“I’m really sorry for your loss, Fernando,” Sergei said through his thick Russian accent, though Fernando knew that it was just formalities. There was no meaning behind his words. Sergei was a businessman first, a friend second. “What brings you here?”

Fernando looked around at the expensive mahogany table, the rows of extravagant beer in his glass shelf, the beautiful paintings that lined his walls and the bright red carpet that his feet could sink right into. All of it, polished to a shine.

What brings you here? Sergei asked. Ignacio always said he was good at bullshitting.

Fernando placed the bulletproof suit on the table, Sergei winced.

“Ignacio’s killer had this on,” Fernando said. “Now, Mr. Sergei as I’m sure you’re quite aware the killer was a member of the Yakuza and I’m sure, judging by the nice suit you’re wearing you broke the terms of our deal.”

Sergei was still. “Look, Fernando…”

“Stop lying,” Fernando snapped. Fernando calmed down, he took out a gun and pointed it directly at Sergei’s hand. “If you bullshit me, those brains of yours will be splattered all over that nice carpet of yours.”

Sergei held his palms out in surrender. “Okay, Fernando, calm down. Let me make a few calls…”

Fernando thumbed the barrel. “If you’re lying.”

“I don’t know anything about any Japanese deals,” Sergei said. “I’ll call the suppliers, maybe they’ll tell me something.”

Sergei went to his telephone, glancing at the barrel of the gun. The phone rang and Sergei’s heart skipped a beat when someone on the other end picked up.

“Vladimir,” Sergei said. “Yes, yes.”

Sergei tensed. “An extra batch and you didn’t tell me?”

Sergei face-palmed. “Did you find out where it went?”

Sergei slammed the table. “Dumbasses. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

Sergei hung up and dialled up another number. “There was an extra batch being shipped out. The man in charge of shipments doesn’t know where the batch went to. I’m calling the manufacturer.”

The phone dialled. It dialled and dialled and dialled but nobody picked up.

“What the hell?” Sergei mumbled. He called the number for the manufacturer’s safehouse and his handler but nobody picked up.

“He’s not picking up,” Sergei said. He turned to Fernando, waving his hands desperately. “But look, I had no idea about the extra batch. I would never trade with those Yakuza, I’m a man of my word Fernando and you…”

“You know where they deal?”

“What?”

“The Japanese,” Fernando said. “Do you know where they deal?”

“That’s a stupid idea Fernando,” Sergei said. “If you do anything, blood will be spilt. The Japanese have deals with the Triad and…” Sergei shook his head. “It’ll be a war.”

“Well, those bastards should’ve thought about that when they killed my brother,” Fernando said, leaving the room, removing and old crumpled up polaroid photo of him and Ignacio when they were just ten-year-old boys.

…

Everybody’s eyes were on him as Matt Murdock took the stand. The courtroom was packed today, many people interested in the outcome of the case of The People v Elliot Grote. Matt could hear a lot of heartbeats beating in anticipation, in anger and in eagerness. But none were more eager than the heartbeat of the prosecutor.

Matt could smell the expensive cologne wafting from his body, the unnecessary amount of wax in his hair and hear the expensive, recently tailored threads rubbing against his body. Matt could also smell cheap lipstick on his neck and hear him tapping his wedding ring with glee. A typical lawyer who probably took up this job because of the money.

Overseeing the trial was a chorus of 12 heartbeats. The jury. Each of them looking at Matt in a mixture of confusion and contention. Some of them looked at him with resentment and judging by the smell of them, it looked like they either resented Elliot Grote or just wanted the trial to be over.

Matt didn’t need to see to feel the stern gaze of the judge, his body calm but cold, ready to dismiss Matt at a moment’s notice.

“Mr. Murdock,” Judge Martin said, his voice crawling up Matt’s neck like ice cold water. “Care to explain yourself?”

The prosecutor’s heart leapt with joy.

“I got caught up in an accident this morning,” Matt said.

“And you didn’t think to give me or your partner due notice of your arrival here?”

“Your honour, I was dazed. I wasn’t thinking…”

“If you still need time to recover, why did you come here?”

“Because I believe in the innocence of my client.”

The jury was swayed. People were taken aback by his confidence and his lack of fear.

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Murdock,” the judge said. “But I will not have you walking here as if you own the place. This court is not a circus.”

“Prosecution gave me the impression otherwise.”

There was a flurry of soft chuckles. The prosecutor’s body heated up. In the corner he heard Foggy let out a soft sigh of exasperation.

“Your honour,” Matt said. “My client is entitled to the best defence, it is one of his fundamental rights and nothing, not even an accident will get in the way of providing my client with the best defence.”

The judge was quiet. The jury, the one’s who weren’t bored had found a newfound inclination towards Matt and the prosecutor was staring at his watch.

The Judge’s heartbeat didn’t give anything away. Matt could feel his eyes on him, tapping his fingers in deliberation.

The judge cleared his throat. “Very well, Mr. Murdock. Owing to your disability and circumstances I will allow you to provide counsel for the defendant, however if this happens again without due notice you run the risk of being disbarred. Are we clear, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, your honour.”

Matt sat in the defendant’s booth. “God I almost had a heart attack,” Foggy whispered. “Thank god Martin was feeling nice today otherwise you’d be screwed.”

Matt heard Grotto chuckle. “You have balls, Murdock. The way you walked in.”

“Before Mr. Murdock’s interruption,” the Judge said. “We were dealing with the issue of fingerprints on the knife.”

“Yes, your honour,” the Prosecutor said. “It is my belief that Mr. Grote intentionally intoxicated himself in order to avoid liability. We’ve established that our witness, Mrs. Ness saw Mr. Grote lying unconscious by the body before she called the police. The toxicology report submitted by the defendant shows…”

The trial went on until the third recess, whereby Matt would have to give the closing statement. During recess, Foggy’s feet were tapping the floor, his heartbeat was racing like a rabbit. He paced around the room, mumbling words to himself.

“Foggy I can feel your anxiety from here,” Matt said.

“I know, I know,” Foggy said. “It’s just… this all hinges on your closing statement. You may have the jury’s favour but…”

Matt placed a reassuring hand on Foggy’s shoulder. “I need you to trust me, Foggy.”

“I do,” Foggy said. “I do. You’re the better lawyer from the both of us. I should have just…”

“No,” Matt interrupted. “I may know the statutes, how to win over a jury’s favour and all of that but you know the case law Foggy. And half of law is…”

“The cases,” Foggy said. “Yeah, law school hammered that home.” He chuckled.

“Besides you can’t have Nelson and Murdock without Foggy Nelson.”

Foggy smiled. “You’re right.”

“You carried most of this case, Fog,” Matt said. “Now just leave the rest to me.”

Foggy’s heartbeat slowed. Matt couldn’t see it but he knew Foggy was smiling.

“Sorry to ruin your moment,” Grotto said. Matt could hear his voice shaking, his heartbeat going off like a jackhammer. “But I’m going to get fucking shanked if you two don’t…”

“Relax Grotto,” Matt said. “I’ll handle it.”

“You boys both know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t…” Grotto said, his voice taking on a grave tone.

Foggy was about to say something but Matt raised a hand to stop him. “Mr. Grote I don’t think anything will happen to us. Not if the Albanians have something to say about it.”

Grotto’s body flared up in temperature. He clenched his fist and grit his teeth. “Bastard.”

Matt smirked. “Thought so.”

Recess was over. The bailiff called them in. “Foggy.”

Foggy gave Grotto a smug smile before they entered the courtroom. Grotto spat and followed them inside, cursing God for cursing him with the Demon that was Matthew Murdock.