The Owl of Wall Street
Daredevil and related characters belong to Marvel Comics.
Other Marvel Re-Imagined titles can be found here.
Rating: T (just covering my bases)
Foggy had taken a comic book down from the shelf and placed it carefully on the table before Matt. It was a vintage issue and still in the plastic. Matt didn’t need to see to know that Foggy’s expression was mixed. There he was drawn, the superhero in his cape soaring through the sky; the Future-Man. Matt could still remember the day when Foggy had first told him about the issue, described it in detail and first expressed that wish. ‘Maybe we could help people like that one day too’. So they chose the boring, mundane road and became lawyers, which still had its perks. Those perks just hadn’t decided to show themselves yet.
“I know why you don’t want to take Lieber’s case Foggy,” Matt said, rubbing his brow with his fingers and listening to Foggy pacing the room. He did his pacing more often than Matt knew he’d want to let on. “Times are hard though, Foggy. I want to… I know I can tackle something harder.”
“This isn’t harder Matt, this is financial suicide.”
They’d had the same discussion before. It hadn’t ended well. It never really did. That’s what everything came down to in the end, money. Its fickle shine and necessity kept the world spinning on its axis, kept the human race collapsing from its state of perpetual dominance. Without money they wouldn’t be able to repaint the walls. Without money they’d find themselves forced into protesting down Wall Street. Without money Lieber’s case would never have even appeared. It always came down to money and Matt knew Foggy was over conscious about that. He sighed and made a beckoning gesture with his hand. Matt could hear Foggy walking around the room, opening the cupboard and pulling out one of his Greedo-green mugs. He’d never seen either but that’s how Foggy had described them when he bought them. That’s just who Foggy was.
“Look, I know we need to test ourselves Matt but this isn’t how we do it,” he said, pushing the cold porcelain mug into Matt’s hand. Matt gripped it tightly and carefully raised it to his lips. He could smell the warmth emanating from the mug. Another brew from the man who knew Owlsley had connections. He smiled as Foggy continued talking. “Owlsley could pull in lawyers better than we are, trust me on this Matt.”
“I’m not doing this by myself,” Matt said, sipping at his coffee. He shivered. The first time he drank Foggy’s coffee he’d spat it out. From the stories they shared later, it seemed so had Foggy. That particular brew of coffee, the Toxic Nelson, was a taste acquired through necessity. Warm coffee just always seemed like the perfect match for a gloomy day and the perfect drink to talk legal cases over. Taste became a moot point. As much as Foggy didn’t like it, Matt knew there was little else he could do. Foggy sighed. Matt nodded, understanding. He’d sighed like that before, as had Foggy. It was the sigh they shared when that little apartment in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen was the only one to fit their meagre pay check, after all. It was the sigh of resignation.