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Matt hears the dull smack of fists on flesh from six blocks away. He vaults across two rooftops, clambers up and then down several fire escapes, and finally ends up perched atop a weathered brick building overlooking a loading bay. He surveys the scene for a few moments longer than he usually needs, because he isn’t sure he’s quite making sense of what’s happening. Two people involved, that he can tell for sure, one of them a broad and muscular man, the other a slender woman reeking of stale whiskey. For a moment, Matt isn’t sure which one is the perp and which is the victim, the two locked in a grappling stalemate.
Then the man shoves the woman against the building’s decaying brick wall, and Matt has his answer. He throws one baton, ricocheting it off a fire escape landing and the side of a dumpster—a resonant pair of clangs—to hit the man in the side of his head with a hollow thunk. The man crumples to the ground, landing in a puddle of foul-smelling sludge. The woman looks up at Matt.
“I was a little busy here,” she says, sounding more pissed off than grateful.
“What?” Matt says.
“Me, busy. I was fighting the criminal element, motherfucker.”
“Oh!” Matt says, glad he has the mask between his face and the woman in the alley. “Uh. My apologies. I’ll just leave you to—”
“No,” she says. “You’re hauling your ass down here, not leaving.”
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that,” Matt says.
“Are you scared of little ol’ me?” she asks. “You should come get your fancy stick and help me make sure this guy is out for awhile.”
“I—” Matt clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to interfere. I misread the situation.”
“You think I’m the criminal now? You should get your stick and offer me an apology,” she says, but her voice could be amused instead of outraged.
Matt hesitates for a moment. Under the whiskey, he can smell the ozone-tinged odor of insomnia on the woman in the alley. Adrenaline, too, but not fear. Her heartbeat is steady as well, suggesting this isn’t her first go at the crimefighting gig.
“Alright,” Matt says, climbing down two flights of fire escape stairs before dropping quietly onto his feet across from the woman. “I apologize, both for the interference and the assumption.”
The woman is silent for close to a full minute before she kicks the baton towards Matt. “Where’d you get it?”
“The baton?” Matt asks. He stoops down to pick it up, not looking away from the woman as he does so. “I have a guy.”
“That so.”
“He doesn’t operate commercially,” Matt says. He tucks the baton back into his belt.
“Maybe you owe me a favor,” she says.
Matt laughs once, softly. “I incapacitated your perp for you. Maybe you owe me one.”
“You interfered with my work. He would’ve been out by now,” she says, shaking her head.
“Then we’ll just call it a draw and I’ll be on my way,” Matt says, beginning to back towards the fire escape.
“Fancy outfit,” she says. “That nurse said she knew some other ones. Does that include you?”
“Nurse?” Matt asks, alarmed now. The woman doesn’t sound like she’s making a threat, but she’s hard to get a read on, period. “What nurse? Do you mean Claire?”
“Sure, I guess. Hot, dry humor, knows her way around medical supplies, has a way with a needle.”
“How do you know Claire?”
“How do you know her, unless you’re one of her ‘other ones’?”
Matt frowns. “It seems like you have this situation well in hand, so I’ll just—” He leaps for the fire escape, but something strong clamps down on the neck of his suit, slamming him back down to the ground and knocking the breath out of him. It’s the woman, the whiskey smell stronger now that she’s worked up a little sweat, but he hadn’t heard her move, let alone run to the fire escape.
“Nah, we aren’t done getting to know each other,” she says.
“How did you— what just—” Matt pants as he tries to catch his breath. “Can you fly?”
“Do I look like a fancy rich boy in a flying suit?” she asks. “No, I can’t fly!”
“How did you do that?” Matt asks.
“If you know Claire, what can you do?”
“I asked you first. What can you do?”
“A lady doesn’t brag,” she says flatly. “You already know what I can do, if you were paying attention.”
“You can’t fly, so you can… jump, can’t you?” Matt asks. “You jumped. That’s why I didn’t hear— you can jump, and you’re strong.”
“Bravo. You were paying attention! Your turn.”
Matt shakes his head. “I don’t really have powers. I have training.”
“Bullshit,” she says. “What can you do?”
“I’m telling you, it’s training. It took years of practice, learning to focus my senses, figuring out how to use them.”
“Years? Why bother?”
He isn’t completely sure why he answers, but he does, waving his hand slightly in front of his face. “I have this vision… thing.”
“You’re shitting me. You can like… shoot lasers from your eyes? What?” she says incredulously.
“What?” Matt asks. “No! How did you get eye lasers from this?” He repeats the hand-wave in front of his eyes. “How does that translate to eye lasers?”
“All your mumbo-jumbo about ‘training’ and it’s really lasers,” she says. “I bet it’s lasers.”
“It’s not lasers. Jesus Christ!” Matt crosses himself, mostly out of habit.
“Catholic lasers, even better. If you swear it’s not lasers, what is it?”
Matt sighs. “It’s like heightened senses. Not involving eye lasers. Not involving eyes at all.”
“Bullshit. You said it was a vision thingie. Exact words.”
“A vision compensation,” Matt says. “It’s everything but. It’s…” He tilts his head to the side as he carefully considers his words. “I can smell the whiskey you had two, maybe two-and-a-half hours ago. Cheap stuff. I know you haven’t slept in a few nights. Three, maybe? This is probably night number four. Your boots are new. They’re pinching your toes on the right foot.”
“I bet you’re a regular wet blanket at parties, and the boots were a gift.”
“From a woman who wear expensive perfume,” Matt says. “It’s nice. It smells like lilacs and vanilla. Subtle, which I appreciate. The boots weren’t cheap, either. The leather’s Italian.”
“I judged you too harshly. I bet you don’t get invited to parties.”
“I went to a party just a few months ago.”
“A party crasher, I like it,” she says. “What’s your name, anyway, Laser Eyes?”
“The paper likes to call me Daredevil,” Matt says.
She sighs heavily. “Too bad. I liked Laser Eyes. Well, Mr. Daredevil-Who-Knows-The-Nurse, I also know a few things about this crime fighting we both seem to do. You need a few good allies.” She lets him sit up for the first time since she grabbed him and slammed him down. “Nurse. Lawyer.” She starts digging in her pocket. “I can give you my lawyer’s card.”
As she pulls the card out, Matt is almost knocked backwards by the familiar smells. “Foggy Nelson. Your lawyer is Foggy Nelson.”
“What? No. Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz, but I guess your laser eyes aren’t good for everything?”
“The person who gave you that card is a lawyer named Franklin Nelson. Foggy,” Matt says.
“Is he?” she sounds almost intrigued. “I didn’t catch a name. Take it.”
Matt shakes his head, holding his hands up to wave her off. “I don’t need it.”
“Sooner or later, you will.”
“I have plenty of legal advice already,” Matt says. “Thank you, but no thank you.”
“Don’t say I didn’t try to help. Suit yourself.” She repockets the card.
Matt nods at her. “I won’t. Do you have a name?”
“I’m just a PI. Nobody special, Daredevil.”
“A little strong for a PI, aren’t you?” Matt asks.
“A little into the devil for a Catholic?”
Matt huffs a laugh, despite himself. “Touché.” He starts to move towards the fire escape again, then pauses. “Do you have a business card for you? For your PI business?”
“Aww, Daredevil, I’m sure we’ll see each other around. Maybe we’ll exchange numbers over the third perp.”
As if cued, the perp from this run-in groans. Matt grins at the PI. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Boots.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he leaps for the fire escape, flipping up the landings to the roof. He’s sprinting towards the edge for a leap when he hears her again, muttering to herself.
“I was really hoping for lasers.”