Here They Go Again with that Hipster Coffee
27 hours ago…in the stairwell of Metro General...
Frank marches blindly down the stairs, Karen’s voice still ringing in his ears.
Go.
What the fuck was he thinking? He’d told her to walk away. She had. She’d walked away and walked on with her family.
Who was he to come here and ask her for forgiveness? White roses and a cup of coffee couldn’t fix that. Not in the wake of what she’s lost.
“Shit! Sorry man! I’m late!”
Frank side steps a young guy with shaggy hair and blue scrubs. Probably some health tech. The barely twenty- year-old hovers on the stairs just below Frank, looking at him with bright blue eyes.
“I was so not looking where I was going. Just got called in. First month on the job. They fired the guy who usually works this shift. Something about violating HIPPA.”
Frank just nods. Christ, he almost ran the guy over and is getting his whole life story. This chatty-Cathy reminds him of a younger version of the Counselor
The Counselor…
And suddenly Frank remembers…
One month earlier…
“Ube latte for Mr. Nelson!”
Frank tries to keep a straight face as the Counselor reach for the horribly purple concoction. What the hell is ube anyway?
He looks at his own black coffee then up at his former legal counsel. A grin breaks through on the other man’s face. It’s a relief. The guy looked terrified when Frank first walked up to the counter.
“Yeah,” Nelson gestures to his drink, “Marci and Karen are dog people. Matt is on some matcha kick. That’s why I come to this place myself.”
Frank scans the pink cherry blossoms on the wall, the various cat photos, the smiling Hello Kitty motif. This cat café is definitely not Proof Coffee. Even the lawyer looks out place in his grey suit. (Another win for the Counselor’s wife.)
They walk to a quiet corner away from the other customers. Frank shifts a few pink and white pillows to muffle any sound. Pulls his black ball cap down ever so slightly.
“How’d you find me Nelson?” He whispers the question even though he can guess how. Goddamn David Lieberman and his constant attempts to push Frank back into Karen’s life.
The Counselor takes a swig from his cup. “Matt isn’t the only one with connections. I recently represented a kid – last name Parker – after some damage during a fight with a giant lizard-thing. He mentioned you keep tabs on us.”
Frank frowns, thinking of giving Spiderman a talking to the next time he sees that teen swinging around Hell’s Kitchen.
“So, why did you want to meet?”
“To tell you that you’re an idiot.”
The coffee almost shoots back up Frank’s throat. He coughs.
“Excuse me?” He wipes his eyes. “Why the fuck would you say-”
“You’re an idiot. I’ve seen you run past our office in the early morning. I know about you little rooftop hiding spot.” The Counselor shakes his head exasperated. “I read the papers, Pete. The Punisher” – he mouths the name – “has been silent for months. The only reason you were seen by the docks last week is because you feel like you have to wage another war. You’re upset. Some psychopaths who lied during their security screenings for the NYPD are wearing skulls under their shirts and you make it your problem. You’re as big of a martyr as Matt. And - you’re an idiot.”
Frank ignores the comparison to Red. Briefly, he thinks about the message Lieberman sent him. About the weird posts some Benjamin Poindexter had been making. He should tell the Counselor but he doesn’t want to scare him.
“I can’t let bad people-”
“There will always be bad people!”
The Counselor looks around, lowering his voice.
“That’s not your problem Fra…Pete.”
The two men glare at each other. Later, Lieberman – who Frank reluctantly asked to listen in on the meeting in case it was a set up – will say they both looked like the grumpy cat photo on the wall behind their table.
“I didn’t ask for your advice. You’re a lawyer not a life coach,” Frank mumbles.
The Counselor sighs. Looks at his purple coffee.
“Karen loves you. Still does. Even after you sent her back to our office barefoot.” He gives Frank a sharp look. “And no, I figured that one out on my own. Your name was all over the news. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why she took a long lunch. Also, Matt would barely talk to her for a week after.”
Frank swallows. First Spiderman. Now the Counselor.
“Told you it’s obvious,” David’s voice chatters softly from the hidden mic under his ball cap. “Side note, the security cameras are turned away from your frowny face.”
Frank swats at his cap. The sudden movement makes the Counselor slide back in his chair, but he recovers.
“Nothing is guaranteed Frank,” the other man whispers. “And Karen’s always running into trouble. Please tell her you love her too, before it’s too late.”
Lieberman’s warning flashes before Frank’s eyes. The odd one online comments. Benjamin Poindexter…
“I…” Christ, he’s tired. What would it be like to let it all go. To sit by the ocean somewhere, drinking a cup of coffee, watching the sunrise with Karen.
“I’ll think about it.”
His answer seems good enough for the Counselor. The man nods. “Thank you. I’d better go. The wifey is waiting for me.”
Frank feels himself smile. “You gotcha yourself a ball buster. She’s got a good eye for fashion too.”
The Counselor huffs. “You were actually my inspiration. That day in the courtroom. Kinda jealous.”
For a moment Frank can see them sitting there as he walks in. The Counselor and Karen, side by side. Ready to fight the good fight. Karen’s eyes never left Frank as he proceeded to light that courtroom on fire. The Counselor’s never left Karen.
“You love her too, yeah?”
The Counselor pauses, turns ever so slightly. “Yeah. Don’t break her heart again.”
Frank watches him leave the café.
Now…Above Metro General
Spiderman shakes his head, looking down at the SUV’s. Maybe they’re FBI. He’s got to find a way to warn Frank and Karen…
He notices a man coming out of the nearby subway station. Wearing a USMC baseball cap. Carrying two coffees. It’s Frank’s friend… Curtis something.
“Bingo,” Peter says. “You’re about to be a decoy.”
*
Curtis slows at the sidewalk. He knows a three-letter agency when he sees one. Those black cars are a dead giveaway.
“ICU. Female. Copy,”
The agent sipping coffee is muttering into a microphone. He turns to his partner.
“Let’s go…They got ‘em.”