The Morning After
“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy,” the robotic voice droned monotonously, stirring Matt from his slumber. His bones and muscles creaked as he reached over to answer the phone, making him wince. He felt around for the phone, his arm straining as he reached and tapped the screen. He tapped and swiped a few times until it answered.
“Hey Matt, where are you? You get lucky last night?” the chipper voice asked. Matt groaned, remembering the far-from-normal criminal he’d encountered the night before. The thought also made him painfully aware that the blood-soaked bag was now sitting somewhere in his apartment, tainting it with the smell of decay and the taste of copper.
“Was that a moan? Should I hang up?” Matt could hear the smile on his face; the thought of what he was insinuating made him chuckle, which he instantly regretted.
“What time is it?” Matt asked as he eased himself into a sitting position, sharp shallow breaths reminding him he should probably talk to Claire today.
“It’s a fresh nine thirty-five. You need me to come get you?” Foggy tried to hide the worry in his voice, but Matt could still hear it. He could always hear it.
“No,” Matt replied, “I’ll meet you at Ron’s in twenty minutes.”
“Sure thing buddy, see ya.” Foggy hung up, and Matt was left with the almost quiet of his apartment building.
Most people had already set off for work or school. Even so, he could still smell the half-burnt bacon from the floor below, and the bad milk from the apartment across the hall. He pushed himself to the edge of the mattress, planting his feet on the ground, and focusing his senses on the faint taste of the blood still lingering in the air. He got up and followed it, finding himself standing in front of where he kept the chest. The smell of burnt plastic jogged his memory; the bag was wrapped in a trash bag, he remembered.
He abandoned the chest for later and went back to his room to get dressed. He refocused, trying to distract himself from the bad tastes and smells by listening to the person living above him. They were watching a documentary. A true crime, he guessed, from the dramatic beats and pauses after every phrase. He caught a few bits, it was about a case he’d helped with a few years ago. Or, at least, it was related to the guilty suspect of that case, who had been charged with murders in three other states since. He’d had enough of that guy, he’d been unbearable in court, let alone through a T.V. and ceiling. He grabbed his jacket, satchel, and cane before leaving his apartment.
Despite rush hour ending an hour ago, the streets of Hell’s Kitchen were still teaming with people. By the time he’d made his way to the coffee shop, he was almost wheezing for breath. The rib pain had dulled from the night before, with a quick check he was near certain it had fallen back into place, and after the blackout sleep last night, his legs weren’t screaming with every step. He heard Foggy’s footsteps from behind him. With them came the wafting smell of coffee and something sweet and fatty - a doughnut.
“Hey man! I timed this all so well, I got dibs on a fresh pot.” Matt turned towards his voice, holding out a hand. Foggy passed him the warm cup, rotating it so the opening faced him.
“I gotta say” Foggy began as Matt took his arm and the two began to walk, “that beauty sleep of yours is not working. You better drink that fast if you want to convince Karen that you’re actually alive.” Matt sighed, taking a swig of his coffee. The visual evidence of the beating he’d taken before Mr. Blood Criminal had slipped his mind. As he felt the caffeine working its way into his system, he began to think of plausible excuses for when Karen inevitably cornered him.
The two walked silently for a while, navigating the bustling streets with practiced ease.
“I had a rough night,” Matt said, breaking the silence. Foggy’s heart rate spiked and he started to walk slightly faster. The following silence was no surprise. Talking about Matts… evening activities always had this effect, leaving unresolved tension, and not the fun kind. Matt wasn’t sure how Foggy felt about it, if it was anxiety, fear, or anger, but his reaction was consistent. Despite the fact it concerned him - that he couldn’t place how Foggy felt - he was thankful for the consistency. Very few people in his life had ever acted in a way he expected, making Foggy an unfortunately rare exception.
The tension had melted away by the time they were at the door to their building, coffee cups empty and discarded in a trash can somewhere along the way. The taste lingered in his mouth, a dull bitterness at the back of his throat. He’d managed to drink it too quickly and now a patch on his tongue felt fuzzy. He could hear Karen's ever-steady heartbeat as they ascended the stairs, accompanied by the sound of shuffling paper and a vague heat from freshly printed pages. He heard her hair brush against her shoulders as Foggy opened the door.
“Hey guys, no meetings today but there are some new cases to look over, just printing them off now.” She stepped towards Foggy, papers flopping as she handed them over. She turned to Matt with a sharp intake of breath. I must be rough, he thought.
“I sent yours to your printer, Matt,” a smile in her voice but her heart told a different story. He gave a polite smile and stepped over to his office, closing the door behind him, and sat at his desk. Maybe some new cases would prompt a course of action for the bag sitting back in his apartment.
The first case was nothing extreme, a family in distress, a landlord seeking a wrongful eviction. The second was more complex, a wife’s complaints of fraudulent activity from the husband but barely any evidence to support her claims. Perhaps Jessica could-
He cringed at how he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Rough around the edges but nevertheless a great PI, and well acquainted with the weird world of New York’s underbelly. He sent Jessica a text, arranging to meet at his apartment later. It didn’t surprise him when he received no response, it was still early.
The rest of the day was uneventful. He reviewed a few more cases, discussing some with the others over the blandest lunch he could manage. Jess replied later with her usual tone of skepticism. By five he, Karen, and Foggy had indulged in some Thai food from the place around the corner. Foggy had suggested they end their night at Josie’s, but Matt had refused, leaving the two to enjoy themselves.
He was two blocks from his apartment when he heard familiar footsteps behind him. He stopped and listened harder as the steps got closer. The steps stopped inches behind his outstretched cane.
“Murdock, what the hell?” He smiled. Jess bumped his shoulder and the two walked the rest of the way back to his apartment.