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Clouds hung low in the sky, the sun a white shine through pale, tumultuous grays as it lit up the world for wakeful eyes to stumble their way through. Matthew saw nothing of white or grey or black - only the licking auburn that formed the fire of his world. He followed the bouncing rays of sound and the smell of sea air. The market had an 'out-back', a loading yard - an in and out for the sellers, the stall-runners. Matthew had gone there first, arriving at ten-to-one - but her perfume wasn't there, and neither was his swordfish. He'd picked up the trail pretty quick though, and had been following it at a leisurely pace ever since. He pressed a small button on the side of his watch. "Thirteen-oh-seven." Good. It would be better if he turned up unexpected.

Unexpected would have been the polite term. Matthew's target - the arms-sometimes-fish dealer - was alerted as he rounded a corner by a gruff, male voice, with a slight tone of incredulity and a heavier tone of a particular...thickness. Certainly not the most charming of hired goons. Matt put on his best naive smile.

"I came to meet you for my earlier purchase at the market but I think I may have been a little late?" He said, stepping forward with his stick tucked under his arm, other arm extended for a handshake. "I was advised you had already packed up. Really itching to get out of the city, huh?"
The dealer gave him a long stare, little warmth in her gaze. She had hoped to fleece the guy out of his cash - [i]honestly, what kinda chump pays in advance[/i] - and get out to her pickup on the other side of the city. And she'd gotten word that [b]he[/b] had lined up a special task for her. Having some blind moron with an idiotic smile come waltzing around the corner...

"I told you, I gotta get outta the city by two. You don't get the fancier fish on damn trout farms, you gotta get out on the boat if you want a good cut. I ain't got time to wait around for some chump who fancies himself some Stevie Ramsay." She gestured to one of the men that was loading up the truck, and pointed at a container; he hefted it and brought it over, setting it at Matthew's feet. Matthew smiled and thanked him, bending at the knees to squat comfortably beside it and unclip the lid.
"What, inspecting?" The dealer asked, a smug chuckle playing on her words as she nudged the man standing behind her, shaking her head slightly.
"I may be blind, but I'm not anosmic." Murdock responded, too quick to catch himself.
"What, you can [i]smell[/i] that it's what you paid for? How about I take it away if you don't trust I'm giving you the right product?" 
"My apologies. You'd be surprised how the brain compensates with the other four. It's wonderful. And here -" he retrieved his wallet from his jacket pocket, opening it up and fishing out a few more crisp notes - "a tip. Ostensibly for the cuts, but also to say sorry for the insult. I didn't mean to cast any criticism."

The dealer walked towards him, reaching out the take the money. She stared at Matthew as she stuffed the bills into her shirt pocket, feeling like they were locking gazes despite his tinted glasses, or his blindness. 
"Have you nearly finished loading up?" Matthew asked, trying to dispel the tension. "You sound like you're in a hurry. Important appointment?"
The dealer frowned. "I told you. Out of the city by two. On the boat. Catching more fish. Come back here to sell it. You not believe me?"
"Not at all. Just making light conversation. You know which way you're headed? Best way out toward the coast is-"
"I know. Which [i]damn[/i] way. I'm going. Who do you think I am? Who do you think [i]you[/i] are?"
Matthew smiled. "I just came to get my fish."
"You got it. Now get goin'. Don't need to be tripping over your ass while my boys are loading up."
Matthew picked up the crate, hoisting it under one arm as he put his stick back in the other hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. I hope to see you again."

He left the dealer to her business - certainly [i]not[/i] catching fish. He returned the container to the taxi he had left waiting, and then left it waiting a bit longer as he made his way back, careful to remain quiet and unseen, taking a different, slightly longer route. He quickly found himself at a different corner, hidden from view, listening to the dealer and her men load up the remaining crates. Some of them, he could tell as they were lifted, were filled with ice and fish - the others, foam, encasing weapons and tactical equipment. He memorized voice patterns, speech inflections; and when the truck was started up, shifting into gear as it slowly rumbled to life and the wheels gripped the tarmac to take it away from the docks, he memorized that too. Voices, perfume, sea-salt and a truck's engine. It was thin, he mused as he made his way back to the cab, thin as all the clean cops spread over Hell's Kitchen. But it would do for the Devil. He would find her this evening, one way or another. And he'd find out what she knew about...[b]him.[/b]