Issue #2: Devil Hunt
“Dear Lord, it is with heavy hearts that we come to you today-“
Matt’s head is bowed, but his thoughts are only partially in reverence.
“-to mourn and celebrate the life of your son, Father Thomas Bolton-“
His mind races, replaying the event over and over in his mind.
“-who has been taken from this world far too soon.”
One thought continues to surface, bubbling up with the same anger that Matt’s been feeling for days. Justice will be done.
That night…
The scent of tobacco smoke covers the roof. Along with the sound of shoes scrapping against the ground in boredom, Daredevil knows that Ben Urich has been waiting for him for some time.
“You knew I was coming,” Daredevil says, swinging up to the rooftop and landing next to the reporter. He smells the aroma of old cigarettes, “Smoking that much at your age can be dangerous, Ben.”
“You’re lecturing me about what’s dangerous, Matt?” Urich chuckles, taking a drag from his newest cigarette. “It was a nice funeral.”
“You wrote the story,” Daredevil states. “Was there anything about the killing that seemed familiar?”
“Multiple stab wounds along the upper body,” Urich recounts. “Most were nonlethal, like the killer was stabbing at Father Thomas in a blind rage, not exactly meaning to kill. He died from massive blood loss after many major arteries were knicked.”
“I know how the man died!” Daredevil feels his patience snaps, but he brings himself back to calmness. “Intolerance. That was Father Thomas’s last word. Does that sound familiar to you? A name of a group, or a person?”
“I’m sorry, Matt, it doesn’t.” Urich pulls out a pad of paper from his pocket and rifles through the pages. “But, bodies just like Father Thomas have been showing up around New York over the past few weeks. One of my contacts told me the police just made the connection this morning. The same knife has been used in five murders.”
“So we’re dealing with a serial killer.”
“Maybe,” Urich flicks the used cigarette away. “But nothing connects the victims as far as the police can-“
“-tell.” Ben looks back but finds only shadows in the wake of his masked friend. He sighs, looks at his watch, and decides that tonight’s stories can wait until the morning. With any luck, Matt will provide for some good ones.
Across Town…
“Remind me’s agin why you needs this stuff?”
A group of men unload and carry the boxes of chemicals from their truck into the dark building. Their boss, a man whose Brooklyn accent is almost as thick as his ties to black market, looks onwards with their current customer for the night.
One of his men clumsily drops one of the boxes, the sound of the fall echoing loudly through the abandoned storage building.
“Can you…please…tell your people to be quiet?” the customer whispers, clenching his teeth in some sort of pain.
“Apologies, sir.” The boss says. “Hey! Careful wit the merchandise!”
“Please…be quiet.” The boss looks back at the customer to see him clutching at his ears.
“You okay, sir?” The boss reaches for the customer, but the costumer pulls away when he sees the boss’s hand.
“Do not touch me.”
Before the boss can apologize, the sound of another box dropping to the ground sounds through the building.
“Hey!” the boss crosses over and gets in his man’s face. “Thought I told ya not to drop anymore of those boxes!”
“Sorry boss! I didn’t mean t-ACK!”
A knife buries itself in the man’s shoulder. Before the boss can even react, he feels a blade run through into his chest.
The customer hisses into the bosses ear, “I said…to be…quiet.”
To be continued…
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