A Spotty Record

One day I went into Rabin's office to ask a favor.  "I need to do something, and you're going to complain that it reflects poorly on the Foundation.  But I feel I should do it.  The Jester's on trial and would like me to testify as a character witness.  It won't get him off, but it might lessen his sentence."

"Well, I don't-" he started to say.

"No."  I turned around.  Marcia was leaning against the doorway.  "No, you won't help Jester."

"I'm not helping him with a crime," I protested.  "I just want to tell the court-"

"Please," Marcia sighed.  "The prosecutor will LOVE testimony from a convicted felon, who also assisted in this felon's escape from the authorities." 

She had a point, but surely Jester's lawyer knew that when he asked.  "I still feel that I owe-"

"We owe," Marcia interrupted.  "He came through for Jason.  I know.  I did the follow-up calls.   You should hear his Chemistry teacher rave about the kid's grades.  And Math!  He does all the homework and is even helping other kids."  She turned to the Director.  "I'll testify.  Been working at charities for twenty years, let the prosecutor try to impugn my character.  I'll fuck him straight up."  She turned back to me.  "It's a sad fact that everyone in the courtroom would prejudge you for having done time.  People just shouldn’t do that."  Then she went back to her desk.

Rabin and I stared at the doorway for a moment.  Then I shook my head, went to give Marcia the lawyer's phone number. And say thanks.

----------

I was leaving work a day or two after Marcia's testimony when someone jumped me.  Black bag over my head, a sweep of the legs, carried a short distance and tossed into what sounded like a van.  Handcuffed on the floor, cane tossed in beside me. 

A gruff voice inches from my ear told me, "There's three things you're going to tell me.  The first is-"

"Frank?" I asked.

"What?"

"Frank, that's you, isn't it?  Frank Castle.  It's me, Ray!  From the cell!"

"Ray?"  He pulled the bag off of me.  The Punisher was kneeling beside me in the van.  "I never even thought to look up your first name, Ray.  It was just 'the Malone Guy from the Foundation.'  I am so, so sorry!"  He pulled key to the cuffs out of his pocket. A nod towards the cane.  "You didn't have that inside."

"It came after you left.  Heh. This is how we met, Frank!" I laughed.  He'd done the exact same move, but with a pillow case, the day I was assigned his cell.  Then came my introduction to 'the four rules you're going to obey as my cellmate.'  Frank had always been on the edge as far as heroes and villains went.  His prison stretch overlapped mine by a few months.  Then he got mixed up with organized criminals, and escaped, while I got mixed up with big business.  Better organized criminals, as it turned out.

Once I was loose, he helped me sit up against the back of the driver's seat.  "What'd you wanna know, Frank?"

He sat back against the back doors.  He looked more than a little embarrassed.  "I, uh, wanted to find Hammerhead."

"Never met him," I said.  "And, you know, I wouldn't tell you if I had."

"Yeah," he said.  You're good about that.  Here I was, hoping for an easy line for once."

Just then, something ripped open the side of the van.  Shiny claws raked through the sheet metal, then a hand poked in.  Prowler was outside the van, looking at me.  "Looks like you could use some help, Ray!"  He pointed the weaponry on his forearm at Punisher, who had brought a shotgun to bear on the intruder.

"GUYS!" I shouted.  They paused.  "Punisher isn't hurting me!  He stopped.  And Prowler would not be attacking if you hadn't kidnapped me.  Can you guys just call it a wash and walk away?"  They were still aiming at each other.  "Prowler, is anyone paying you ENOUGH money to go against the PUNISHER right now?"

"Naw, man, I was just trying to find you, give you a letter from the Jester.  I ain't even getting paid for this."  A favor?  I was touched.

"Frank," I turned, "You're carrying enough hardware to really fuck up the Prowler's night, but how much will it cost you?"

"I'm set for a kidnapping and maybe some bodyguards, no sweat," he growled.  "But the stuff I was saving for hitting Hammerhead is back at the-"  And then he stopped talking before giving anything away. 

But that's the point Prowler would have interrupted anyway.  "Hammerhead?  He really pissed off Kingpin last night.  You, uh…  You after him?"

"If he pissed off Kingpin, aren't you?" Punisher asked.  They both lowered their weapons.  I started to breathe again.  Turns out, mob-boss treaties were in place to prevent Fisk from moving directly against Hammerhead, at least not without officially declaring war.  Everyone would have to choose sides in that case.  But if Punisher happened to hear a rumor about someone's hideout, that was a thorn in everyone's side, but not war.

The 'rumor' was quickly shared, the van abandoned, and twenty minutes later I was alone in a diner, reading a thank-you note over my soup. 

----------

I stopped by Sammy's one night, just for a beer.  No cards, no recitations, no recruiting.  Carl was playing bartender, having worked his way up from the scullery.  They'd actually been able to hire a few people, from the business they were pulling in these days. 

All clean, too.  Guys with warrants were using other Scenes, and the heroes were beating them up at other scenes.   I wondered if Sammy's really counted as a Scene anymore. 

I didn't figure it out before it was time to go home, so I tipped and left.  Someone bumped into me as I got up to street level.  Apologized, made sure I was okay, then they went on.  My phone started squealing like an old dial-up modem.  I took it out and looked at the screen.  Ran it over my clothes until it beeped.

I found a bug of some sort under the collar of my jacket.  Couldn't tell the function.  Didn't really care.  Tossed it into the gutter.  My phone quieted.  I walked in the direction of the guy that bumped me.  Found him leaning against a car a block down.  "How many taxpayer dollars did I just dump in the sewer?"

"Quite a few, actually," he said with a shake of his head.  Then he flashed a badge.  "Detective Lewis.  And you just destroyed city property.  Expensive property.  Worth enough to have you charged for-"

"Did you have a warrant to place that device on my person?" I asked. 

"Told you," a voice said from the car he'd been leaning on.  I ducked a bit to see my parole officer in the passenger seat.  "Hey, Malone." 

"Hey, Penn.  What is going on?"

"Your parole ends next week," he explained.  "The commissioner is worried that we won't have any hold on you anymore."  He got out of the car, gestured for me to lean against it.  I took a little weight off my stump.

"And you said…?"

"What _I_ said was that we don't need a hold on you.  But," he rolled his eyes towards Lewis, "SOMEONE felt we could follow you to a bad guy, work a deal, maybe get a couple arrests out of you.  I told him it wouldn't work."

"Because he's clean," Lewis snorted.  He did not put eagle claws around the word 'clean,' but his tone was scoffing. 

"Because he's too smart for guys that just make arrests after Spider-Man catches them," Penn retorted.

"ONE COLLAR!" Lewis yelled.  "I only ONCE had-"

"Shaddup," Penn told him.  To me, he said, "For what it's worth, I think you're clean.  I think you've always been clean.  I'm sorry for what the system did to you.  But my son's in the same school with Amelia Wright."

"Sandman," I remembered.

Penn shrugged.  "Maybe things worked out for a reason."  He got back in the car.  "Come on, hero.  Let's go see if Santa-Man left a wrapped gift under a streetlight."