The Guilty Party
Part 9
Matt heard the creaking of the wagon wheels two full minutes before the door buzzer went off and Karen jumped up. She paused just inside the doorway of Matt’s office, where he and Foggy were discussing the Johnson case, and announced, “The food is here. Matt, can you help me carry it up the stairs?”
“Sure,” he said, standing up, but Foggy stood up as well. “Remember how you twisted your knee? I’ll do it.”
“You twisted your knee, Matt?”
“Yeah, no big deal. I’ll set the table, then.” Matt had hoped his leg would feel better after a morning’s rest, but moving still hurt. He limped over to the office kitchen and pulled out the picnic bag from where Karen had stashed it, then went to the conference room to set out the plates and cutlery.
“I don’t get it,” Foggy said as he and Karen came back up with two large cardboard boxes. “We work for food now?”
“We couldn’t exactly turn her away. Mrs Zepeda was a friend of Mrs Cardenas,” Karen explained. “Just put that here, Foggy.”
“Who?”
Karen hesitated, and Matt tried to change the subject. He reached for the bigger of the two boxes, and carefully pulled out the blanket that was insulating the contents. “What’s on the menu for to-day?”
“I think she said chili con carne,” Foggy said, reaching around Matt’s hands to remove the dish from the box, “but that doesn’t smell like any chili I’ve ever had.”
“Olla de carne,” Karen corrected him. “And over here, cajeta de coco.”
“Which looks like a bit like fudge,” Foggy added. “Or truffles. Or fudgey truffles.”
“Coconut fudge,” Matt said, and extended his plate. “Here, Foggy, can you dish up some for me?”
“Truffles or this hola de carne?”
“Olla de carne, please, and it basically means beef stew. Hey, Karen, did Foggy ever tell you that he took Punjabi when he should have taken Spanish instead?”
“Yes, and he also told me why you took Spanish,” Karen retorted with a smile.
“So … does Mrs Zepeda bring us lunch every day?” Foggy asked. He filled Matt’s plate and handed it back, tapping it lightly against the back of Matt’s outstretched hand so that Matt knew where to reach for it.
“No, just Tuesdays and Fridays,” Matt said.
“She wanted to bring some every day for a month,” Karen put in, taking her own, smaller, portion. “But you and Matt bargained her down.”
“She can’t afford to feed us every day,” Matt remembered. “Especially not if she’s going to splurge on special ingredients.”
“Did you know she brought this stuff in a little red wagon?” Foggy asked. “My dad had a wagon just like that when he was a kid. I saw it in pictures, but I didn’t know they made them anymore.”
“And she pulls it all the way here, with all this food in it, from her apartment,” Karen added. “It seems like such a long way for a little old lady, but she insists. She won’t even come upstairs and eat with us.”
“Do you think she went home?” Foggy asked, but Karen didn’t have an answer. Matt could tell by the sound of the wagon wheels that Mrs Zepeda had not gone home, but had simply gone around to the alley to eat her own lunch, or maybe just to wait out of sight. Instead, he remarked, “It tastes really good.”
“Mmm, I love the spices in this,” Karen agreed, then said suddenly, “Oh! Speaking of spices, did you guys see that new Daredevil latte at Beananza?”
“Foggy thought it might have tabasco sauce in it,” Matt replied, catching Karen in the act of drinking and making her snort liquid through her nose.
“I only said that tabasco sounded devilishly spicy,” Foggy defended himself, laughing as well.
Karen blew her nose and tucked the tissue away, still giggling weakly. “Anyway, that reminds me, Daredevil’s got his own fanclub. I saw it on the internet this morning.”
Matt felt his heart sink, and searched frantically for a way to cut off conversation about Daredevil in front of Foggy, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Daredevil?” Foggy asked.
“Oh, my g-d, you don’t remember, do you?” Karen stood up. “I’ll show you.”
She got something from her desk, then came back to the conference room with her laptop. “Here, see? He goes around Hell’s Kitchen at night, fighting crime, beating up the bad guys, protecting the innocent. He helped us take down Fisk – Wilson Fisk. He was like this big crime lord, racketeering, trying to juggle funds into his own pocket, trying to evict people from their rent-controlled apartments so that he could tear them down and put up expensive condominiums in their place, stuff like that.”
“So this Daredevil is basically a vigilante?” Foggy asked. He sounded incredulous, and Matt winced as he remembered similar words from his friend. “And he’s got a fanclub?”
“Yeah, and it’s not just teenaged girls, either. Well, that might be how it started out, once they saw those pictures of him in the newspaper, but now everybody’s getting into it. There’s a high school chapter, various college chapters, even a desperate housewives chapter. That’s what they call themselves, anyway.”
“Karen,” Matt said suspiciously. “Are you a member?”
She smiled a little with her voice. “How can I be a member when I only saw the site this morning and absolutely positively did not linger over it? He saved my life once, yeah, and you could call me a fan, but I haven’t registered or anything.”
Matt was sure he could hear a “yet” at the end of her little speech.
“So, you won’t be part of the Daredevil Watch Party this weekend?” Foggy asked.
“What is a Daredevil Watch Party?” Matt asked.
“Daredevil Watch Party,” Foggy read out. “We meet up at Beananza at eight p.m. on Saturday night for our new favourite drink – Daredevil Lattes, of course – and to show each other our signs and discuss our strategies. At nine p.m. we’ll roam across the city rooftops and keep an eye out for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!”
Matt groaned audibly.
“It’s so sweet,” Karen said. “Some of them have already posted pictures of the signs that they’ll be setting up.“
“Daredevil, Do You Dare to Kiss Me?” That was Foggy.
“I like this one – Parkour Into My Arms.”
“Daredevil Appreciation Station – Cookies, Milk, And A Kiss?” But Foggy wasn’t amused anymore; he was starting to sound angry. “What do they think he is – Santa Claus?”
“He’s definitely fitter than Santa Claus,” Karen said. “Look, somebody posted that they’ve bought night vision goggles just for the occasion.”
“Night vision goggles? Just to get a glimpse of a vigilante running around in a skintight suit with stupid little horns? And what will they do if they see him? Chase him down for a selfie? What if they get mixed up in something? I mean, look at this footage, somebody’s shooting at him!” Abruptly, Foggy stood up from the table. ”These girls go running up to him, they could get hurt, dammit!”
He slammed his open hand into the wall by the door, and Matt felt Karen jump.
“Settle down, Foggy, it’s just a bit of fun,” she said shakily.
“They’ve all got cameras, telescopes, binoculars, and—and night vision goggles!” Foggy went on, getting louder and more agitated. “What if they see something they’re not supposed to, like in that Hitchcock film? They post it online and somebody comes after them and they get killed!”
That hadn’t occurred to Matt, but he put it aside to worry about later. “Foggy, it’s all right, calm down.”
“No!” Foggy shouted. “No! This is not right, Matt! Bad enough this guy thinks he can take the law into his own hands, now he’s putting everybody in Hell’s Kitchen in danger! Anybody who gets too close to Daredevil should be arrested and put into solitary confinement for their own protection!”
Matt felt as though he’d been shot in the heart with a bullet full of guilt, and for a moment, he sat there, too stunned to react. Was Foggy regaining his memories?
“Foggy!” Karen exclaimed. “Are you even listening to yourself?”
Foggy certainly wasn’t listening to Karen as he hit the wall again. The violence knocked something loose in Matt; he jumped up and grabbed Foggy’s arm. “Foggy. Foggy, you wanna hit something, hit me, not the wall. Hit me, Foggy.”
Foggy tried to free himself, but Matt’s grip was stronger as he pulled his friend around to face him. “Come on, Foggy,” he said. “I’m not made of glass, I can take it. You can hit me.”
“Why would I want to hit you?” Foggy demanded. “You’re not Daredevil!”
Matt was too used to secrecy to immediately seize the opportunity for revelation, and said instead, “And neither is that wall, Foggy. Bruises heal on their own, but if you knock out the light switch, we’ll have to pay for an electrician.”
“No!” Karen cried. “No hitting, no fighting, just stop it, please!”
“I’m not fighting,” Foggy said, slumping in defeat. “Fuck. Sorry, Karen. Sorry, Matt. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing – I – sorry.”
He sank back into his chair, and after a moment, Matt sat down as well. “It’s all right, Foggy, your brain is doing weird things right now.”
“Maybe you should try counselling?” Karen suggested in a hesitant voice. “Some sort of hypnosis, try to get your memories back?”
“Maybe I don’t want my memories back,” Foggy said slowly, and Matt felt himself freeze again as Foggy went on, “I Googled amnesia before Mr Johnson came, and one of the causes can be some kind of traumatic incident.”
“You mean something traumatic happened to you? What –?” There was a hitch to Karen’s voice that was all too familiar, the same kind of underlying tone that Matt had heard most clearly just before they’d taken down Fisk. He thought it had faded over time, but it had come back full force.
“I don’t know,” Foggy said. “And maybe this is my brain’s way of saying I don’t want to know.”
“Aren’t you curious?” Karen asked. “Just a little bit?”
“Nope, don’t think I am,” Foggy said. “Because whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad for my brain to go into lockdown, you know?”
He was right, Matt thought, he was so right, and the knowledge made him feel even worse.
“What would be worse?” Karen mused aloud. “Remembering the trauma, or not remembering?”
“Well, if I ever get my memories back, I’ll let you know,” Foggy said. “But right now, I’d have to say remembering. Because not remembering, yeah, it’s scary and weird, but obviously my brain thinks I really don’t want to know, and … I think I’m okay with it. If you guys help me out whenever I need it, I mean.”
Finally, Matt knew how to react, and smiled in Foggy’s direction. “Of course, Foggy. We’ll do everything we can.”
“We won’t get mad if you get angry again,” Karen said.
“I meant what I said, Foggy, you can hit me anytime you need to,” Matt added.
“Jeeze, Matt, do you have to be such a masochist? The way I felt just now … I could hurt you, man!”
Matt really didn’t think he could, at least not much, but tried not to show it. “Or we can go to Fogwell’s gym and let you hit the punching bag. I know the owner, he’ll let us in any time.”
“Now that sounds more like it.”
“All you have to do is tell me. Just try to leave the office in one piece, okay?”
“And you can have a hug whenever you want,” Karen volunteered.
“Hey, maybe I should loose my memory more often,” Foggy said, standing up with his arms outstretched. As they embraced, he teased, “Or maybe I did, and I just don’t remember.”
Go to Part 10
“Sure,” he said, standing up, but Foggy stood up as well. “Remember how you twisted your knee? I’ll do it.”
“You twisted your knee, Matt?”
“Yeah, no big deal. I’ll set the table, then.” Matt had hoped his leg would feel better after a morning’s rest, but moving still hurt. He limped over to the office kitchen and pulled out the picnic bag from where Karen had stashed it, then went to the conference room to set out the plates and cutlery.
“I don’t get it,” Foggy said as he and Karen came back up with two large cardboard boxes. “We work for food now?”
“We couldn’t exactly turn her away. Mrs Zepeda was a friend of Mrs Cardenas,” Karen explained. “Just put that here, Foggy.”
“Who?”
Karen hesitated, and Matt tried to change the subject. He reached for the bigger of the two boxes, and carefully pulled out the blanket that was insulating the contents. “What’s on the menu for to-day?”
“I think she said chili con carne,” Foggy said, reaching around Matt’s hands to remove the dish from the box, “but that doesn’t smell like any chili I’ve ever had.”
“Olla de carne,” Karen corrected him. “And over here, cajeta de coco.”
“Which looks like a bit like fudge,” Foggy added. “Or truffles. Or fudgey truffles.”
“Coconut fudge,” Matt said, and extended his plate. “Here, Foggy, can you dish up some for me?”
“Truffles or this hola de carne?”
“Olla de carne, please, and it basically means beef stew. Hey, Karen, did Foggy ever tell you that he took Punjabi when he should have taken Spanish instead?”
“Yes, and he also told me why you took Spanish,” Karen retorted with a smile.
“So … does Mrs Zepeda bring us lunch every day?” Foggy asked. He filled Matt’s plate and handed it back, tapping it lightly against the back of Matt’s outstretched hand so that Matt knew where to reach for it.
“No, just Tuesdays and Fridays,” Matt said.
“She wanted to bring some every day for a month,” Karen put in, taking her own, smaller, portion. “But you and Matt bargained her down.”
“She can’t afford to feed us every day,” Matt remembered. “Especially not if she’s going to splurge on special ingredients.”
“Did you know she brought this stuff in a little red wagon?” Foggy asked. “My dad had a wagon just like that when he was a kid. I saw it in pictures, but I didn’t know they made them anymore.”
“And she pulls it all the way here, with all this food in it, from her apartment,” Karen added. “It seems like such a long way for a little old lady, but she insists. She won’t even come upstairs and eat with us.”
“Do you think she went home?” Foggy asked, but Karen didn’t have an answer. Matt could tell by the sound of the wagon wheels that Mrs Zepeda had not gone home, but had simply gone around to the alley to eat her own lunch, or maybe just to wait out of sight. Instead, he remarked, “It tastes really good.”
“Mmm, I love the spices in this,” Karen agreed, then said suddenly, “Oh! Speaking of spices, did you guys see that new Daredevil latte at Beananza?”
“Foggy thought it might have tabasco sauce in it,” Matt replied, catching Karen in the act of drinking and making her snort liquid through her nose.
“I only said that tabasco sounded devilishly spicy,” Foggy defended himself, laughing as well.
Karen blew her nose and tucked the tissue away, still giggling weakly. “Anyway, that reminds me, Daredevil’s got his own fanclub. I saw it on the internet this morning.”
Matt felt his heart sink, and searched frantically for a way to cut off conversation about Daredevil in front of Foggy, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Daredevil?” Foggy asked.
“Oh, my g-d, you don’t remember, do you?” Karen stood up. “I’ll show you.”
She got something from her desk, then came back to the conference room with her laptop. “Here, see? He goes around Hell’s Kitchen at night, fighting crime, beating up the bad guys, protecting the innocent. He helped us take down Fisk – Wilson Fisk. He was like this big crime lord, racketeering, trying to juggle funds into his own pocket, trying to evict people from their rent-controlled apartments so that he could tear them down and put up expensive condominiums in their place, stuff like that.”
“So this Daredevil is basically a vigilante?” Foggy asked. He sounded incredulous, and Matt winced as he remembered similar words from his friend. “And he’s got a fanclub?”
“Yeah, and it’s not just teenaged girls, either. Well, that might be how it started out, once they saw those pictures of him in the newspaper, but now everybody’s getting into it. There’s a high school chapter, various college chapters, even a desperate housewives chapter. That’s what they call themselves, anyway.”
“Karen,” Matt said suspiciously. “Are you a member?”
She smiled a little with her voice. “How can I be a member when I only saw the site this morning and absolutely positively did not linger over it? He saved my life once, yeah, and you could call me a fan, but I haven’t registered or anything.”
Matt was sure he could hear a “yet” at the end of her little speech.
“So, you won’t be part of the Daredevil Watch Party this weekend?” Foggy asked.
“What is a Daredevil Watch Party?” Matt asked.
“Daredevil Watch Party,” Foggy read out. “We meet up at Beananza at eight p.m. on Saturday night for our new favourite drink – Daredevil Lattes, of course – and to show each other our signs and discuss our strategies. At nine p.m. we’ll roam across the city rooftops and keep an eye out for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!”
Matt groaned audibly.
“It’s so sweet,” Karen said. “Some of them have already posted pictures of the signs that they’ll be setting up.“
“Daredevil, Do You Dare to Kiss Me?” That was Foggy.
“I like this one – Parkour Into My Arms.”
“Daredevil Appreciation Station – Cookies, Milk, And A Kiss?” But Foggy wasn’t amused anymore; he was starting to sound angry. “What do they think he is – Santa Claus?”
“He’s definitely fitter than Santa Claus,” Karen said. “Look, somebody posted that they’ve bought night vision goggles just for the occasion.”
“Night vision goggles? Just to get a glimpse of a vigilante running around in a skintight suit with stupid little horns? And what will they do if they see him? Chase him down for a selfie? What if they get mixed up in something? I mean, look at this footage, somebody’s shooting at him!” Abruptly, Foggy stood up from the table. ”These girls go running up to him, they could get hurt, dammit!”
He slammed his open hand into the wall by the door, and Matt felt Karen jump.
“Settle down, Foggy, it’s just a bit of fun,” she said shakily.
“They’ve all got cameras, telescopes, binoculars, and—and night vision goggles!” Foggy went on, getting louder and more agitated. “What if they see something they’re not supposed to, like in that Hitchcock film? They post it online and somebody comes after them and they get killed!”
That hadn’t occurred to Matt, but he put it aside to worry about later. “Foggy, it’s all right, calm down.”
“No!” Foggy shouted. “No! This is not right, Matt! Bad enough this guy thinks he can take the law into his own hands, now he’s putting everybody in Hell’s Kitchen in danger! Anybody who gets too close to Daredevil should be arrested and put into solitary confinement for their own protection!”
Matt felt as though he’d been shot in the heart with a bullet full of guilt, and for a moment, he sat there, too stunned to react. Was Foggy regaining his memories?
“Foggy!” Karen exclaimed. “Are you even listening to yourself?”
Foggy certainly wasn’t listening to Karen as he hit the wall again. The violence knocked something loose in Matt; he jumped up and grabbed Foggy’s arm. “Foggy. Foggy, you wanna hit something, hit me, not the wall. Hit me, Foggy.”
Foggy tried to free himself, but Matt’s grip was stronger as he pulled his friend around to face him. “Come on, Foggy,” he said. “I’m not made of glass, I can take it. You can hit me.”
“Why would I want to hit you?” Foggy demanded. “You’re not Daredevil!”
Matt was too used to secrecy to immediately seize the opportunity for revelation, and said instead, “And neither is that wall, Foggy. Bruises heal on their own, but if you knock out the light switch, we’ll have to pay for an electrician.”
“No!” Karen cried. “No hitting, no fighting, just stop it, please!”
“I’m not fighting,” Foggy said, slumping in defeat. “Fuck. Sorry, Karen. Sorry, Matt. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing – I – sorry.”
He sank back into his chair, and after a moment, Matt sat down as well. “It’s all right, Foggy, your brain is doing weird things right now.”
“Maybe you should try counselling?” Karen suggested in a hesitant voice. “Some sort of hypnosis, try to get your memories back?”
“Maybe I don’t want my memories back,” Foggy said slowly, and Matt felt himself freeze again as Foggy went on, “I Googled amnesia before Mr Johnson came, and one of the causes can be some kind of traumatic incident.”
“You mean something traumatic happened to you? What –?” There was a hitch to Karen’s voice that was all too familiar, the same kind of underlying tone that Matt had heard most clearly just before they’d taken down Fisk. He thought it had faded over time, but it had come back full force.
“I don’t know,” Foggy said. “And maybe this is my brain’s way of saying I don’t want to know.”
“Aren’t you curious?” Karen asked. “Just a little bit?”
“Nope, don’t think I am,” Foggy said. “Because whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad for my brain to go into lockdown, you know?”
He was right, Matt thought, he was so right, and the knowledge made him feel even worse.
“What would be worse?” Karen mused aloud. “Remembering the trauma, or not remembering?”
“Well, if I ever get my memories back, I’ll let you know,” Foggy said. “But right now, I’d have to say remembering. Because not remembering, yeah, it’s scary and weird, but obviously my brain thinks I really don’t want to know, and … I think I’m okay with it. If you guys help me out whenever I need it, I mean.”
Finally, Matt knew how to react, and smiled in Foggy’s direction. “Of course, Foggy. We’ll do everything we can.”
“We won’t get mad if you get angry again,” Karen said.
“I meant what I said, Foggy, you can hit me anytime you need to,” Matt added.
“Jeeze, Matt, do you have to be such a masochist? The way I felt just now … I could hurt you, man!”
Matt really didn’t think he could, at least not much, but tried not to show it. “Or we can go to Fogwell’s gym and let you hit the punching bag. I know the owner, he’ll let us in any time.”
“Now that sounds more like it.”
“All you have to do is tell me. Just try to leave the office in one piece, okay?”
“And you can have a hug whenever you want,” Karen volunteered.
“Hey, maybe I should loose my memory more often,” Foggy said, standing up with his arms outstretched. As they embraced, he teased, “Or maybe I did, and I just don’t remember.”
Go to Part 10