[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qDnfp5z.png[/img][/center] [b]Federal Plaza Manhattan[/b] "Are we doing this or what?" "Let me start recording." I heard the digital tone of the recorder on the table. It echoed off the bare brick walls of the room. Besides myself and my interviewer, the only other things in this room I could sense were two chairs and a table, all of them bolted down to the floor. "For the record," he said into the recorder. "It is May 22nd, 2018. This interview is being conducted by me, Assistant US Attorney Franklin Nelson. FBI Special Agent in Charge Patrick Van Ness is in observation in the adjacent room. He will be in during the course of the interview, and will always announce his presence." There was a pause. "State you name, please." "Matthew Michael Murdock," I said. "And you have declined to have an attorney present with you, Mr. Murdock?" "What good what it do, Foggy?" I asked with a laugh. "I don't need a second opinion to tell me I'm screwed." "These are very serious charges, Matt." Foggy dropped the formality of the Mr. Murdock shtick. It was either to make me feel more at ease or himself, I couldn't tell. "Racketeering, money laundering, arms trafficking, drug trafficking, [i]human[/i] trafficking. Jesus, Matt." "Keep going, Foggy. I'm catholic. Shame feels good." "Tell the truth and shame the devil," said Foggy. "And speaking of the devil. What do you know about him?" I smirked. Subtle, Foggy. Very subtle. "More than most people. I'm the Devil, and he's me." Foggy's heart started to race. I could smell sweat starting to form on his forehead. "What?" he asked. "It's a long story..." --- [b]Six Months Earlier Brooklyn 3:19 PM[/b] "You son of a bitch!" Arthur Blackwood, president of the Crusaders Mortorcycle Club, hit me with a right cross to the jaw. It hit flush and spun me around. I hit the floor of the courtroom hard, spitting blood. Judge Newton slammed the gavel down and a phalanx of deputies rushed into the courtroom to get Blackwood out of there. I felt hands on my back, people helping me up. Across the room, the jury was stunned into silence by what they had just seen. "Clear the courtroom," Newton shouted. "Clear the gallery, get the jury out of here!" Five minutes later, I sat at the defense table with a paper towel on my mouth. Eric Sanchez, Deputy DA representing the state, sat at the prosecution's table while the judge dictated his decision. "After the jury witnessed the defendant attack his attorney, I have no choice but to declare a mistrial." Sanchez rose to argue, but stopped short thanks to a withering look from the judge. "Mr. Sanchez, I understand what a gigantic pain in the ass that is, but there is no way in hell the jury can remain impartial after seeing that. They're tainted. We go back to voir dire and pick a new jury. A new trial would also mean a delay because Mr. Blackwood would need a new attorney, because he seems to have severed ties with Mr. Murdock in a dramatic fashion." "I'll still rep him, your honor," I said standing. "He'll cool down." "Be that as it may, I recommend you two work out a compromise or a plea deal. Mr. Murdock gets paid by the hour, but Mr. Sanchez and I are politicians. I don't want to cost the good people of New York anymore money on another trial. The court expects a decision on it shortly." Newton left the bench and disappeared into his chambers behind the courtroom. I could feel Sanchez's eyes on me even before he spoke. "Blackwood pleads to all counts. He gets a maximum of ten years, with time served and good behavior he'd be out in five." "Bull," I said, standing. "The state throws out the gun charge and reckless mayhem charge, Blackwood pleads to simple agg. assault and gets two years." "No way, Murdock," Sanchez started to pack his briefcase. "With time served, that means he could be out in six months. That man is a menace, my boss will rip my head off if I bring her this deal." "Imagine what she'd do if you lost a trial," I replied. "Let's not forget, Eric, I already heard all the evidence the state plans to use against my client in the next go-round. It's gonna at least six months before we're back in here, that's six months I got to shoot holes into your case and present my own theories. It was already a shaky bet, I know there were at least two tough not-guilty votes in that jury we just lost. You want to role the dice again?" "You're working awfully hard for a man who just decked you." "Just doing my job," I said sheepishly. "What if I offer this: Agg assault, two years and Blackwood doesn't get credit for time served. He'll have to do at least a year. That's a year he's off the street and the Crusaders are without their president, a year that the feds and your boys in the intelligence unit have to find more dirt and keep him in there." "And a chance for you to get paid to defend him again," Sanchez said. It wasn't a question. "Do we have a deal, counselor?" We shook hands. Sanchez hurried off to let both his supervisors and the judge know there would be no second trial for Arthur Blackwood. I lagged behind. Blackwood wouldn't be thrilled about a year in jail, but it was better than the seven years that he would have gotten if he were convicted. Right before I left the courtroom, I pulled out of my mouth the broken capsule that had been filled with fake blood and dropped it into the garbage can beside the door. Arthur Blackwood may pull his punches, but I never do. ---- [b]St. Patrick's Cathedral Manhattan 6:21 PM[/b] "I'll be right back.' Dakota North, my driver/investigator/bodyguard, said that would be fine as I stepped out of the idling car and into the church I had twenty grand in my coat pocket. The cash was from the Crusaders for the Blackwood trial, as well as my regular retainer for doing the club's work. It was drafty in St. Patrick's, like it always is this time of year. T Going into churches always made me think about my mother. Maggie Murdock was like a ghost. I had no idea where she was, and I often wondered what she was doing if she were still alive. I thought many times over the years about getting Dakota to track her down, but I always came up short at the last minute. The twenty grand in my jacket didn't feel that big. It was just two hundred one hundred dollar bills bundled into twenty neat thousand dollar packets. The cash felt light enough when I took it out of my jacket and stuck it in the poor box. They say all the good Catholics tithe ten percent. By that logic, I had to be a great one. Before I left I asked a priest to light a candle for my mother. Maybe it was good to never meet her. That way she could be that devout catholic woman I knew all those years ago. She could never be corrupted like my dad was. She was frozen in time as a good woman. A good woman who would never have to witness what her son had become. I made a final prayer and prepared myself to go to work. ---- [b]Red Hook, Brooklyn 11:20 PM[/b] "We don't fuck with drugs we don't make," Mike Klebitz, vice-president of the Crusaders Motorcycle Club, said with a scowl. "We're not errand boys. You want mules go to Washington Heights and get some project niggers. Why the hell should we stick out neck out for you? Because you say you'll pay?" The two mobsters looked at each other. Paulie D'agistino, the underboss of the Campisi Crime Family, rubbed his chin while Joseph Baggato "Joey Bags" stuck his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. "Because we'll pay," Joey Bags started. "And, we both know your club is going under. The days of the outlaw biker gang ain't what they used to be. Your guy, Blackwood, is in the slammer. You're hurting for money, the ATF busts your balls day and night about that little weapons trafficking business you got. Fact of the matter is you need this. You're already making these fucking rides anyway, why not get paid while you're at it? Say yes." Klebitz looked behind him, where three of his fellow bikers sat parked on their motorcycles in the back alley lot. He shuffled his feet and exhaled before finally nodding. "Fine," he said. Suddenly, a sharp whistling noise filled the air. A spinning object flew from the shadows and decked a biker in the forehead. Paulie and Joey pulled pistols from their waistbands at almost the same time the Crusaders did. The two sides looked across the lot for any indication of the voice's owner. "The hell was that?" Paulie asked, looking at Klebitz. "You trying to pull something on me?" "Me? What about you?! You're a goddamn informant or something?!" Out of the shadows, a blur of motion slammed into Joey Bags and knocked him to the ground. Both sides opened fire, Klebitz fell to the ground as bullets fired above him. The figure jumped away before the bullets could reach it. It swung back into the shadows and up onto the roof of the warehouse. [img]https://i.imgur.com/i9820W9.jpg?1[/img] "Red Hook is the Devil's territory!" The Devil jumped into the darkness to fight the gangster as they all opened fire on him.