her life, more than once. Since that time, she had slowly come to understand Daredevil was not merely a suit Matt wore. Being Daredevil was an essential part of who he was. He would not be the Matt she knew if he wasn't also Daredevil. She murmured, "Goodnight, Matt. Stay safe."

She took the elevator to her fifth-floor apartment and let herself in. Bypassing the living room, she went directly to the kitchen. She turned on the overhead light and put her handbag down on the kitchen table. After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she started toward the living room, looking forward to kicking off her shoes. Suddenly, she felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of her neck. When she turned on the light in the living room, she gasped. A man wearing a ski mask was standing in the far corner. She threw the water bottle at him. Then she turned, knocking over a chair, and ran back toward the kitchen – and the gun in her handbag. But the intruder was too quick. He caught her and grabbed her from behind. She screamed and struggled to break his grip, elbowing him in the rib cage and kicking his knee. Then she felt a pinprick on the side of her neck. Her vision blurred, and her legs felt rubbery. Her attacker let her slide slowly to the floor. "Oh, shit," she thought, then – nothing.