Harry Potter: Syndicate of Heroes

"The apartment of one James Broadshaw," Foggy supplied. "Just why were you there, Miss Hardy?"

"James used to date one of my friends," she replied. "My friend never got all of her stuff back from him, some of it was important to her and she was getting more and more upset. So, I decided to do something about it."

Lie.

"But he was already dead when I got there," she continued, her voice cracking with emotion on every other word. "He was just lying there; a knife sticking out of his chest and there was blood everywhere and his eyes … he was just staring, staring up at nothing, you know?"

Truth.

"I went to check on him, to see if he still had a pulse or something and that's when the police busted in and arrested me," she finished.

Truth.

"I don't believe that you're telling us everything," Matt stated. "But I do believe that you didn't kill Mister Broadshaw. We'll take your case, but I must warn you that it'll go a lot easier if you trust us with telling us everything that you know."

"You believe me?" Felicia asked, hope filling her question. "You'll defend me?"

"We will," Foggy assured her. "Just sit tight and we'll see what we can do about arranging for bail and getting you out of here."

"Thank you," Felicia said.

After the two men had left the room, Foggy leaned in towards his partner.

"You believe she didn't kill the guy?" he asked in a near-whisper.

"I do," Matt replied, his cane tapping ahead as they walked. "She did not kill Mister Broadshaw; she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, I don't believe her story about why she was there; we're going to have to get her to tell us the truth if we're to defend her case successfully."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, gorgeous women seem to open up to you all the time," Foggy groused.

"Was she gorgeous?" Matt asked amusedly.

"Don't go using the 'blind card' again," Foggy accused. "I know you, Matt Murdock. If there's a gorgeous woman within a hundred feet, you can find her. And then end up dating her!"

Matt could hear the way his friend was shaking his head.

"Don't worry, Foggy. I have no intention of dating Miss Hardy; she is a little young, after all," Matt replied.

He chose to ignore the grumbling mumble of his friend as they continued their walk towards the appropriate counter in an attempt to arrange bail for their newest client.

ooo00ooo

Brown eyes scanned the street, seeking out any threat to his person.

This being New York meant that people were more inclined to ignore everyone else, intent on getting where they needed to go or be within the smallest amount of time and with the least amount of interaction with others as possible. This being Hell's Kitchen, the denizens were even more wary of interacting with others, giving each other a wide berth as they passed on the street.

He smiled to himself, one hand automatically reaching up to make sure that his black beanie was settled properly on his head, covering his most distinguishing feature. His eyes settled on a bar and he cocked his head as he considered it.

Its windows were mostly clean, but there was just enough grime on them to keep the casual glance from seeing what was happening inside. The rest of the building looked to be in good condition, solidly built even though it was old and showing its age.

With a nod, he crossed the street to get to it, striding straight inside as though he owned the place and he had nothing to fear, which was more true than anyone would ever realise.

Inside was sparsely populated by the usual low-life scum that one would find in dives like this – the perfect sort of people to get information from. He stepped up to the bar and settled onto a stool, two down from one of the patrons. A single raised finger signalled the barkeep.

"Whiskey. Neat," he ordered.

A glass was quickly placed in front of him before being filled. He nodded his thanks before taking a sip. Nice and smooth, just the way he liked it.

"I'm looking for a bit of information," he stated.

The barkeep's eyes shifted about the room nervously before settling back onto him.

"What do you want to know?" he asked. "Might be able to help, depending on what it is."

A single note was pushed across the bar only to quickly disappear.

"I'm new in town," he began. "And like the looks of this here neighbourhood. Seems a good place to do some … business."

Glancing about, he could see that he had everyone's attention. As he continued, he plucked a toothpick from the nearby jar and began turning it about in his fingers.

"Thing is, being new, I don't know the lay of the land – where the best places to avoid or what the cops hereabouts are like," he said.

"It ain't the cops you gotta watch out for around here," one of the old men at a nearby table stated.

"You're in Hell's Kitchen, boy. Here, it's the devil you need to watch out for. He's always watching," his friend at the same table elaborated.

"And he'll eat you alive," the man on the stool just down from him chuckled. "A little guy like you don't stand a chance."

The toothpick he was turning over and over stilled, even as his mouth drew into a hard line.

"A 'devil', huh?" he asked, modulating his tone to give off an air of scepticism. "I'm thinking you guys are trying to pull one over on me."

"No bull, man," the first man stated. "The Devil's very real. Men and businesses have been suffering for a long time now. Most of the smart ones have moved away from the Kitchen because of him."

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