Chapter Text
Lazy morning light creeps between the blinds and bathes the small office space in a subtle natural glow. Dust particles catch on the light beams as they flit aimlessly through the air, and the only sound over the traffic of Hell’s Kitchen outside is the whirr of an rattling old air conditioning unit.
It’s been a slow week at Nelson & Murdock, and while that usually means less work to do, it also doesn’t make them any money.
Eventually, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few measly minutes, Foggy drops his pen on the desk and heaves a loud sigh. The others in the office—just Karen and Pete, the PI working with them now—look up from their own bored dazes.
Karen sighs back at Foggy, a mutual understanding.
Foggy stands up abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing once again. “Okay,” he says firmly, “if a client doesn’t walk through that door in the next five minutes, I’m telling Matt not to bother coming in today.”
Karen and Pete stare at the door. Nothing happens.
“Alright, I’m calling him.” Foggy fishes for his cell phone, and just as he swipes up on the screen to unlock it, a soft knock comes from the door. An apprehensive looking silhouette is fidgeting behind the frosted glass.
Foggy blinks, looking from his phone to the door and back to his phone again. “Am I magic?” he whispers.
“In your dreams, buddy,” Pete says as Karen opens the door.
A rather tall woman is on the other side, and she looks between the three of them nervously before asking in a shaky voice, “Is this—Could you point me toward Oculus Investigations?”
Pete instantly perked up, got out of his seat, and smoothed down the wrinkles in the blazer he had thrown on over an old t-shirt. “That’s me!” he says, probably a smidge too enthusiastic. He ushers the woman inside, and she hesitantly steps in as Karen closes the door behind her. “I really need a sign,” Pete mumbles. “How did you hear about me?”
The woman fidgets again with her hands. “I went to Alias Investigations first,” she admits, “but Ms. Jones referred me to you. She said you interned for her.”
Pete had worked for Jessica for a while before starting his own business, so it checks out. He’ll have to thank her for the potential paycheck if this case has any merit.
The woman continues, though, backtracking on her own words. “Not that you’re not my first choice, I mean, I guess you aren’t, but I don’t mean it that way, just that—”
Pete cuts her off. “It’s okay,” he assures her. He pulls his desk chair around and offers it to her while he takes a seat on the corner of his desk. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here? My assistant should be in soon, too.”
By the time the stranger takes the seat, Foggy has gone back to his own desk. So the client isn’t looking for an attorney. That’s fine; she might end up needing one anyway. He’ll only eavesdrop a little now, and then when Matt and Quinn arrive, they can all go over the case together. Karen always takes the best notes anyhow.
The woman takes off her purse and sets it in her lap. The pleading look she gives Pete is serious. “My husband, Richard Shoemaker,” she says, and it’s clear that getting the words out is difficult. She begins to dig frantically through the contents of her bag, and eventually pulls out a small, crumpled photograph. She hands it to Pete. “He’s missing.”
Karen scribbles on her notepad as Pete nods, looking at the man in the photo. He’s on the younger side, probably in his early thirties, and clean shaven. A seemingly normal, maybe respectable man.
“How long has he been missing, Mrs. Shoemaker?”
“Five of the longest days in my life,” she answers, and it doesn’t take listening to her heartbeat to know her words are true.
Pete wants to tell her he can help her, but he remembers Jessica’s advice. Some missing people don’t want to be found. “Had he been acting strangely beforehand? Standoffish, distant? Or even happier or more generous than usual?”
Mrs. Shoemaker shakes her head. “No, no, he was completely normal. He—he works nights. At a clinic. He’s just a security guard. The last time I—” She chokes up. “The last time I saw him, he was going to work. Please, you—you have to help me.”
Pete thinks for a moment. Jessica had warned him against taking cases that seemed like the average cheating spouse or runaway, but whether this Richard Shoemaker man was kidnapped or left on his own, that’s still dollar signs in the bank for Oculus Investigations. And lord knows they need some right now. “Let me ask you this,” he says to her, “and there is a right answer. Did you or will you go to the police?”
Mrs. Shoemaker gives him a wounded, almost incredulous expression. “No,” she states solidly. “They wouldn’t help if their budgets depended on it.”
“Alright,” Pete concludes. “I’ll take a look at your case. Could you give me your contact information and the address of that clinic? Karen will write it down for you.”
She seems overjoyed, and tells Karen more than enough information to start building a case with. She tells Pete to keep the photo of her husband as well.
“We’ll call you soon, Mrs. Shoemaker,” Pete promises as he opens the door for her to leave. On the way out, the woman nearly collides with Matt on the other side of the door. They exchange apologies, and Matt crosses inside with Quinn behind him.
Quinn holds up a wrapped donut from the café they’d been held up at, and Pete starts ushering Mrs. Shoemaker out quicker.
She turns to him one last time and grips his arm. “Please, find my Richard.”
“My assistant and I are on the case, ma’am.”
Quinn throws the donut across the office and it hits Pete right in the face. “I’m not your assistant,” they tell him.
Pete closes the office door. “Hey! What’d I say about throwing things when we have clients here?”
“Nothing,” Quinn argues, a smile on their face. “Matt’s the one who gave that lecture. And if I remember,” they add on, sing-songy, “he gave it to you.”
Foggy snorts from his desk, and Pete picks the donut up. “Okay, but paper airplanes are literally made to be thrown.”
Matt collapses his cane and sets it on the table by the door. “And now they aren’t allowed in the office. Simple.”
“Whatever. You guys are just jealous I got the first client of the week.” Pete moves his chair back around to the right place behind his desk.
Quinn unpacks their laptop from their bag and sips on the drink in their hand. “Did they ask where your parents were?”
Pete grumbles. “That was a totally isolated incident that Foggy should never have told you or posted on Twitter.”
Foggy shrugs. “Hey, I got a pretty cool article in the Watch for it, so I don’t regret it.”
“You will.”
“No threatening Foggy until after lunchtime,” Matt orders.
“I’ll threaten you, too,” Pete mumbles.
“Be nice to your father,” Foggy jokes. Quinn laughs behind him. The two share a grin and a high five.
Matt holds back a chuckle. “So the client?”
Oh, right. Pete and Karen explain the situation to Matt and Quinn, with Foggy adding his own occasional two cents intermittently. Once everyone is caught up, Quinn speaks up again.
“So you think he was kidnapped or something?” they ask, tossing their empty coffee cup into the trash. .
“I dunno,” Pete admits. “There’s not much pointing to criminal activity, but we gotta pay the bills somehow.”
Quinn nods. “The electricity bill went up again.”
“Hm. We can live without that, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Quinn says. “Maybe water though.”
“Yeah, who needs water?”
“You’re both severely dehydrated,” Karen says.
“That’s a synonym for cool,” Pete quips. No one agrees. “Tough room. Well, I’ve got a case to work on. I’ll call you guys if I need any rude lawyers.”
“He gets one client and it goes to his head,” Foggy says.
“Let him get an ego,” Matt replies.
“I can hear you!” Pete shouts. When Matt and Foggy start whispering to each other, he rolls his eyes. “Quinn, you coming with me?”
“I just got here,” Quinn complains.
“Suit yourself.”
“Wait. Will there be a crime scene?”
“I dunno, maybe.”
“Okay, I’m in. Does that make me sound like a creep?”
“You always sound like a creep, Quinnathy.”
“Shut it, Peach Boy.”
The two continue to bicker on their way out.
When they’re gone, Foggy speaks up. “Should we really be letting them out there by themselves?”
Matt shrugs. “They can probably handle it.”
“Probably?” Karen echoes.
“I don’t think you’re the best role model in this situation, Matty,” Foggy admits.
“As long as they don’t get arrested or pick a fight with ninjas, they’ll be fine.” Matt pauses. Opens his mouth to speak again.
“Don’t say—”
“Probably.”
——————————————————————
“You know, I think people would take you more seriously if you dressed like a professional,” Quinn says out of nowhere as they and Pete walk to Richard Shoemaker’s place of employment.
“What are you talking about?” Pete questions. “Who doesn’t take me seriously?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
“You’re jealous of my fashion sense.”
Quinn snickers. “You dress like a twelve year old boy in a talent show.”
“Where is this hostility coming from?” Pete demands.
“Nowhere, I just retweeted Foggy’s post about the incident again.”
“I’m going to report Foggy’s account for hate speech and libel. And defamation.”
“Yeah, good luck with that, Matt Junior.” Quinn pats him on the shoulder. Pete swats their hand away.
Finally, they make it to the address where their missing person allegedly went the night he disappeared. It’s a fairly large clinic, with people going in and out several different entrances. It would be pretty easy for someone to slip by under the radar.
Taking advantage of that, Pete and Quinn manage to find their way past the lobby and onto the third and final floor, where Mrs. Shoemaker said her husband was stationed for guarding. The floor looks deserted compared to the bustle of the lobby, but there’s a desk down the hall from the elevator with a man sitting at it bored. Pete tugs Quinn toward it.
“Hey, wait, what are you gonna do, just ask him where the guy is?” Quinn says. “Isn’t that a little…suspicious? People aren’t just going to give you info like that. I have to dig for my sources sometimes.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I got a feeling about this guy.” Pete stands in front of the desk expectantly.
The man sitting there stares up at them with exhausted eyes. “Yes?” he asks.
“We’re looking for Richard Shoemaker,” Pete tells him. Straight-forward and simple. Jessica would probably do this with more style, but she isn’t here, and this isn’t her case.
“You and me both, kid,” the man says.
Quinn stifles a laugh.
Pete ignores it. He feigns ignorance. “He isn’t here?”
“Hasn’t clocked in all week. Not like we need him. Heard there’s gonna be a few security personnel getting laid off soon.”
“You’re firing security guards after all those attacks in Hell’s Kitchen?” Quinn pipes up.
“I’m not firing anybody,” the man defends himself. “And this isn’t Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Why hasn’t he shown up to work?” Pete brings the conversation back to the missing man.
“Beats me. Probably heard about the downsizing. All he does is sit on his phone in the supply closet until someone wants his help anyway.” The man shrugs. “He’s kind of an idiot.”
“Hm,” Pete hums. “Well, thanks anyway. Come on, Quinn.” He starts pulling them away again.
As they get out of earshot, the man at the desk tries calling after them. “Why do you need Shoemaker in the first place?” But they’re already gone.
“We’re leaving?” Quinn asks.
“Not exactly,” Pete says. He points to a door labeled ‘supply’. “We’re going in here.” He pulls a multitool from his blazer pocket and sticks it in the lock on the door. “Cover me.”
Quinn steps closer. “He gave us a lot of surprisingly relevant stuff to work with,” they marvel.
“Yeah, people love to gossip, huh? Especially at jobs like this. In this part of town, confidentiality means almost nothing. Even in a hospital.” Pete makes progress on the door.
“You know I could have just read his–”
“But you didn’t have to.” With a click, the door opens.
The two of them slip into a normal, cramped supply closet with various cleaning materials on a few flimsy shelves and a mop in the corner.
“What are we looking for?” Quinn questions. There isn’t much to look at here at all.
“We’ll know it when we see it.” Pete examines a half-empty bottle of bleach.
“Very helpful.”
“Hey, we’re closer than we were. You think the guy knew he was getting fired? You see anything in the news circles lately about security guards unionizing or something?”
Quinn shakes their head. “Not really. I don’t usually keep up with Security Guard Monthly. Maybe ask Foggy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s all the rage with millennials.”
“Hey, wait,” Quinn says suddenly. “What is that?” They point up toward the ceiling, where a dark shape contrasts against the white tile.
“How’d you see that?!” Pete groans. “I hate tall people.” He takes his phone out and shines the flashlight into the ceiling corner.
“Hey, you’ll have a growth spurt someday,” Quinn jokes.
“Quinn.”
“Maybe a couple inches. Two or three. Maximum.”
“Quinn.”
“What?”
Pete gestures toward the thing Quinn had pointed out. “That’s a lot of dried blood.”