Misty felt she might have misjudged the people of Hell's Kitchen and the state of law and order there.
Just look at how her colleagues, Michael and Scott, treated Alvin, and how the highest-ranking police official in Big Apple City, George Stacy, treated him. It all showed that Alvin wasn't a bad person—not really, and certainly not an enemy of the police.
Misty nodded stiffly and said coldly, "You'll see." Then she turned and headed out.
"Hey, Officer! You still haven't told me where you had that hand custom-made!" Alvin called from behind the bar. "I really need to know."
Misty's stiff demeanor finally cracked. Flustered, she tossed out, "Stark Industries' Laboratory," and hurried away.
Michael looked at Alvin apologetically. "Sorry, Alvin. I didn't expect her to be so impulsive."
Alvin waved it off. "It's nothing. Jess still owes you one! I'm just worried the next few days won't be easy for you guys."
Michael glanced at Jess, who was pretending to wipe down a table. With a wry smile, he rubbed his ribs, which always ached on rainy days. "It wasn't her fault. I forgave her a long time ago. I'd better get back and make sure our new chief doesn't make a mess of things. The others around here aren't as easygoing as you."
Alvin looked at Michael and said seriously, "Honestly, Michael, you're a good man. But I think you guys should change your approach. I've got a feeling your new chief is going to be tough to deal with."
Michael gave a rueful smile. "Here's hoping! Working here is a tough job." Then he and Scott went out, following Misty.
To everyone's surprise, Chief George didn't leave. He stayed seated by the bar, deep in thought.
Alvin ignored him and called over Foggy and Matt. "Guys, you're in luck. I made Sweet and Sour Ribs and Tomato-Braised Beef today. I can heat some up for you, if you don't mind."
"Of course, Alvin, my good friend! I knew you wouldn't let me go hungry," Foggy exclaimed happily.
Alvin warmed up the leftovers from lunch, made them into rice bowls, and handed them to Foggy and Matt. Watching them eat with gusto, he smiled and said, "Guys, you're lawyers! It's rare to see lawyers doing as badly as you two. Why not go to another neighborhood and find some clients? You can't support yourselves taking cases here!"
Foggy chewed his rice unconcernedly. "You don't understand, Alvin. We're doing the kind of work the gangs used to do. We help construction workers get their wages, represent female employees in sexual harassment cases, and sue insurance companies for people who can't get their pensions."
Wiping his mouth, Foggy grumbled, "You know what? These companies and employers aren't afraid of us at all. They're more afraid of the gangs. To deal with us, all they have to do is hire a bunch of lawyers, and they can give us a headache. But with the gangs, they pay up politely—and sometimes the victims even get more compensation. Last week, I got Old Harry's wages back by dressing up as a gangster with Swagger, the driver from your school. It was a lot easier than going to court."
Alvin was amazed by Foggy's ability to ramble on. He laughed. "I meant you could take on some paying cases."
Foggy waved a hand. "We really don't have time. Our cases are already booked up for the next two months, even though none of them pay."
When Foggy finished, he gave Matt a resentful glance. "The one case that could've made us money was the compensation from S.H.I.E.L.D. the other day, but you didn't want to sue them."
Matt turned to "look" at Foggy. "What we're doing now is getting the people of Hell's Kitchen to start trusting the law instead of relying on gangs and pistols to solve their problems. That way, they can find lawful work elsewhere."
"Yes, the great saint, Mr. Matt Murdock. We're already a month behind on rent, and you just gave a hot girl a free consultation.
"Buddy, if it weren't for Alvin, we'd have gone bankrupt last month. As a lawyer, that's a huge disgrace to my career," Foggy complained to Matt.
Alvin felt sorry for Foggy. With a colleague like Matt, it really was hard to make money. Alvin knew what Matt was like; he was a genuinely good person. But that was how the world worked: good people often had a hard time, while bad people lived in obscene luxury.
Thinking of that bastard Kingpin made him seem especially loathsome. How was it fair that the mighty Daredevil lived like someone scraping by on welfare, while Kingpin, a mere gang boss, spent his days feasting and his nights carousing?
And the worst part was, Alvin was the one paying Matt's welfare. That was too much. He'd have to go find that bastard Kingpin and make him cough up some more money. The Kindergarten was about to open, and they still needed a few School Buses.
While Alvin was lost in thought, Frank came back, looking as if he'd been through a storm. His gray Work Clothes were covered in white Paint.
He strode up to the bar and said to Jess, "Hey, Jess, do me a favor and get me a Beer."
As he spoke, Frank gave George, who sat silently beside the bar, a cold look. He didn't like the man's vibe.
Frank had a powerful presence. As soon as he sat at the bar, everyone edged away from him, keeping their distance.
Jess poured him a Beer with a disgusted look and handed it over at arm's length, as if he had the Plague.
Foggy and Matt silently moved to a table far away from him and continued eating. Foggy, who usually couldn't keep his mouth shut, had been about to make another wisecrack, but after comparing Frank's build and bearing with his own, he wisely shut up.
Alvin tapped the bar and said with a look of disgust, "Buddy, did you fall into a Cesspool? If you stick around here much longer, there won't be a living soul left in my Restaurant."
Frank took a long swig of Beer and said smugly, "I got the place next door. Painted it myself, and I even fixed that damn Sewer Pipe.
"For a dump like that, the fat Landlord still wanted five thousand U.S. Dollars a year."
Alvin stared at Frank like he was an idiot. "You paid him? If you haven't, I can have Old Kent go talk to him. I'm sure he could get the price down."
Frank said proudly, "I paid twenty thousand dollars. Ha, what a bargain."
In Alvin's eyes, Frank had gone from an idiot to a moron—a person in need of help. So he said gently, "I can introduce you to a lawyer. He should be able to get some of your money back, and he'll give you a pretty good discount on the fee."
Frank looked at Alvin with contempt. "I'm not an idiot. Twenty grand for the place next door was a bargain."
Alvin stared at Frank in disbelief. He didn't look like the kind of guy who could haggle. No matter how bad that house was, it couldn't be worth less than eighty thousand dollars. Law and order might be bad here, but this was still Big Apple City, wasn't it?
Alvin asked cautiously, "Is the Landlord still alive?"
Frank glanced at George, the only person who hadn't left the bar, and said, "I helped him drive the gang out of his supermarket. That got him a good price when he sold it. He gave me a huge discount on the house. Ha ha!"
Alvin grew even more worried. Frank wouldn't go easy on gangsters. He asked, "And the gang? Don't tell me you hugged them and they just left."
Frank smugly finished the rest of his Beer and said, "I told them to get lost. If there's a problem, they can go see Alvin at the Peace Hotel."
Then, ignoring Alvin's appalled expression, he hummed a little tune and headed out to his house. By then, he'd realized he didn't smell very good.
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