Gentlemen and Lawyers

The lawyer's heart thundered like a motorcycle engine, every vital sign showing that he was ready to fight.

Yet his target was utterly unhurried. Not only did he slowly pry open a beer bottle, he even fetched two glass beer mugs and attempted to demonstrate his pouring technique to the lawyer. Salomon had no intention of wasting even a drop of monastery beer—look at that deep mahogany-brown body, smell its rich aroma of bread, apples, plums, figs, and raisins, the distinctive scent of yeast perfectly blended with the sweetness of honey and a faint oaky note.

This was the finest beer in the world, a substitute created by Northern European monks when they sought to taste Jesus' "body and blood," both for public health reasons and because the climate made grape cultivation impossible. Salomon eagerly invited Matthew Murdock to try it.

After downing the entire glass in one gulp, Salomon set it down with satisfaction.

"I bear no hostility toward you. I bear no hostility toward anyone." Salomon looked at Matthew Murdock, who remained poised to strike, then at the untouched beer before him. "I only bear hostility toward that thing that crossed over from another dimension."

Matthew Murdock said nothing.

The previous night, a small cargo ship had arrived at a private dock in New York's Clinton District. It carried only a single blue shipping container. Important figures from the Japanese mafia had all come to receive the shipment, armed with MP7 submachine guns fitted with suppressors. Smuggling via containers was common in human trafficking, though such operations had nearly vanished after being struck down by an unknown force some time ago. But gangs grew as wildly as weeds, and so did their businesses. The Japanese mafia had brought weapons not to guard against rival gangs, but because they