Nelson and Murdock was a plan that ended miserably, but that wasn’t the worst part: he had lost Foggy’s friendship and trust, which he had no chance in gaining back. If only he had given up being Daredevil, then things would have been different. Yet that was who he was – who he is. There was no changing that.
Though he hadn’t got much money through being an attorney, there was something in it. It was more about helping people than anything. But when he wasn’t able to pay the rent that was the real issue. And he didn’t have Foggy or Karen to help him out, which was more his fault because he had his honour. He had ruined their lives enough and didn’t want to ask a favour.
Instead he tried to make money other ways he could. The idea came to him when his neighbour came up, smelling his freshly baked cookies, asking whether she could try one. Of course he obliged, happy that he could have a conversation with another human being where he wasn’t beating them up for information on Fisk. His neighbour was surprised that he had cooked them, but his blindness wasn’t a hindrance to his cooking. His acute sense of smell and taste made it so he could bake them perfectly.
His small business started out with him going door to door selling his cookies, tightly secured in cookie jars. He had just enough money to get it lifted and it helped getting to the public personally. Being a lawyer had enabled him to help people, but this job he enjoyed much more. He loved putting effort into each batch of cookies and listening to the positive feedback from his regular customers. Being in Hell’s Kitchen, he did get a fair few doors slammed in his face in some parts of the neighbourhood, but past that it was fine. For once in his life, he was happy.
He knocked on one door in the richer part of the city, wheeling a trolley of cookie jars, full of heavenly goodness, behind him. He had got quite a fair bit of money off this and began to get a good reputation within the neighbourhood. He wanted to travel further up to get to other, richer clients that may invest.
The door opened after a long wait.
“Aren’t you a bit old to be a girl scout?” A voice all too familiar asked. Fisk. He recognised that voice instantly from the first conversation he had with him on the policeman’s radio.
Murdock cleared his throat, trying not to give anything away. “I’m here to advertise my business: Murdock’s Muffins.”
“Aren’t you selling cookies?” Fisk replied coldly.
“Yes, but Murdock’s Cookies didn’t quite have the same ring to it. But my business does sell muffins as well, even if I do specialise in cookies.”
Fisk leaned over. His height throwing his senses off slightly. He looked him up and down. Of course he wouldn’t think he would be the masked vigilante due to his blindness, so he knew he was safe there. However, Fisk would be the target of many people, so an assassination attempt tried by a blind man selling cookies wouldn’t be entirely unbelievable. Maybe he thought the cookies would be poisoned.
It was too late to run and he really wanted to. He was not equipped to fight him now; he didn’t have his batons, armour or disguise.
He was defenceless.
“Do you give tasters?”
“Yes,” Matt replied, his voice almost breaking. He knelt down and picked up one of his glass jars. He removed one cookie from it.
“Take a bite first.”
“What? You want me to try it?”
“You must understand. A man comes to my door offering me food for sale. Of course I am cautious. This city isn’t safe and there are unsavoury characters around.” Murdock tried not to smirk at the irony of his words.
He did as he said and took a bite hesitantly. After he bit it, Fisk took it from his hand and ate the rest of the cookie in one mouthful. “Delightful,” he muffled. “I’ll buy all the jars you have left.”
“They cost–”
“–Money doesn’t matter much to me. I have more than enough. Maybe you need help starting your business up properly. Get a place running, a branch. Employ girl scouts to sell cookies door to door… though you are pretty enough to be one yourself.”
“W-What?” Matt spluttered.
“As a businessman myself, I understand your attempts to sell your business, but as delicious as your cookies are, you won’t get your business up and running from these kind of sales. From one businessman to another, I think you could use my help.”
“For what price?” He’d probably turn his business into a drug front.
“How about you come in and we talk about what I have to offer?” he said, stepping to the side so that he could come inside. He supposed that he didn’t have the option to reject his offer and he couldn’t risk giving up his secret identity; he complied and wheeled in his trolley of cookie jars behind him, the jars clattering as they went over the door frame.