Frank's House

Frank's House

Misty felt that she might have misjudged both the people of Hell's Kitchen and the state of its law and order.

Just look at her colleagues. Michael and Scott's attitude toward Alvin, even the attitude of George Stacy, the highest-ranking officer in the Big Apple City's police department—all of it showed that Alvin was not a bad person. At the very least, he was 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 got that hand made?" Alvin called from behind the bar. "I really need to know."

Misty, who had been so stiff before, could no longer keep it together. She awkwardly 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. Jessica still owes you a favor! I'm just afraid the next few days won't be easy for you guys!"

Michael glanced at Jessica, who was pretending to wipe down the table, then gave a wry smile and rubbed the ribs that ached whenever it rained. "It wasn't her fault. I forgave her a long time ago. I have to get back and stop our new commissioner from causing more trouble. The others 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 should change the way you do things. I have a feeling your new commissioner is tough."

Michael smiled bitterly. "Let's hope so! Working here is hard labor!" With that, he and Scott went out to catch up with Misty.

Unexpectedly, Commissioner George had not left. He remained seated at the bar, deep in thought.

Alvin ignored him and called over to Fudge and Matt. "Guys, you're in luck. I made sweet-and-sour ribs and tomato beef stew today. If you don't mind, I can heat some up for you."

"Of course, Alvin, my good man. I knew you wouldn't let me go hungry," Fudge cried happily.

Alvin heated up the leftovers from lunch, made them into rice bowls, and handed them to Fudge and Matt. Watching the two of them eat with relish, he smiled and said, "Guys, you're lawyers! There aren't many who are worse off than you two! Why not go to other districts and find some clients? You can't support yourselves taking cases around here!"

Fudge chewed his rice indifferently. "You don't understand, Alvin. What we're doing now is the kind of work gangs used to do. Helping construction workers recover unpaid wages, suing over sexual harassment for female employees, taking insurance companies to court for people who can't collect their pensions."

Wiping his mouth, Fudge complained, "You know what? These companies and employers aren't afraid of us at all. They're more afraid of gangs. To deal with us, all they have to do is spend money on a bunch of lawyers, and they'll make our lives miserable. But when facing gangs, they'll pay up politely. The victims might even get more compensation. Last week, I got Old Harry's wages back by taking Swagger, one of the drivers from your school, dressing up as gangsters, and going to collect them. It was much easier than going to court."

Alvin greatly admired Fudge's ability to ramble. Smiling, he said, "I mean you could take on some cases that actually make money."

Fudge waved a hand. "We really don't have time. Our current cases are already booked two months out. Even though none of them make money."

After saying that, Fudge shot Matt a resentful glance. "The one case that should have made us the most money was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s compensation from the day before yesterday, but you refused to sue them."

Matt turned his face toward Fudge. "What we're doing now is getting the residents of Hell's Kitchen to start believing in the law instead of relying on gangs and guns to solve their problems. Only then can they find lawful work elsewhere."

"Yes, great saint Matt Murdock. We already owe a month's rent. And you just gave free consultation to a hot chick.

Man, if it weren't for Alvin, we would have gone bankrupt last month. As a lawyer, that would have been a huge disgrace in my career," Fudge complained to Matt.

Alvin felt some sympathy for Fudge. With a colleague like Matt, it was indeed hard to make money. Alvin knew Matt's character too. The guy was a genuinely good person. But that was how the world worked—good people often struggled, while bad people lived lives of endless luxury.

Thinking of that, that bastard Kingpin looked especially hateful. Why was it that the mighty Daredevil lived like some poor man surviving on welfare, while Kingpin, a gang boss, feasted and partied every day and sang the night away?

The key was that Matt's welfare was paid for by Alvin. That was too much. He would have to find that bastard Kingpin and make him bleed a little more. The kindergarten was about to open, and they still needed a few school buses.

While Alvin was lost in thought, Frank returned, looking weary from travel. His gray work clothes were covered in white paint.

Walking quickly to the bar, Frank said to Jessica, "Hey, Jessie, do me a favor and get me a beer."

As he spoke, Frank coldly sized up George, who sat silently at the bar. He did not like the man's air at all.

Frank had a powerful presence. The moment he sat down at the bar, everyone shifted away to either side, keeping their distance from him.

Jessica filled a beer with a look of disgust, stretched her arm out from far away, and handed it to Frank as though he carried the plague.

Fudge and Matt silently moved to a table far away from him to continue eating. The chatty Fudge wanted to complain a little, but after comparing their builds and presence, he decisively shut his mouth.

Alvin knocked on the bar and said disdainfully, "Man, did you fall into a shit pit? If you stay here for a while, there won't be a living soul left in my restaurant."

Frank took a big gulp of beer and said proudly, "I got the house next door. I painted it myself, and I fixed that damn sewer pipe too.

And for that rundown house, that fat pig of a landlord still wanted five thousand dollars a year from me."

Alvin looked at Frank as if he were an idiot. "Did you pay him? If you haven't, I'll have Old Kent go talk to him. He can definitely get the price down."

Frank said smugly, "I paid twenty thousand dollars. Ha, it was a great deal."

In Alvin's eyes, Frank had been downgraded from idiot to mentally deficient. This was someone who needed care, so he said softly, "I can introduce you to a lawyer. He should be able to get some of the money back for you. The legal fees can come with a pretty good discount too."

Frank looked at Alvin contemptuously. "I'm not an idiot. Twenty thousand for the house next door was a great deal."

Alvin stared at Frank in disbelief. No matter how he looked at him, Frank did not seem like someone who could bargain. No matter how bad that house was, it could not have been worth less than eighty thousand dollars. No matter how bad the security was here, this was still Big Apple City, wasn't it?

Alvin carefully asked, "Is the landlord still alive?"

Frank glanced at George, the only one still sitting at the bar, and said, "I drove off the gangsters who were causing trouble at his supermarket and helped him sell it for a good price. So he gave me a huge discount on the house. Hahaha!"

Alvin was even more worried now. This guy would not go easy on gangsters. He asked, "Then... what about the gangsters? Don't tell me they left after you gave them a hug."

Frank proudly drained the rest of his beer. "I told them to get lost. If they had a problem, they could come find Alvin at the Peace Hotel."

Ignoring Alvin's shit-eating expression, he hummed a tune and headed out to his own house. By then, he had also noticed that he did not smell all that great.