[IC] Heroes For Hire: Crime, Superheroes, Politics, etc.

[Byrd Man]

Part I:
Hope and Change

While there is a lower class, I am in it, while there is a criminal element, I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.
-- Eugene Debs

Harlem

Two cop cars sped down the streets with their blue lights flashing and their sirens going. They were quickly followed by another two and a SWAT van. Luke Cage walked the blue convoy from the sidewalk, his yellow hoodie up and covering his bald head. He knew exactly where the convoy was headed and what their purpose was.

Sometime today, NYPD officer Eric Alderman was going to be acquitted by a New York grand jury. Luke wasn't psychic. He couldn't see the future like a mutant. Luke just knew how the world worked. Alderman was a white police officer who killed Isiah Hamilton, a forty-four-year-old black man, because he said he feared for his life. Hamilton was resisting arrest, but he was also not armed when he was shot dead by Officer Alderman. If viewed on the surface and with all the facts, Alderman would be held responsible in some fashion even if it was manslaughter. But facts seemed to have no place in this case. Alderman killed Hamilton six months ago and the story had been national news ever since. Six months of media spin, media counter-spin, and media scrutinity had twisted the story into a muddled narrative that divided and angered.

The police were for Harlem and the expected outrage at the grand jury decision. Luke knew Harlem and he knew the people there would be pissed. And why wouldn't they? The city was a far cry from the rough and tumble days of the 70's and 80's, and that was due to sheer brute force and over saturation of police. A primarily white police force policing a primarily black neighborhood always led to conflict clash. Hamilton was Harlem born and bred while Alderman lived in far off Rockaway Beach and commuted to work every day. He was just one of thousands of cops that policed neighborhoods they had no stake in. The people of Harlem, Cage included, saw the cops as an occupying force. Another white cop getting off for killing a black man would be too much for some people to take. They'd be angry and they'd want to lash out.

Two more cop cars sped by, blue lights pulsing. Luke spat on the sidewalk and started uptown in the direction they were heading. If the shit was going to pop off, he wanted to be there. White faces with guns calling for peace and order wouldn't work the same way Luke Cage calling for peace would. The grand jury he couldn't influence, but he could at least do some good when the news broke.

-----

Marucs Garvey Community Center
Harlem

"We are scared. We are angry, and we are tired."

Thomas Drayton looked out at the crowd gathered at the rally. It wasn't much, but it was more and more ever since his mayoral campaign started two months ago. The faces in the crowd were still majority black, but more and more hispanic and asian and white people were coming to the rallies to see the man running for mayor.

"Right now, we're awaiting word from a grand jury that will tell us an outcome we already know. A sworn officer for the city of New York took an oath to uphold the laws of the city, and he broke that oath when he killed Isiah Hamilton. And what does he get for taking a human life? What does he get for robbing our community of another black man, a family of a son and a daughter of her father? This officer gets nothing but a slap on the wrist. This is the world that we live in, this is the government we have voted in. It's one that tolerates the idea of a misdemanor homicide as long as its in the properly shaded neighborhood. You think if rich white people from the Hamptons were getting killed left and right they'd care? They'd call out the National Guard for them!"

There was a wave of applause and cheers from the crowd. Drayton smiled and held his hand up to quiet them.

"This is why this election is so important. It's the start of something new, something different. It's a chance to change our institutions and show them that we are a threat, not physical but mental. There's nothing that frightens the powers that be like minorities who have brains and are registered to vote. Try as they might to disenfranchise us, we have made the choice that we will have a say in how our country is run and we will take this city back. Thank you!"

The crowd errupted as Drayton waved and started to head off stage. His small staff led him out the back exit of the building to a waiting car. Drayton and his people were at the door when the car went up in flames. An explosion ripped through the alley and knocked them inside. The fiery wreck of the car shot up into the air and crashed back down as a ball of flames.

[Morden Man]

"Don't fret, little man, don't cry,
They could never take the energy inside you were born with.
Knowing that, understand you could never be poor,
You already won the war, you were born rich." - EL-P

Rand Industries
Manhattan

Danny Rand sat alone in his office with a pair of headphones over his ears and his feet planted atop his desk. It had been nearly two years since Danny had visited the Rand Industries building and eighteen months since he’d left for the Eighth City of Heaven. There alongside his fellow Immortal Weapons he’d been met with horrors unimaginable and been forced to fight for his life against all manner of malevolent being. Deep beneath the Earth in the bowels of the Eighth City it had felt like decades had passed but upon his escape he had learned he had been imprisoned for less than two years. His body a broken, beaten mess and his mind tortured he returned to New York to find Rand Industries in shambles. One long careful shower later he found himself in his dusty office playing the CEO again.

In truth though Danny was a changed man. He wore the headphones to drown out the noise that echoed endlessly around his mind. The screams of the damned. The heavy bass line drowned them out and allowed Danny’s fractured mind some semblance of quiet. He kept his eyes firmly shut and swayed his head along with the music serenely until his peace was interrupted by a pair of hands yanking his headphones cleanly from his head.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Standing over Danny was Jeryn Hogarth in his crinkled brown suit. The stuffy, brown-haired man frowned at Danny from behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and Rand could tell from the look on Hogarth’s face that he was in trouble. All the same he tried his best to be disarming.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re doing nothing,” Hogarth muttered through clenched teeth as he threw the headphones down on the table in front of Danny. “But I know you couldn’t possibly be doing nothing because you promised me you’d look over your speech to the shareholder’s meeting this afternoon. I know you couldn’t possibly be doing nothing because I quit lecturing at Brown to help you salvage what little is left of Rand Industries after that idiot Brubaker nearly ran it into the ground. So tell me, am I wrong? Because I really, really hope I’m wrong, Danny.”

Danny searched for an excuse and found himself stammering before settling on the truth. “I… I haven’t had a minute to myself since I got back, Jeryn.”

Hogarth pushed Danny’s feet from atop the desk and they landed on the ground with a thud. Rand winced as he felt a wave of pain pass through them. The beatings he’d taken in the Eighth City were still taking their toll on him. Jeryn seemed none the wiser as he perched on Danny’s desk.

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll think about that next time you decide to take an eighteen-month sojourn to some magical city in the clouds without telling anyone.”

Again Danny searched for the right words over the sound of the tinny bass coming from his discarded headphones.

“I explained that.”

Jeryn’s scornful look softened and he sighed sympathetically at Danny and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“Look, I don’t know what happened whilst you were away and you certainly don’t seem like you want to talk about it but I need your mind here with me. Do you understand me?”

The television screen on the wall behind Jeryn’s head caught Danny’s eye and he tuned Hogarth out for a moment as he tried to make out what was happening. There was footage of a man by the name of Thomas Drayton on screen followed by images of a burning car somewhere in Harlem. Danny reached for the remote on the table and moved to turn the television up before Hogarth snapped in his direction.

“Are you listening to me?”

Danny gestured towards the television screen with concern. “What’s going on?”

Jeryn snatched the remote control from Danny’s hand and turned the television off with a frown.

“Clearly you don’t understand the seriousness of the position we are in. The shareholders are out for your blood, kid. They’ve been making moves behind our back trying to get the board to force you out. They blame that mess with Brubaker on you and to be frank with you I can’t say that I blame them. We’re one bad month, one bad fortnight even, away from being bought out.”

The look of concern on Danny’s face passed as Jeryn spoke and the unfairness of having the company his father had built up from nothing taken away from him set in. Danny had walked in his father’s footsteps in many ways. Had Wendell Rand not died on that mountainside he would have been the Iron Fist and Danny Rand would have been anything else. He had seen one of his father’s dreams fulfilled. He’d be damned if he’d see the one his father fulfilled himself erased from history.

“They can’t do that.”

“Oh, they can,” Jeryn said as he rooted around in his jacket. “They can and they will unless you get your head in the game and show them that we have things under control. You need to show them that your name is on the outside of that building for a reason.”

From inside he produced a piece of paper that he threw into Danny’s lap. Rand lifted it to eyesight and skimmed the paper’s contents. It was a leaked memo from one of Rand Industries minority owners discussing making a “change” at the top table. How Jeryn had got his hands on it was beyond Danny but he knew it was the real deal. Once he was done reading it he set it down and a steely look crossed the young man’s face.

“Alright, alright, show me the goddamn speech.”

Jeryn smiled contentedly and pulled out a pen and a copy of Danny’s speech.

“That’s more like it.”

[Byrd Man]

"When you put your foot on a man's neck and hold him down for three hundred years, and then you let him up, what's he going to do? He's going to knock your block off."
-- Lyndon B. Johnson

St. Nicholas Park
Harlem

"Can't trust the police!"

"No justice! No peace!"

The young man with a megaphone stood at the top of a flight of steps in the park. Below him was a small crowd of around two hundred. Save for a few Hispanics and whites, the crowd was almost entirely black. They carried signs that read "Justice for Isiah!" and "No More Black Murders!" and chanted along with the young man at the top of the stairs. Flanking the gathering were cops in riot gear.

"Can't trust the police!"

"No justice! No peace!"

Cage mingled through the crowd as he headed towards the front. He was given a wide berth as he passed through the mass of people. A 6'6", 350-pound brother tended to always get a wide berth wherever he went. Even though they let him pass, he could feel the animosity in the air. He wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or if it was a general lashing out at this whole situation.

"People who run this country do not care about black people," the young man said into his megaphone. "They have never cared about us. The story of America is one of arriving here to rise above your circumstance. That is not our narrative! Free black people were stolen and sent across the ocean and used as property for hundreds of years. We cannot rise above our circumstances when the white man keeps his head on the tops of our heads and pushes us down. We cannot better ourselves through education when white lawmakers defund our education system, making sure only the poorest public schools are hurt by it. We're forced to live in ghettos because the white people in the suburbs employ unfair housing practices. We cannot vote for better politicians when voter ID laws and felon laws disenfranchise black people. One hundred and fifty years since we were freed, and we're still slaves!"

Cage made his way to the front of the crowd and looked up at the young man. He knew the kid well. Antwan Glover was his neighbor in the old apartment he had, back before Jess and Dani were in his life. He hadn't seen the kid in nearly five years. He'd grown up fast in that time, and now he was out here doing this.

"Worse yet, there are some black people who conspire to keep us down."

Antwan's eyes focused on Cage as he spoke.

"They talk about being black and working for the community, but they hobnob with the enemy. They chill with the Avengers, with white billionaires who profit on the blood in the streets, who make their money by sending black men to die for white causes. Those black people are traitors to their race, traitors to their class, and traitors to their hood!"

Cage felt his blood rising at the accusations. He started to shout back, but the loud din of the crowd drowned him out as he tried to defend himself from the bullshit Antwan was spouting. The people around him began to jostle him, no small feat with his size. They shouted in his face and tried to push him back. They were failing, but he let himself be pushed around the crowd until he was out of it. His face felt hot with rage as he stormed away from the park and towards the street. Antwan and the rest of the crowd was back in chanting mode while the kid kept throwing out the usual lines.

"Mr. Cage."

Luke turned and saw a man in a suit standing by the sidewalk. It took Cage just a second to notice blood spritzed on his eyeglasses and his torn necktie.

"I called your office number. Your wife said you'd probably be here?"

"Who are you?" Luke asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's Thomas Drayton," he said softly. "He needs your help."

[Morden Man]

“We're here to tell you all your false idols are just pretenders,
They're corporation slaves indentured to all the lenders,
So even if you got seven figures, you still a nigga.” – Killer Mike

Gërdec Foundation
Manhattan

Danny Rand and Jeryn Hogarth stood in the corner of the large dining hall and spoke amongst themselves as people filtered towards their seats. Both men were in black tie. Rand wore it considerably better as Hogarth had attempted to squeeze into a tux he’d purchased almost half a decade ago and had already manage to spill ketchup down his front. Despite inwardly feeling awkward at the gathering of other so-called men of note Danny was outwardly relaxed. His speech to the shareholders meeting had been well received and given the situation in Harlem the leadership he’d shown endeared him to them even more. For forty-five minutes Danny Rand had been his father’s son. At the Gërdec Foundation dinner he would need to be more than that. The shareholders had a vested interest in Danny and Rand Industries succeeding. Here half the room were waiting for them to fail so they could strip the company down.

Danny took a sip of champagne and then gestured to the security lining the dining hall’s walls. “There’s an awful lot of security here tonight.”

“Can you blame them?” Hogarth shrugged his shoulders as he shoveled a sausage roll down his throat. “After that thing with Drayton the whole city’s on full alert. You think you’re going to get half of New York’s movers and shakers in one room after something like that without a small army at hand?”

Danny took another mouthful of champagne. Across the room an immaculately well-groomed man sauntered across the room. He was tall, six foot two at the very least, with a bald head and a black beard flecked with greys. Danny could tell by the way he was looking at them that he was their in.

When he was within a few feet Jeryn spotted him too and murmured to Danny under his breath. “There’s our man.”

“Wesley Phillips,” Jeryn said as he shook the man’s hand and pointed him in Danny’s direction. “This is Daniel Rand.”

Phillips outstretched one of his large hands and Danny took hold of it. It was smooth, eerily so, and despite his effeminate appearance Danny could sense a steeliness beneath the man’s front that he worked hard to keep hidden. Something about the man intrigued him and from the glint in Wesley’s eye it was almost as if he knew it.

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Rand.”

Hogarth called out to a server and plucked a glass of champagne from him and thrust it into Wesley’s hand. Phillips took it gratefully and sipped on it as Jeryn ran through Wesley’s background.

“Wes is Chief of Staff to the Borough President of Staten Island by way of Goldman Sachs. He’s thinking about making a move back to the private sector and I told him we might be able to find a home for him at Rand Industries.”

Danny smiled knowingly. “A rather spacious one, I’m sure.”

“Indeed,” Hogarth nodded. “He thinks he can get us some face time with Diane tonight.”

A bemused look appeared on Danny’s face.

“Diane?”

“Gërdec,” Hogarth sighed.” As in the “Gërdec Foundation” Diane Gërdec. She was Deputy to Roger Kollek a decade and a half ago. She has more friends in this city than the rest of us put together and we’re going to need to get her onside if we want some of those fat government contracts.”

Again Danny seemed confused. “Why do we need her approval if she’s the former Deputy Mayor? I don’t get it.”

“Sorry about him,” Hogarth said with a chuckle to Phillips as a look of genuine embarrassment appeared on his face. “He’s still a little wet behind the ears about how these things work.”

Again there was a glimmer of playful recognition in Wesley’s eyes.

“A clean pair of hands? Not many of those left in New York. I’m impressed Rand Industries lasted this long if it’s such a stranger to the dark arts, Mr. Rand.”

Hogarth chuckled whilst Danny peered over the edge of his champagne glass as he took a sip. Wesley maintained his gaze for several seconds too long before breaking it to look around the dining hall. After several seconds he spotted the form of Diane Gërdec. He set his glass of champagne down, weaved his arm underneath Danny’s armpit, and pulled him away from Hogarth and towards Diane’s large entourage.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

After some jostling and playful banter with Diane’s Chief of Staff the pair of them stood before Diane Gërdec in all her bountiful splendor. She was no taller than five feet, wore a royal blue blazer with large shoulder pads, and had thick, curly white hair that looked to be immaculately brushed. Between the old woman’s fingers with a cigarette which she puffed on despite the building being smoke-free.

Wesley unhooked his arm from Danny’s and thrust him towards the old woman with a smile. “Diane, this is Daniel Rand.”

Diane eyed Danny up and down before gesturing to her entourage to leave them. They muttered incomprehensively and shot Rand dirty looks as they made their exit to leave him alone with the old woman. Gërdec sat unmoving as she eyed him with bleary green eyes that were tinged with brown.

Finally she spoke with a heavy Brooklyn accent that took Danny off-guard. “Rand, eh? You here with a begging bowl like the rest of them?

His face blushed red and he tried to think of a retort but the abrasive laugh that came rushing from Diane’s lips cut across him. She flicked the ash of her cigarette free onto the expensive carpet below and took another long drag of her cigarette as she gestured to Danny to take a seat.

“I’m only kidding, kid. I knew your father before… Y’know, what happened with your mother and him.” Gërdec muttered as she studied him. “Did you know that?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he often did when people mentioned Wendell. “My father had a lot of friends in New York.”

“That he did,” Diane said as she exhaled a thick stream of smoke. “You on the other hand do not, Mr. Rand. You let that Brubaker fool run your company into the ground and now you’re here because you need an in. Am I right?”

Danny considered disputing it for a second but made Diane for a woman that would not think highly of him for doing so. He could feel both Wesley and Hogarth’s eyes trained on him in the distance. Instead of lying he simply looked the old woman dead in the eye and nodded.

“A man needs friends, Mr. Rand. You see that mess with Drayton this afternoon? That’s what happens when a man doesn’t have friends in a city like New York.”

Something about the comment sat uncomfortably with Danny and he squinted at the old woman as she took another drag of her cigarette.

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Diane chuckled. “Nothing at all.”

She blew another thick cloud of smoke out of her lugs and then coughed a few times. She gestured to Danny to hand her the glass of water that was a few inches out of her reach but he sat unmoving and allowed herself to strain to reach it. There was something in that laugh, Danny thought, as he watched the old woman glug down a mouthful of water to cool her blackened lungs. Finally she set it down and sighed contentedly before looking in Danny’s direction.

“You’re a lot less charming than your father was, Mr. Rand, but for his sake I’ll keep you in mind next time I speak with my friends. Perhaps your fortunes will take a turn for the better and one day you’ll be able to do me a solid in my time of need. Should I ever need one.”

Danny nodded as he stood up from his seat, brushed down the front of his tuxedo, and nodded by way of confirmation.

“Thank you.”

[Byrd Man]

"Government by organized money is just as dangerous as Government by organized mob. Never before in all our history have these forces been so united against one candidate as they stand today. They are unanimous in their hate for me. And I welcome their hatred."
-- Franklin D. Roosevelt

Harlem Hosptial Center

Luke sipped lukewarm coffee from a paper cup. David Kincaid, Thomas Drayton's campaign manager, sat beside him with his own cup. The two men were in a small waiting room off to the side of the hospital's ICU section. Kincaid had cleaned the blood from his glasses, but he still wore the torn clothes from the bombing.

"Most people took it as a joke," Kincaid said between sips of coffee. "Thomas running for mayor. A community activist from Harlem running with almost no political base. He got skunked in the democratic primary and decided to go independent."

"I've known Tommy a long time. He's stubborn."

Luke didn't think Tommy's run for mayor as a joke or a pipedream. When it seemed like a lot of people didn't care about Harlem, Tommy Drayton did. The man was always doing something for the people of Harlem through fundraisers, community meetings, and food drives. He talked the talk and walked the walk. It made Cage admire and respect the hell out of him for being able to make a difference.

"Well, the last poll numbers indicate that it's paying off. He's five points behind Don Robinson, the Republican candidate, and twenty behind Democratic candidate Ted Brown. There's still a lot of ground to cover between now and then, but I know for sure we can pass Robinson and at least make it a fight with Brown."

"I was about to ask about enemies," Luke said after he finished off his coffee. "But I have a feeling the list would be too long to name."

"Heh. Anyone in this city with something to lose is against us. Wall Street, NYPD, both parties... but now it looks like Republicans are rooting for us because we steal away from Brown's base. Everyone else though..."

The door to the waiting room pushed open. Tommy Drayton came in. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his shirt was singed and spattered with blood. He looked tired. His whole body seemed to sag when he saw Luke and Kincaid. Luke stood and embraced the smaller man in a large hug.

"I'm glad you're here, Luke."

"Nowhere else I'd be, brother."

"How bad is it, sir?" Kincaid asked.

"Vernon is going to lose his leg," Drayton said as he pulled away from Luke. "Denny was in the driver's seat of the car when the bomb went off. He died as soon as it blew up. He's the only one who died. Vernon is going to stay in ICU for at least a few more days. Everyone else is going to be okay."

"Where do you need me, Tommy?" Cage asked Drayton. "Bodyguard work? I'll be your shadow."

"No," Drayton said with a shake of his head. "Detective work. The FBI and NYPD are looking into who blew up that car, but I don't trust them. They work for people who want to see this campaign fail. I need outside help, someone who can go places cops can't. What I need, is a hero."

"Shit," Cage said under his breath. "Looks like you just hired one."

[Morden Man]

"Me and this woman made love in Kemet,
Fell to the Earth, lost each other, died and we came back sister and brother." - Killer Mike

Manhattan

The door to Danny Rand’s apartment swung open and he stepped through it with a sigh. He loosened his bowtie and discarded it on a table by the entrance. One long night of schmoozing at a benefit dinner had taken it out of Danny more than eighteen months trapped in the Eighth City had ever done. At least there the people trying to knife him were upfront about it. Nonetheless Jeryn and Wesley seemed pleased with Danny’s performance and hopeful that all the working the room might pay off for Rand Industries down the line. With that out of the way all Rand wanted to do was put his head down and try to get some sleep. It would prove hard with the screams still ringing in his ears but with his limbs so weary he could barely lift them he figured he could manage it.

At least until he felt the presence behind him. The door slammed shut and a pair of vice-like hands clamped around Danny’s hands and forced him to the ground. He attempted to pry his hands free with no success but stopped struggling upon seeing his assailant’s face.

It was Misty Knight.

“Danny.”

Her stare was icy cold, lacking the warmth that Danny had become accustomed to, but he smiled back at her all the same.

“Misty.”

Knight sneered at Rand from on top of him. “You want to tell me where the hell you’ve been?”

Even if he did want to talk about what had happened over the past year and a half Danny wasn’t sure where he’d even begin. He’d seen the way people’s eyes glossed over when he talked about K’un-L’un and the other Six Cities of Heaven. In truth he didn’t blame them. He’d rather keep his cards close to his chest than have to explain that he’d literally been to Hell and back. That he was a changed man as a result.

“It’s a long story.”

“I bet it is,” Misty said with a discontented look. She gave Danny’s neck a sniff and wrinkled her nose up with disapproval. “Is that smoke I smell? Since when did you take up smoking?”

He’d spent most of his night downwind of Diane Gërdec. Slightly easier to explain but all the same Rand couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the love of his life that his company was near the point of collapse and that he spent his night shilling for favour from an near-eighty year old woman.

Instead he opted for smiling disarmingly and shrugging his shoulders as little as he could beneath Misty’s grip. “That’s a long story too.”

Again Knight looked unconvinced but she rolled free from atop of Danny and climbed to her feet. He watched as she sauntered towards his bedroom without so much as a look back at him.

“There was a time I’d never have been able to sneak up on you.”

“I haven’t slept in eighteen months,” Danny chuckled as he climbed to his feet. “Give me a break.”

Rand followed Knight into his bedroom and shut the door behind him with a click. He watched as Misty reached for the zipper of her red jumpsuit and unzipped it agonizingly slowly with a smirk.

“Oh, I’m going to give you much more than that, Danny Rand.”

[Byrd Man]

"I’m not an American. I’m one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy...I don’t see any American dream; I see an American nightmare."
-- Malcolm X

131st Street
Harlem

Luke stood on the sidewalk and watched the traffic coming and going. The tension from the afternoon had all but evaporated once news got out that the grand jury on the Alderman case were going to need further time. After a week in deliberation, they were still deadlocked. That didn't bode well for the family of Isiah Hamilton. A deadlocked jury would mean a potential mistrial, which could mean a dismissal of the charges. It was one of the many sneaky ways the criminal justice system could get away with not punishing one of their own. It was why they needed Tommy Drayton more than ever. Luke wasn't foolish enough to think one politician could turn things around overnight, but he knew a guy like Tommy could implement a cultural change that might take a decade to see the benefits of. But incremental change was sure as shit better than what they had right now.

"GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

Luke had to suppress a laugh when he heard the shrill cry. On the corner of Lennox and 131st street, was Sister Mercy doing her thing. Sister Mercy had been working the corners of Upper Manhattan for nearly twenty years now, dressed in her black nun habit and ringing that bell while she shouted about fire and brimstone and the only way to heaven was to give to the lawd.

"'For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils' First Timothy 6:10, people. GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

You wouldn't think it by looking at her, but the sister was without a doubt the best street hustler of all the would-be conmen and scammers operating out on the streets. It didn't hurt that she has a dynamite racket. It takes real balls to impersonate a nun, and the sister had balls. The truth was that sister is a brother by the name of Jackson Coleman. Jackson was a former B&E man who hit the right racket to feed his drug addiction. Luke knew him back before he went to jail, back when he was gangbanger Carl Lucas. They got back in touch after Luke's homecoming and Luke found an unlikely ally in the hustler. From time to time over the years Sister Mercy helped him out with errands and intel for a price. A cross-dressing junkie nun who cons people with a bell and the bible. Luke had to grin. Where else but Harlem?

"Say, Sister Mercy," he said as he palmed two twenties and shook the good sister's hand. "What do you know good?"

"'Blessed are they who observe justice, who do righteousness at all times', Psalm 106:3," he said loud enough for the pedestrians passing by to hear before whispering. "Luke Cage, my man. What's up, homie? GIVE TO THE LAWD, PEOPLE."

"Wondering if you had your ear to the ground on something, Sister. You know Tommy Drayton? Someone tried to snuff him earlier today."

Sister Mercy let out a low and soft whistle before returning back to the work of yelling about damnation and monetary salvation. She thanked a passerby as they tossed a dollar into the bucket at her feet. After a few moments of thought, she finally shook his head.

"That's out of my range, brother. Politics and shit. You need a Day of the Jackal-type motherfucker to pull off something like that. I just know about hustlers. It's been quiet the last few weeks around Harlem, far as any action is concerned."

"What about your network? All those homeless fools."

Sister Mercy stopped ringing her bell for a second before she nodded. "Joe the Bum. He's a homeless guy that bottom feeds by hanging around political campaigns. He gets a few sandwiches here and there for running errands and wearing signs at rallies. I think he was hanging out around Drayton and his people. He may have seen something. I'll run him down for you."

"You better, Sister. I don't want to kick a nun's ass."

"I do what I can nigga," she whispered softly. "I'll be here tomorrow morning with Joe the Bum."

"Sister, I could kiss you..."

"'But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart,' Matthew 5:28, brother. Repent and GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

Luke laughed and started home to Jess and Dani. It'd been a long day, and he had a pretty big task in front of him. Sister Mercy was right that this kind of case seemed a bit out of his range. He wasn't a political intrigue guy. But he was a Harlem guy. Harlem was where Drayton was from and that was where they'd tried to kill him. This was a Harlem crime, and when it came to Harlem crimes he was very much in his depth.

[Morden Man]

"Bosses don't change a thing in the name of seemingly making it,
Servants'll kiss the ring of whoever they think is paying 'em,
You don't deserve the spit that they hurdled up in your face and shit." - Killer Mike

Rand Industries
Manhattan

Erected in the center of Danny Rand’s office was a wooden sparring dummy that Danny circled with intent. His blonde hair had turned near brown with sweat and the light bounced off his bare chest as he bobbed and weaved around the dummy’s arms. His limbs were still weary but spending the night with Misty had put a bounce back into his step. He had slept even better than he had imagined. For the first time since he’d arrived back in New York his night had not been beset with nightmares. Even with that Danny knew he couldn’t afford to rest on his laurels. In his line of work there was always some threat waiting around the corner for him. The life of an Iron Fist was a life of pain. He knew that the moment he plunged his fists into Shou-Lao the Undying and the past eighteen months had only confirmed it.

To be an Iron Fist was to be hunted and Danny had to be prepared for the next predator that came for him.

“Someone seems chipper this morning,” came a voice from behind Rand. “You slept well, I take it?”

Danny’s head spun round and there stood at the mouth of Danny’s office was Wesley Phillips. He was immaculately turned out in a navy pinstriped suit and a light blue shirt underneath. The burgundy tie that kept held his outfit together was the same shade as the burgundy leather shoes on his feet. His hands were knotted behind his back and he smiled at Danny playfully as he awaited his response.

“How did you get in here?”

Wesley shrugged his shoulders and reached into his suit jacket and produced a document. “I would have thought you’d be more concerned with these.”

Danny reached for a towel draped over one of the arms of wooden dummy and mopped his sweaty brow clean. Once he was done he took the document from Phillips and skimmed over it. It was a prospective contract that would outsource forty-five billion dollars worth of research and development out to Rand Industries over the course of the next eight years. Danny’s eyes widened as he saw the sum and he looked up at Wesley with shock.

“It’s been less than twelve hours.”

Again Wesley shrugged his shoulders.

“What can I say? Diane must have taken more of a shine to you than she let on. When I got to work this morning I found it waiting for me in my inbox. I am lead to believe there may be more in the pipeline over the coming months provided you continue to demonstrate your commitment to Rand Industries over all else. I'm afraid that will mean no more unannounced trips to the Bahamas.”

Danny nodded in agreement and pulled on a yellow t-shirt.

“What happens now?”

“You go to the press,” Wesley said as he perched on the edge of Danny’s desk. “Tell them that the prince over the water has returned to lead Rand Industries back to the Promised Land and then sit back and watch whilst your share price skyrockets.”

A reluctant smile appeared on Danny’s face as he glanced over the document again. Between Phillips and Gërdec nearly fifty billion dollars had been magicked up in less than twelve hours. It wouldn’t be any near enough to keep Rand Industries afloat on its own but if Wesley’s word proved to be good again there would be more coming. It was a huge step towards safeguarding everything his father had built.

“I’m impressed, Wesley.”

Phillips ran a hand through his thick beard and then gestured up at the television screen at the opposite end of the office.

“You ought to be thanking old Tommy Drayton. There’s no way these things get pushed through with so little scrutiny if not for that mess in Harlem. As it stands everyone in this town is too busy checking under their cars to notice what’s right in front of their faces. Between that and the Alderman case there’s a killing to be made over the next week if we play this correctly.”

Danny nodded.

“Never waste a crisis.”

An appreciative smile appeared on Wesley’s face and he patted Danny on the back. “You’re not as wet behind the ears as Jeryn made out, Mr. Rand.”

Wesley stood up and ambled towards the window of Danny's office. It was one of the tallest buildings in New York and Danny had made sure that his office had the best view of the New York skyline. He could see the Baxter Building and Stark Tower from his desk. He wasn't made for desk work but on those occasions that he was in the office being able to catch a glimpse of the Human Torch blazing across the sky made it more bearable. It was a reminder of who he really was and what he'd put on this Earth to do. Once things had calmed down at Rand Industries he could finally go back to doing it.

"So what's say we start discussing my salary?" Wesley smirked as he surveyed the skyline. "How does eight million dollars a year sound?"