TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy
Author's Notes
Peter's courtroom testimony concerning the circumstances of his firing from Joe's Pizza is taken verbatim from: Peter David, Spider-Man 2 - The Official Novelization of the Film (New York, Random House Publishing Group, 2004), pp. 52-53.
Immigration cases are prosecuted by the United States Department of Homeland Security. The immigration court is under the U.S. Department of Justice.
Pro Bono refers to legal work done without charge.
Foggy Nelson's legal argument during the deportation hearing is based upon a real case, Kiareldeen v. Reno, 71 F. Supp. 2d 402 (D. N.J. 1999).
Disclaimer
This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.
IX
THE BLIND AND THE BEFUDDLED
Peter had no idea what lay in store for him that day.
He arrived at the Federal Plaza at his appointed time, wearing his threadbare suit, the only one he had. God help him if he heard any sirens or happened upon any disturbances now. This was one appointment he could not miss. The Almighty might have a sense of humor, but surely He wouldn't sink so low as to force Peter to choose between saving a life and going to jail for contempt of court.
As he approached the security booth, he emptied his pockets of everything that was in them . . . his keys, his wallet, . . . and his mask and gloves. This was a "hide in plain sight" strategy that he'd rehearsed a hundred times, knowing that he would eventually have to pass through a security checkpoint somewhere. As he put his belongings in the tub, he saw the guard look at him with an expression that a parent would use on a child that had done something extremely foolish. But Peter was ready with an answer.
"It's fake . . . for a commercial I'm filming." he said quietly. "See?" He showed the guard the Made in China label inside the mask. Peter took the label from a moth-eaten sweater he found in a garbage can, and had sewn it in himself. It was another ingenious measure he devised to throw inquiring minds off his trail.
Bemused, the guard let him pass.
Maybe I should've gone into acting too, he thought, somewhat sardonically. If it were only this easy all the time.
After receiving directions from the guard, he took the elevator to the twelfth floor. The Immigration Court Clerk's office was opposite the elevator bank. There was a line of people waiting at the window. Most of them were there for their own hearings. A few had lawyers. None spoke English.
When Peter's turn came, he presented his summons to the clerk and was directed to the witness waiting room on the fourteenth floor. The hearing would be held in Courtroom Number 7, just across the hall from that room. The middle-aged, heavyset African American clerk behind the window seemed relieved that she was finally able to talk to someone who spoke her language. She contacted the judge in the Aziz case to let him know that the sole defense witness had just arrived.
The witness room was nearly filled to capacity by the time he got there. The only available chairs were in the back row. As he took his seat, he spotted a sports section from the New York Times lying on the floor. It was the only reading material he could find. He scooped up the sports page and began skimming it. There was little of interest other than the Yankees and the Mets being in first place in their respective divisions, and the New England Patriots' all-pro running back Chuck Varick opting not to renegotiate the final two years of his contract.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Tell me again Matt," a frustrated and exasperated Franklin "Foggy" Nelson badgered his law partner as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourteenth floor. "Why did we take this case?"
"Because Mr. Aziz is not a terrorist, nor has he ever associated with anyone suspected of being a terrorist," Matthew Murdock answered in his soft-spoken, but resolute manner. Matt had been blind since he was twelve years old, his eyes destroyed by a spray of biohazardous waste in a horrible waterfront accident. Orphaned shortly thereafter, when his father, boxer Jack "The Devil" Murdock was murdered by an up-and-coming mobster named Wilson Fisk, he had grown up in Hell's Kitchen, once the meanest of New York's mean streets.
But Matt had transcended his tragic circumstances through sheer guts and determination, and had become one of the most respected members of the New York Trial Attorneys' Bar. He was also one of the most compassionate, taking on more pro bono clients than any other lawyer in the city.
During his entire adult life, Foggy Nelson had been there for him, like a brother. They'd roomed together through Harvard College and Columbia Law School, served as editors on the Law Review, and opened up their own practice when their stints as federal prosecutors were over. The law firm of Nelson & Murdock represented people from all walks of life, people who had no one else to turn to when their livelihoods or their lives were threatened. The firm had its share of million-dollar verdicts, including two hefty libel settlements against the Daily Bugle. It was victories like those that enabled them to pay their bills, live comfortably in Manhattan, and subsidize the pro bono side of their practice, the side that fired Matt Murdock's soul and honed his reputation as a premier litigator.
There were times when Matt wished he could see Foggy's kind and compassionate face. But when Foggy went into Cassandra mode, as he often did when Matt acceptedclients on the firm's behalf, Matt felt an overwhelming urge to stick his cane out in front of Foggy's feet, about three inches off the ground.
This was one of those times. For the last four days, Foggy had been bitching incessantly about Matt's decision to take on an immigration case, notwithstanding that they hadn't done one in over three years. Their client was Rahi Aziz, a pizza shop owner whom the government had accused of consorting with suspected terrorists and was trying to deport. After looking at the indictment, Foggy opined that the government had a pretty solid case.
They met Aziz for the first and only time last Thursday, in the holding cell. "Good Morning, Mr. Aziz," Matt said in that inimitable voice that the firm's would-be clients found authoritative and reassuring at the same time.
"Are you guys my lawyers?" Aziz asked, agitated and frightened.
"We will be . . . if you're innocent," Matt responded. "Are you?"
"Yes! Yes! I swear before God I am innocent!" Aziz screamed. It didn't even take one second for Matt to make his decision. "I believe you," he said, completely convinced. And that was that—the case was theirs, despite Foggy's protests. Unfortunately, there hadn't been time to get depositions from the government's witnesses. They would have to go into court winging it. It would not be the first time.
All their years together and Foggy still could not understand how Matt did it. "How can you be so goddamn sure he's innocent?" Foggy moaned. "Oh, never mind. I know how you know. But that's never been our problem, has it? You know what our problem is, Matt?"
"That I'm still vacuumless?" he asked in a somewhat mocking tone, reminded of how his partner constantly harped on him about his inability to create the moral vacuum necessary to represent "rich and guilty" clients.
"No, that's your problem," Foggy answered, stressed out after hours of legal research. It didn't help that they had only four days to prepare. "Our problem is coming up with the evidence to support whatever that internal bullshit detector of yours tells you. They're gonna put up three witnesses, and every single one of them fingered Aziz as the go-between."
"He was set up!" Matt said, starting to get exasperated. "How many times do I have to repeat it for you?" Matt sighed, knowing that Foggy was still letting off steam at having to cut short his date with Liz Allen last Friday in order to work on this case.
"That's what he says," Foggy retorted. "But do you know anything about his alibi witness? His only alibi witness? A real flighty college kid! His head's always in the clouds, and he never shows up for work on time."
"Who told you that?"
"Aziz. He fired the kid for Christ's sake! Why the hell didn't we bring him in as a hostile witness?" Foggy was really getting worked up.
"Because our client said not to, remember?" Matt responded, unperturbed and dismissive of his partner's anxieties. "Look on the bright side," he continued. "At least Aziz agreed to pay us."
"With what, . . . pizzas?" Foggy snapped. Their office was loaded with all kinds of barter that their pro bono clients had paid them with in lieu of cash . . . fish, Jamaican rum, figurines carved from coconuts . . . you name it.
Matt paused, suddenly remembering a critical detail. "Did the subpoena I asked for go out?"
"Yeah. Last Thursday. . . . But I have no idea whether the witness even got it."
"Wait a minute—what time is it?" Matt asked.
Foggy looked at his watch. "Two minutes to nine," he answered.
Matt cocked his head to one side and listened very intensely. After several minutes of struggling to discern one voice from among hundreds, he patted Foggy on the back.
"You can stop worrying," Matt said, exuding confidence. "Our witness is in the building. He just got past security and was sent up to the clerk's office."
"How do you know?" Foggy asked, incredulously.
"I heard him," Matt replied with a mischievous smile. He loved playing head games with his partner, knowing that Foggy would never be able to make the connection with Daredevil. He may have been great at finding obscure legal precedents, but putting two and two together was definitely not his strong suit.
"What! How in the hell could you possibly . . . . Oh, forget it." After so many years of working with Matt, Foggy had learned that some questions were just not worth asking.
"Who's the judge?" Matt asked.
"Hang on a second," Foggy said as he took a few steps ahead to look at the plaque next to the courtroom door. When he saw the name of the judge whose courtroom they were about to enter, his jaw dropped and his heart sank.
"Oh, you're really gonna love this Matt," he said sarcastically, "Bye Bye Lefkowitz. Ain't that just fucking great."
Howard Morton Lefkowitz was a tough-as-nails immigration judge who was given the nickname "Bye Bye" by members of the immigration bar because of a well-
deserved reputation for siding with the government in deportation cases. It was the worst possible draw for attorneys who were not seasoned in immigration matters, and they weren't. To win, they would have to blow some huge holes in the government's evidence, which Foggy did not believe was possible with only a single rebuttal witness.
"Trust me," Matt reassured his partner. "We'll be all right."
"I hope so." Foggy replied sullenly, "I'm sick and tired of feeling like Don Quixote every time we walk into court."
They entered the courtroom and proceeded directly to the defense table, where Rahi Aziz, their client, was waiting for them. Aziz was dressed in a pale blue jacket and red tie, but was perspiring and scared out of his mind. His wife, a traditionally garbed young Muslim woman, and their two small children, an infant and a toddler, sat immediately behind the defense table. The baby was asleep, a pacifier in his mouth. His older sister played with her Elmo doll.
"Did you find him?" Aziz asked anxiously. "He's my last hope."
"Yes, he's here." Foggy told him, trying his best to sound encouraging. Unlike his partner though, empathy was not among his talents or natural capabilities.
"Thank God!" Aziz said, breathing a fervent sigh of relief. He was apparently more confident of victory than Foggy was.
"All rise!" a beefy United States marshal shouted as Senior Immigration Judge Howard M. Lefkowitz entered the court room. Judge Lefkowitz was a truly imposing figure, standing six foot three and weighing two hundred and fifty five pounds. A shock of white hair spilled across his forehead. A former immigration attorney himself, his aged, bespectacled face had seen everything under the sun as far as immigration was concerned. To Foggy Nelson, he looked like Andy Rooney with an edge.
"Be seated,"growled Judge Lefkowitz. He had a voice that said, I don't have time for bullshit so let's just get it on. The Aziz case was the first of what promised to be another long line of deportation hearings. He did not look very happy about it. "United States versus Rahi Aziz," he growled again. "Mr. Murdock, you may begin."
Holding his cane but not using it, Matt stood up and walked right up to the bench, primed for battle. "Your Honor, justice is blind, but she can and must be heard, especially during these difficult times, when we all live in fear of an unseen enemy who can strike from the shadows without warning. Even as we try to prevent another 9-11, we must still be diligent in protecting the rights of our citizens, and of those who wish to join our American family. What we have here today is a case of mistaken identity, which, if not rectified immediately, could have life-threatening consequences, not only for our client, but for the rest of us as well."
Matt had done his homework on this judge. He toned down his usual opening statement theatrics and got down to business right away, knowing that Bye Bye Lefkowitz intensely disliked fluff and flourishes. Besides, there were no juries at immigration hearings, and without juries, there was no one who could appreciate the shows he put on.
"Opening statement, Mr. Kay?" the judge asked Byron Kay, the attorney representing the Department of Homeland Security.
"Your Honor, in the interests of time, the Government will waive it's opening statement," Kay answered, a trace of smugness in his voice. To him, this was simply another routine deportation, one in which he had complete confidence of victory.
"Call your first witness please, Mr. Murdock."
"At this time, I would like to call Rahi Aziz."
XXXXXXXXXX
It was the longest, most boring two hours Peter had ever had in his life. He was sitting in a crowded waiting room, trying to pass the time by reading articles from the sports page over and over. It was useless. He felt a headache coming on from the lack of circulating air in the room and his own nervousness at having to be in court. His mind soon drifted back toward that fabulous weekend he'd spent with Mary Jane. It was all he could think about. He'd been away from her for only a few hours, but already, he missed her terribly. He closed his eyes and imagined himself making love to her again, and then afterward, her head resting on his shoulder, the two of them having pillow talk, gazing into each other's eyes . . .
"PARKER!" a deep, gruff voice shouted, jolting him out of his reverie. The voice belonged to a big, burly United States marshal who had stuck his head inside the door to the waiting room. With his ramrod posture and a crew cut, the guy looked very much like the ex-marine he probably was. He was not someone that a rational person would want to pick a fight with.
"Peter Parker!" the marshal barked again.
Peter quickly raised his hand.
"If you'll come with me please, Mr. Parker."
"Yes sir."
XXXXXXXXXX
Aziz had been as good on the witness stand as could be expected from someone in his situation. He spoke with such conviction that Kay dispensed with cross-examination. Instead, the government introduced three witnesses, one right after the other. One was from Jordan and the other two from France. They spoke English with nary a trace of an accent, leading Matt and Foggy to believe that they were extremely well coached. Each of these witnesses testified that, on March 4th, between the hours of twelve and four in the afternoon, they had observed Mr. Aziz on the corner of 48th Street and Eighth Avenue, engaging in intense discussions with several persons with suspected connections to Al Qaeda. Their stories were remarkably consistent, their demeanor pleasant and professional.
Things were not looking good for the defense, It was Aziz's word against those of three seemingly credible eyewitnesses. Foggy Nelson sighed and rolled his eyes, thinking it was all over. But Matt remained unruffled. As Hagdabi, the Jordanian spoke, Matt listened intensely to his heartbeat. The fluttering he heard told him right away that the man was lying through his teeth.
"Your witness, Mr. Murdock?" asked the judge.
Got 'em, Matt thought excitedly, knowing that his opponent had just exposed his flanks. Shifting his strategy on the fly, he said, "Your honor, with the court's permission, I would like to reserve cross examination until after our witness has had the opportunity to testify on direct."
"I'll allow it," replied Judge Lefkowitz after not hearing any objections from the government. Kay obviously doesn't have a clue as to what's coming, Matt realized, smiling ever so slightly as he observed his opponent scribbling on a yellow legal pad.
To Hagdabi, the judge said,"Please return with the marshal to the witness waiting room and remain there until you are recalled." It was the same with the other two witnesses. As the last government witness was escorted out, Matt took a deep breath, knowing that his entire case would rise or fall on the credibility of the man who was about to testify.
"Your Honor, at this time, we would like to call Peter Parker to the stand."
Judge Lefkowitz turned to the marshal. "Would you please bring Mr. Parker in?"
XXXXXXXXXX
Peter accompanied the marshal across the hall and into the courtroom, where he was directed to proceed to the witness box. As he sat down, he quickly glanced at the judge's nameplate. It was an unadorned brass plaque with the name, Howard M. Lefkowitz, etched in plain block lettering. He then looked over at Aziz, who appeared to be breathing a sigh of relief at seeing him. As a boss, Aziz was always in a state of perpetual panic, as if he were fighting five fires at once. Now, he seemed remarkably calm and relaxed, which was good, considering the pressure he was under.
Aziz had two attorneys with him. They appeared to be in their mid-thirties. The lawyer sitting next to Aziz was dark-haired, heavy-set, and sweating as he nervously fumbled through pages of notes. The other lawyer held a silver and red cane in his left hand and wore heavily tinted sunglasses. They didn't exactly inspire confidence. Blind and Befuddled, attorneys-at-law, Peter thought sarcastically, Aziz would've done better with Laurel and Hardy. He hoped, for his ex-employer's sake, that these guys knew what the hell they were doing.
Likewise, seeing Peter Parker for the first time did not lift Foggy Nelson's spirits. To Foggy, Parker looked like an unprepossessing, slightly spaced-out college dude whose rumpled suit would do nothing to enhance his credibility. This is our star witness? Foggy asked himself glumly, the prosecution's going to have a field day with this clown.
But Matt's hyper-sharp senses were trained on Peter from the moment he stepped into the courtroom. Like Foggy, he discerned a man in his early twenties, of average stature and an outwardly unassuming manner. But he also detected a few things that Foggy did not. The man's heartbeat was slow, strong, and steady, and he was giving off a subtle, but powerful energy. He also moved with unusual fluidity and grace as he walked down the aisle and mounted the witness stand. Matt could not shake the feeling that there was there was much more to this kid than what was on the surface.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Parker." Judge Lefkowitz said in a reassuring, grandfatherly manner that reminded Peter of his uncle Ben somewhat. Foggy and Byron Kay exchanged glances, aware that the judge was known for being gentle on witnesses. And this particular witness had such a little-boy-lost quality about him that the judge couldn't help but show his softer side.
"As you know, this is a deportation proceeding," the judge continued. "Your presence has been requested by counsel for the defense. I'm going to ask you some basic informational questions. Mr. Murdock will then ask you questions on direct examination, followed by Mr. Kay on cross-examination." As he spoke, he identified each attorney with a hand gesture. "Do you have any questions before we proceed?"
"No Your Honor." he said with respect, but not obsequiousness.
Matt was suddenly overcome by a feeling of deja vu, but his only outward reaction was to raise his eyebrows slightly. He'd heard that voice before, but he did not immediately recall when or where. He couldn't think about now, however, because his attention was fully focused on saving his client from being deported.
"Please state your full name for the record." the judge continued.
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
"Address?"
"8742 Carmine Street, Apartment 501, New York City.
"Current occupation?"
"Photo journalist." And costumed crime buster! Peter answered silently.
"Your employer?"
"I'm a freelancer. The Daily Bugle buys my photographs."
"Do you have any objections to being sworn?"
"No sir."
"Very well. Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is true to the best of your knowledge and belief?"
"I do."
"Your witness, Mr. Murdock."
Murdock stood up. He was about six feet tall, broad shouldered and had enough good looks to give John Jameson a run for his money. But there was something very odd about the way this Murdock carried himself as he approached the witness box, so much so that it actually triggered Peter's spider-sense as he drew near. Murdock wasn't using his cane to navigate, which was extremely unusual for a blind man. If Peter didn't know better, he could swear that Murdock was looking right at him.
"Good morning Mr. Parker." the lawyer began politely. Peter's heartbeat jumped. He was sure that he'd encountered this individual before. Looking at the man's cane, Peter noticed a pair of strange-looking emblems on its handle: an angel's face on one side; and a devil's face on the other.
Matt picked up Peter's reaction, but did not let it show. "I apologize for the short notice that you were given to appear at this hearing." he continued. "My name is Matthew Murdock, and the gentleman sitting at the table is my partner, Franklin Nelson. We represent the defendant, Rahi Aziz, and it was we who requested your presence here today. Do you know Mr. Aziz?"
"I do."
"Can you identify him please, for the record?"
Peter pointed to Aziz.
"You'll have to speak up. The court stenographer can't transcribe gestures."
How in the hell did this guy know that I was pointing? Peter wondered, his spider-sense still tingling. He's blind, for Christ's sake! He must have some kind of electronic device in that cane that helps him get around. "He's sitting next to Mr. Nelson."
"Please describe your association with Mr. Aziz."
"Mr. Aziz hired me to deliver pizzas."
"And when did he hire you?"
"January 15th of this year."
"Was this job in addition to your work as a freelance photographer?"
"Yes. I needed the extra money to defray my educational expenses and support my elderly aunt. . . . She's a widow."
"Where do you go to school?"
"I'm finishing my sophomore year at N.Y.U."
"So, you are attending college full time and maintaining two households?"
"I'm trying sir."
"How old are you?" Matt asked, genuinely curious.
"Twenty." Peter answered, wondering what his age had to do with the case.
"And how are you doing in school, if I may ask?"
"I've never had a grade below an 'A' since elementary school."
That answer impressed Matt Murdock, so much so that he already found himself thinking of Peter Parker as a younger version of himself. Like him, Parker was able to succeed academically under extremely trying circumstances. That alone spoke volumes about how responsible he was at such a young age, and dispelled any negative first impressions he might have made. He could feel the reactions of Kay, Foggy, Judge Lefkowitz, and even his client, Aziz. They all seemed to be taken with this young man. Without missing a beat, he returned to his line of questioning.
"And what is the name of the establishment for which you delivered pizza?"
"Joe's Pizza."
"Where is that establishment located?"
"MacDougal Street, in Greenwich Village."
Matt asked a few more factual questions to lay a foundation. It was now time to go straight to the heart of the case. "Mr. Parker, where were you at 1:50 PM on the date of March 4, 2004?"
"I had just arrived at Joe's, and was about to receive an order for a large pizza delivery." He remembered that moment all to well—he'd nearly crashed into Aziz because he'd been paying more attention to Mary Jane's billboard than to where he was going.
"Did you encounter Mr. Aziz at that time you received that order?"
"Yes I did."
"Where?"
"In front of Joe's."
"And what did he say to you when he gave you that order?"
"He told me that I had eight minutes to deliver seventeen pizzas to the advertising firm of Harmattan, Burton, and Smith."
"Approximately how far away from Joe's pizza is Harmattan, Burton, and Smith?"
"In the Woolworth Building, approximately forty two blocks. Toward Midtown."
"So, am I to understand that Mr. Aziz expected you to deliver seventeen pizzas a distance of over forty blocks in just eight minutes?"
"Yes."
"That seemed to be quite an undertaking. Why didn't Mr. Aziz give you more time than that to make your delivery?"
"The customer had called in twenty one minutes earlier. Joe's has a guarantee—the Pizza arrives in 29 minutes or it's free."
"And can you tell the court whether you made that delivery?"
"I made it to the Woolworth building, but I was two minutes late." He faltered, but instantly recovered his composure and continued. " The customer refused to pay for the pizzas." Peter gritted his teeth as he remembered how that bitch of a receptionist shorted him a hundred and fifty bucks, despite his herculean effort to get there on time. But he remained unflappable, patiently and politely answering every question that was put to him.
"And what happened after that?"
"I was fired."
"Who actually fired you?"
"Mr. Aziz."
"Do you recall the time of day that you were fired?"
"About 3:30, give or take a few minutes."
"Where?"
"At Joe's Pizza, right after I got back from the Woolworth building."
"For the record please, why were you fired?"
"For causing Joe's to default on its 29-minute guarantee."
"Do you recall the exact words during that exchange?"
"Yes," Peter answered, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to recite dialogue from one of the worst moments of his life.
"Joe's twenty-nine minute guarantee is a promise! I know a promise means nothing to you, Parker, but to me it is serious!" Aziz lectured him angrily, having had enough of his excuses.
"It's serious to me too, Mr. Aziz . . ." Peter replied feebly, knowing that he had no credibility left with his boss.
"You're fired!" Aziz declared, reluctant to let him go when he was so short-handed, but fed up with his unreliability.
"Give me another chance." Peter begged, trying to stave off losing his fifth job in as many months.
"No more chances! You're fired . . . FIRED!" And to emphasize the point, Aziz pulled the Joe's Pizza logo off Peter's helmet.
Outwardly, Peter was calm and collected. Inwardly, he was struggling to keep from breaking down on the witness stand. Murdock did not yell at him or treat him rudely, but the attorney's methodical, surgical questioning bore into him like a laser beam, and left him feeling absolutely humiliated at having to experience once again the shame and disgrace he felt when, for the umpteenth time, he'd let down somebody who depended on him. Am I the one on trial here? he thought.
Even Aziz felt unnerved watching Peter testify. This was as unpleasant for him as it was for his former employee. He leaned over toward Foggy Nelson.
"Do you really have to put him through all that again?" he whispered in Foggy's ear, worried that Peter might turn against him.
Foggy turned to his client and said, not unsympathetically, "Matt knows what he's doing, believe me. Trust us."
None of this was lost on Matt Murdock. He literally felt Peter's and Aziz's pain at being forced to relive that day, and really felt bad about having to drag Peter through the mud like this. He was obviously a sensitive kid who hated dwelling on past failures. But Peter was turning out to be a godsend of a witness, answering questions about a difficult personal setback with poise and dignity. The detail with which Peter described his ordeal left no doubt that he was telling the truth. And with each response, he enhanced his stature and elevated his credibility in the eyes of the judge, which was exactly what Matt needed to have happen in order to turn the tide in his client's favor.
Matt suddenly looked toward a window. The bells from a distant church signaled that it was eleven o'clock. To Matt, it sounded like the church was right outside.
Figuring that Peter needed a break, he asked the judge, "Your Honor, may we have a short recess?"
"How long, Mr. Murdock?"
"Five minutes."
"Okay," said Judge Lefkowitz. We'll take five minutes." He banged his gavel. The court reporter immediately stopped transcribing.
Matt turned back to face Peter, an expression of compassion behind his sunglasses. "I know how difficult this must be for you," he said kindly, "but try and hang in there just a little longer, okay?"
"Sure . . . thanks." Peter responded, grateful that Murdock was sensitive enough to appreciate the emotional toll that this hearing was taking on him.
The judge, meanwhile, had taken a bathroom break, and when he returned, the court reconvened.
"Is there anything else that you would like to add?" Matt asked Peter.
"Yes Mr. Murdock," he answered, looking straight at Aziz, "I would." Peter knew the right thing to do without having to be reminded. True, he deeply resented Aziz for firing him without ever acknowledging how close he came to making an impossible delivery. But after what happened to Uncle Ben, he dreaded the karma that would surely be visited upon Aunt May or Mary Jane if he ever tried to seek retribution against anybody, ever again.
"At the time, I was pissed off that Mr. Aziz let me go when I was really desperate for cash. But with the benefit of hindsight, and reflection, it's obvious that if I were in Mr. Aziz's place, and I had an employee who was showing up late and giving me a boatload of excuses, I would have done the exact same thing. He'd given me plenty of chances to get it right."
Every head in the courtroom turned toward him. Peter felt more confident, more sure of himself as he accepted responsibility for what had occurred that day. He was articulate and compelling, but not overbearing. Murdock's questioning had turned out to be therapeutic—it had gotten him over the pain of revisiting a very dark chapter in his life. He could now talk about what had happened without feeling anger, bitterness, or resentment.
Peter turned to his right and addressed the judge directly. "Your Honor, I've only known Mr. Aziz a short time, but I can say without hesitating that he is a decent, honest, hardworking American-to-be who just wants to do right by his customers and take care of his family. Not once did I ever hear him say anything bad about the United States or its leaders. It is inconceivable that Mr. Aziz could be a terrorist, support terrorism, or be sympathetic to their cause." As he finished, he saw Aziz beaming at him.
The judge's heartbeat told Matt Murdock that Peter had won the judge over with his quiet dignity, sincere convictions, and grace under fire. Even Foggy, that professional pessimist, was starting to believe. However, Matt kept his face neutral, knowing that they were not out of the woods yet. Peter had yet to be cross-examined, and Kay was one of the best.
"I pass the witness." Matt said, wearing the facial expressions of a high-states poker player.
Kay was thrown. He did not expect Parker to be such a compelling rebuttal witness, and it was too late to object to the admissibility of his testimony. Sensing that the case he had so meticulously constructed for the government was starting to crumble, he frantically combed through the pages and pages of notes that he and his two assistants had made during Peter's direct testimony, looking for any weak link in his story, any opening that could be exploited.
He could find only one. "Mr. Parker," Kay said, trying desperately not to sound like the heavy in this drama, "could you elaborate for the court on how it took you only ten minutes to get up to the Woolworth Building, but a whole hour and a half to get back?"
"Objection!" Franklin Nelson shouted. "Relevance."
"Your honor, the witness's answer may have a bearing on his credibility." Kay was not going to back down. The government's entire case was on the line.
"I'll allow it." Judge Lefkowitz said.
It was a moment that Peter had dreaded, and had wanted to avoid at all costs . . . being legally obligated to answer questions that could compromise his secret identity. The fibs he'd told Mary Jane during the last two years would not cut it here. If he lied under oath, he would open himself up to a charge of perjury and wind up going to prison. But if he told the truth, he and Mary Jane would be crushed under an avalanche of publicity and targeted by every scumbag he'd nailed over the years.
Doing what he had to do in order to protect himself and M.J., Peter drew a deep breath and said smoothly "I wasn't in too much of a hurry to tell Mr. Aziz that I'd just given away a hundred and fifty dollars worth of pizza." He did not tell the truth, but neither did he lie. In essence, he had answered the question by not answering it.
The exchange between Peter and Kay got a chuckle out of the normally stern judge. "Satisfied, Mr. Kay?" he asked, amused.
"Yes, Your Honor," a dejected Kay replied, knowing that he was only one or two moves away from being check-mated. He reluctantly conceded Peter's veracity.
"Very well," the judge said. "The witness is excused."
But Matt wanted to hold Peter in reserve, just in case he had a problem with his upcoming cross-examination of Hagdabi and the other government witnesses. "Your Honor, I request that Mr. Parker remain in the courtroom, in the event his rebuttal testimony is needed."
"No objection Your Honor." Kay said.
"Very well," Judge Lefkowitz replied, repeating what was turning out to be his stock phrase. To Peter he said, "Please have a seat in the back."
"Yes, Your Honor." As Peter left the witness stand, Matt's eyebrows furrowed, and a look of genuine surprise played across his face. Parker's heartbeat fluttered wildly when he explained why it took him so long to get back to Joe's. The question was so innocuous, and outwardly, Peter's demeanor did not change. But his heartbeat spiked as he gave his answer and returned to normal afterwards. In Matt's long experience with such matters, it was a sure sign that Peter was hiding something. For the life of him, Matt couldn't imagine what it was. But he wasn't about to impeach the witness whose testimony had just demolished the government's case against his client.
"Your Honor," Matt said, getting ready to put the icing on the cake, "at this time, we would like to recall Mr. Hagdabi for cross-examination. During the brief interval that followed, he made his way back to the defense table and whispered something in his partner's ear. Foggy immediately opened up a blue binder containing notes written in Braille. Murdock ran his fingers over the papers and quickly returned to his position in front of the witness box as the first of the government's witnesses against Aziz was escorted back into the courtroom.
"Mr. Hagdabi, for the record, can you please repeat the answers that you gave to Mr. Kay concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Aziz on the afternoon of March 4th?"
"Mr. Aziz was standing in front of a convenience store on the corner of 48th Street and Eighth Avenue."
Peter had to beat back the urge to shout, "He's lying!" But Matt Murdock already had the situation well in hand.
"Mr. Hagdabi," he asked slowly, in the iciest voice he could muster, "do you know what the penalty is for perjury?"
Go get 'em Matt! Peter said silently as he found himself rooting for Murdock. He was very impressed by the blind lawyer's courtroom tactics. By putting Peter on the stand before cross-examining the witness for the other side, Murdock had established beyond doubt where Aziz had been that day, and had set a trap for anyone who told a contrary story. It worked brilliantly, judging from the highly agitated look on Hagdabi's face, and the highly skeptical expression on the judge's.
"I don't understand, sir. I've told you the truth." Hagdabi said, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Under 18 United States Code Section 1621, if you are convicted of lying under oath, you could be put in prison for five years," Matt informed the witness sternly. "If I were you, I would get my story straight."
"Objection, Your Honor!" Kay was on his feet, realizing that he had to do something to salvage his case. "Would you please direct counsel not to intimidate the witness?"
"I'll allow the question." Judge Lefkowitz said, "but tone it down a bit, will you, Mr. Murdock?"
"Yes Your Honor," Murdock replied humbly. Turning back to face the witness he said, "Well, Mr. Hagdabi?" He did little to conceal his annoyance that this lying low life had the nerve to persist in wasting the court's time, and his.
Not bad, for a blind guy, Peter thought, watching in utter amazement as Hagdabi melted under Matt Murdock's brutal cross-examination as quickly as ice on a Summer day. "Uh . . . um . . . I'm not really sure it was Aziz," Hagdabi stammered. "I didn't get as clear a view as I originally believed. Maybe it was somebody else."
"I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor." Murdock said, confident that victory was his.
"Your witness Mr. Kay?" said the judge.
Kay quickly realized the futility of trying to rehabilitate Hagdabi. But he had one last card up his sleeve. It was a long shot, but if he played it, he'd be able to sleep well that night, knowing that he'd given it his best shot.
"Your honor," he said in a conciliatory manner, "the Government will save the court's time by conceding that Mr. Hagdabi, Mr. D'Villiers, and Mr. Giscard are . . . less than reliable witnesses. At this time, however, we would like to introduce an affidavit from an intelligence operative in the employ of the Central Intelligence Agency. This individual stated that he observed the defendant in London with . . ."
Franklin Nelson grinned. He knew what was coming, having thoroughly researched the legal issue that the government was about to raise. And he was ready for it. "Objection!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "Neither Mr. Murdock nor myself were ever notified of the presence of this document during discovery. As this court knows, the use of secret evidence in deportation proceedings has been declared unconstitutional in United States v. Kiareldeen."
"Sustained," said the judge. He didn't bother to wait for Kay's response.
"But Your Honor," Kay protested, "national security considerations override. . ."
"SUSTAINED!" roared the judge, glaring at the hapless civil servant. He was very angry that the government would try to subvert the Constitution by resorting to such deplorable tactics. Even Peter was startled, nearly jumping out of his seat as the wrath of Bye Bye Lefkowitz was put on full display.
"The government rests, Your Honor," Kay said, dejected, shrinking back into his chair. He'd been thoroughly trounced by a blind man, and he knew it.
"The defense rests," repeated Matt Murdock, barely able to conceal the triumph in his voice.
At that moment, Peter's spider-sense suddenly went off. Not intensely, but enough to slow things down and prompt him to turn around. Someone seated behind him suddenly got up and was leaving the courtroom, talking into a cell phone . . . in a foreign language.
Matt Murdock too, heard the cell phone conversation . . . all the way from the defense table. The conversation was in Arabic, and although Matt did not understand the language, he knew that the caller was highly agitated, and that he appeared to be giving some kind of order.
Their near-simultaneous reactions subsided as the judge started speaking again.
"Does either party wish to make a closing statement?" the judge asked.
Neither party did.
"Very well then," replied the judge. "I will issue my ruling from the bench. I find that the government failed to prove that Mr. Rahi Aziz was the individual that was observed at the corner of 48th Street and Eighth Avenue on March 4, 2004. In particular, I find the testimony of the defense witness to be more credible and plausible than that of the government's witnesses. Therefore, this court finds in favor of the defendant, Rahi Aziz. The charges against Mr. Aziz are dismissed, and Mr. Aziz is free to go." And with that ruling, "Bye Bye" Lefkowitz overcame his reputation.
Aziz wept as he jumped up and threw his arms around each of his attorneys, thanking them profusely. But Judge Lefkowitz wasn't finished yet. With a sympathetic smile on his face, he continued as Aziz hugged his wife and children. "Mr. Aziz, on behalf of the United States Department of Justice, I sincerely apologize for the ordeal that you were put through, and I will recommend that your application for United States citizenship be expedited as soon as possible."
"Thank you so very, very much, Your Honor," Aziz said through his tears. He turned around, looking for the ex-employee who had just saved his hide. "Parker! . . . Peter! . . . Peter Parker!" he shouted.
But Peter was already out the door and heading toward the elevator. The only things that were on his mind at that moment were Mary Jane and his upcoming finals, in that order. He turned around at hearing his name called. Aziz was pushing his way through the crowd, trying to reach him. His family and his attorneys were right behind him.
They all reached the elevator at the same time. Aziz embraced Peter and kissed him on both cheeks as elevator door opened.
"Congratulations, Mr. Aziz." Peter said, not unkindly. "I'm happy for you."
"Thank you Peter . . . thank you! You saved my life."
"Well I . . . I just did what I had to do, that's all." Peter responded as he shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed at all the fuss Aziz was making over him. All he did was tell the truth, which he would have done whether he was under oath or not. But he would shortly find out what a hero he truly was that day.
"Mr. Aziz's is quite right. You did save his life, literally," said a voice behind them. It was Matt Murdock, who, with Franklin Nelson, and Aziz's family, had managed to squeeze into the elevator just before the doors closed.
"How?" Peter asked, his curiosity piqued.
Matt Murdock hated being in crowded elevators. With so many people packed together, their heartbeats sounded like firecrackers going off. It was murder on his ears. He and Peter were practically sandwiched together. Up this close, Peter's heartbeat sounded more like cannon fire, boom BOOM . . . boom BOOM. . . But he still managed to hold his own, knowing that he would not have to endure this torture for more than thirty seconds.
"Mr. Aziz was charged with religious crimes in his home country, including speaking out in favor of women's rights," Matt explained. "He'd been tried and sentenced to death in absentia by a religious court. Fortunately, he got out before the authorities could arrest him. Had he been deported, he would have been tortured and executed." He smiled in spite of the assault on his ears. "Again, I'm sorry for bringing up so many unpleasant memories, but we needed you to describe what happened that day in enough detail to discredit anything their witnesses might say. And you did that."
"You were fantastic!" Nelson chimed in as the elevator doors opened to the lobby, his face flush with excitement at having won before the infamous Bye Bye Lefkowitz.
Peter was not quite sure of how he felt at that moment. Matt Murdock had made him feel like a hero, or more precisely, made Peter Parker feel like the hero. After all, it was Peter, not Spider-Man, who saved the life of his former boss. He began to think, perhaps for the first time, that maybe he didn't have to don a costume to do heroic deeds. At the same time, he was deeply impressed by the performance of Aziz's attorneys during the hearing. Even Nelson, whom he initially regarded as a bumbler, came through with a key interception when he shot down that secret evidence argument. If he ever had a legal problem, he wouldn't hesitate to call these guys.
Peter's thoughts were interrupted by his ex-boss, who was still on cloud nine. "Peter, what can I say. I'm really sorry that I fired you." Aziz said to him as they passed through the revolving door and outside into the plaza. "I'll give you your job back, today!"
"Thank's Mr. Aziz, I really appreciate it," Peter told him a little sheepishly as he started to look around for the bus stop. "But I'm not really cut out for the pizza business."
Aziz pulled a large wad of tens and twenties out of his pocket and handed them to Foggy. "Here's the rest of my fee. Seven hundred dollars."
But with a single motion that Peter thought impossible for a blind man, Matt intercepted the money. "Won't you be needing this to pay your bills?" He asked sympathetically as he glanced toward his client's wife and kids.
"I'll manage." Aziz responded. He sounded confident and assured. But his irregular heartbeat told Matt Murdock a different story.
"We can't take this now," Matt said, handing the money back to Aziz. "Take care of your family first. You can pay us when you're able to."
"Allah be praised!" said Aziz, his gratitude evident. "I love America!"
"Matt, what are you doing?" Foggy said softly, gritting his teeth as he smiled.
Matt whacked him on the leg with is cane. Not too hard, but just enough to startle him.
"Oww." Foggy moaned. He got the message. "Pay us when you can," he echoed, "but try not to take too long."
"Next month!" Aziz promised.
This spontaneous act of generosity made another deep impression on Peter. How many lawyers would actually take a rain check on their fees? Without really knowing why, he began to feel a profound sense of kinship with Matt Murdock. Like him, Murdock fought hard for the helpless and the downtrodden without asking anything in return. And from what Peter had seen in court today, Murdock was superb at what he did, a battle-hardened warrior fighting for justice. He was definitely somebody that Peter could relate to.
And after that incident with the money, he began to wonder if Matt Murdock was really blind—he certainly didn't carry himself like a blind man. The feeling he had of having seen Murdock before persisted. If only he could remember where. . .
All of a sudden, the hustle and bustle of the plaza slowed down, almost to a complete stop. The cars on the street and pedestrians in and around the plaza were nearly frozen . . . and silent. . . except for an approaching motorcycle.
Matt was also sure that he'd previously crossed paths with Peter Parker. He was concentrating hard, struggling to remember. But before he could finish putting the puzzle pieces together, he saw Parker's body stiffen, his eyes bulge, and his head twist around far faster than should have been possible for a human being. A fraction of a second later, he too heard a motorcycle bearing down on them. But he also detected something that Peter did not . . . the unmistakable click of a gun safety being turned off.
Peter and Matt both knew, instantaneously, what was about to happen. For a fraction of a second, the two uncostumed vigilantes turned to face each other as subconscious communication passed between them. Then, acting as one, they leaped into action.