The Devil's In The Details

It was a five minute interview.

“Are you literate?” Was the first question. Hayley paused, smiling politely, and waited for a laugh. For a chuckle. For any indication she was being hazed in some way. Foggy Nelson maintained steady eye contact and did not continue.

“Um. Yes.”

“Good. It’s New York, you would be surprised by our other applicants. Your resume says you have three years of accounting.”

“I completed a course for the field four years ago, I have an up-to-date certificate in the state.”

“Do you actually just use turbo tax?”

He flicked through her limp resume, just two pieces of paper stapled together, and took a sip of coffee. It was good paper. Not quite cardstock, but thick. She bought it to make an impression because she knew the work history would not be. The week’s budget did not allow for making an impression, but exceptions have to be taken at times.

“I do them myself.” She maintained the same poised smile.

“Have you ever worked in a law office before?”

“No but I-”

“It’s fine. Can you start filing the taxes today? We’ve taken out three extensions and might have a couple of fines at this point.”

“You’re offering me the job?’

“Yes but I need you to start immediately. As in- now.”

Foggy stood up from his side of the desk and set the out of budget resume on top of a filing cabinet.

“Our last secretary, eh-hem, left us with short notice. No notice really.” He rolls his eyes and takes a key chain out of his front pants pocket. He slips a single silver key off and hands it to her over the desk.

“This key gets you into the alley way behind Alfredo’s bakery. If you get there at 6:15 he gives us discounted sandwiches every morning. The place next door, his cousin Ralph, has us our coffee. But if you’re late he sells them to the Irish Catholics across the street. We’re not Irish catholic, we’re Roman. Well Matt is both I guess. But he still takes offense at their acquisitioning our goods.”

“Alfredo’s?” Hayley was about to ask where this bakery is, if it is even in Hell’s Kitchen, when Mr. Nelson starts on another lecture.

“After you get breakfast then there’s the mail. Due to the increase of violence towards people who actually care about keeping this city safe we have stopped accepting mail at this location. Which is where this key comes into play.”

He opens the top drawer of a filing cabinet and retrieves another key, smaller, for a PO box. The key exchanged hands. He weaves his way from behind the front desk and into the side office. On the frosted glass is embossed “Nelson and Murdock”. He opens the door showing her around a scant room that smelled of cigarettes and smoke stained yellow walls.

Two desks face each other with little standing space between. Nelson scoots his way between the desks and grabs a heap of binders, papers slipping out and cascading to the floor. He swears and doesn’t attempt to pick any of them up. She ducks out of the way, with an inch to spare, as he drops the stack onto what is now her desk. To the left of these two rooms is a larger space with a conference table and mismatched chairs.

“Here’s what I have for taxes and billing. We are so behind on taxes because billing through the state is a hellish nightmare. Which I am glad to now share with you.”

“You don’t digitize?”

“We do. But you have to know your passwords to access said files. Which I don’t always possess.”

“And your partner?”

“Can’t use computers.”

“He’s that old?” Her ever present placid smile still beaming.

“No, just that blind.” This startles her, a momentary lapse of the expression. Alas a mother’s training is ever a blink away and her composure is once again- resound. The near constant manners and elocution schooling that is life in the upper echelon of Utah suburbia left Hayley Jensen perpetually prepped, preened, and poised for successful social interaction.

No barista was unthanked, no door left unpropped for an elderly passerby, and no interview not aced. This was not her first time being hired on the spot, but perhaps her most disorganized. Foggy Nelson struck her as quite unkempt. A ten dollar haircut, a pressed suit but with an out of date cut and pattern, and a cologne that felt more at home in a nursing home than a burgeoning law office. He had an overal…. Homey feel. She could adjust.

The office itself however would have to adjust to her. The smell, for one. This space needed a good candle. A candle, she caught herself, that one could not afford. Maybe never afford. If she had read the ad properly this gig was not going to make her riches. But the allure was there.

She had seen the title, Nelson and Murdock, in the paper she stole from her neighbor across the hall. Who buys newspapers anymore? Then their name popped up again on the billboard of local online papers from around New York. Small ones, yes, but the prowess was undeniable. They were rapidly gaining traction. A small but intense spotlight was being drawn across this part of the city, and in its center was this office. And that, despite its inconveniently placed decimal point on the paycheck, is where Haley wanted to be.

Well, the actual, physical, corporeal office? Not quite what she envisioned. “Lawyer” brought to mind glossy wooden desks from carved mahogany and whiskey glasses smelling of peat and smoke. Of bound volumes thick with the intricacy and importance of the philosophical advancement of human law. The power of mankind to create function out of disorder, unity when there is dissonance. Concise clarity manifest in the physical aesthetic.

The plastic folding chair behind the ancient Ikea cubicle desk did not speak to her soul. It did not sing of the complexities of law and those who choose to master it. It said “sad”. The whole cigarette permeated office said “sad”. As did the cobwebs in the corners and the dust on the window sills. At least she got to be the one with the view of the Hudson. This did not fit the impression the papers had made.

“I haven’t had lunch yet.” She says and starts to pick the individual pieces of paper off of the ground and then tote them back to the stack.

“I can pick up some take out from Chalong’s, Matt’ll be in soon. Hang tight.” He walks out breezily.

Finally, alone, Hayley lets out a deep breath and plops down on the plastic folding chair. It squeals. What did I get myself into? There’s rent to pay, she already owes Molly $650 from last month, and she follows a pipe dream to this sad little office. Although not the first on sight hire, maybe this one should have been the first one she rejected.

Leafing through the first binder it is apparent that their taxes are, indeed, three extensions behind. She’ll need a computer. And turbotax. The second binder rambles state jargon payments for small clients that New York sponsored. If they had become known for anything, Nelson and Murdock, rooted for the underdog.

There were other bills besides the late taxes, the phone bill was two months behind, as was the rent. The debt was piling up. She wondered how the two even managed to take her on as a third employee. How were they even paying their respective rent?

A key jiggled in the lock to the hallway door. Hayley jolted upright in her seat, she’d melted over organizing the papers. The outline in the barred window was taller and leaner than the man who had just left her. In walked a new man, and he didn’t even look at her. In a brown tweed suit and dark wine red glasses he gently opened the door and stepped inside. He was humming. She waited for him to make an introduction but he just stepped inside and adjusted his tie. It was then she noticed the long white and red cane he held in his right hand.

Ah, the blind fellow.

Hayley tried to clear her throat quietly. He jumped.

“Is someone there?” He asks, startled.

“Oh sorry, yes, I’m Hayley.”

Catching him off guard was exactly what she was trying to avoid. He straightens and cocks his head to the side, not helpful information when you don’t know why Hayley is there to begin with.

“Oh, are you our one o’clock appointment? My partner Foggy stepped out for a moment but I can meet you in our office to discuss the case.” He smiles warmly. He’s got an excellent smile, broad and forthright. She smiles back. Not the practiced, polite one, a soft one. He’s handsome. Surprisingly so.

“I just met with your partner before he left. I interviewed for your secretary position. He hired me.”

“So you impressed him? He didn’t tell me he had finalized the hiring.”

“I got the impression that it was more of a desperation hire than it was because of my aptitude. But my ego would love to go with your interpretation.” He chuckles at this.

“Your ego?”

“Yes. A wild beast that can only be tamed with compliments and strong espresso.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Matt reaches out his cane and uses it sparingly to watch to the door of the joint office, he knows his way around this place. Hayley pivots in her chair and itches to know what to do next. Even before an interaction ends her brain overthinks and tries to predict exactly what the next right thing to say will be.

“So you have an appointment at 1?”

“With a woman from the Bronx, she has a murder case. A juicy one at that. The situation is that a member of the Trinitarios killed her husband for not paying his ‘dues’ to the local system. They run a launderette on their grounds and everyone else paid a protection fee. When Henry Jamison stopped paying they made sure his heart stopped beating.”

Hayley cringes.

“Rough case.”

“Aren’t they all? New York is a rough city. Ugly even. That’s why we’re here to restore balance. Order. Maybe even someday peace. Although that might need a raincheck.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with the appointment?”

“Right now maybe just settle in, if you can find a notepad maybe join us and jot some points down. Did Foggy mention the tax situation?”

“Not in great detail but I have the files here.” She starts to gesture towards the stack before remembering he can’t see said motion.

That’ll take some getting used to.

“That should be your highest priority. Then if you can go to the post office I have a package that needs to be signed for. But be careful, the Focus 14 is an expensive piece of equipment- I don’t know if you noticed or not but we are a little low on funds.”

“But well stocked on spider webs.” He grimaces.

“Oof, sorry. I uh can’t always be counted on in the cleaning department. And if I’ve learned anything about Foggy from our days as roommates in college it’d be a miracle for him to fold his underwear much less clean the office.”

“What’s the focus 14?” Matt leans against the doorframe, propping the end of the cane up on the toe of his shoe. He is very easy on the eyes.

“It’s a text to braille machine that hooks up to the laptop. It is paperless, just a tactile display that translates the screen text to something I can read. It’s helpful when I don’t have the time to translate documents. It’s convenient, streamlined. I’ve had to do everything in court in a tedious fashion, this is going to save Foggy and I hours of work. But it’ll cost us around $900, so if you could avoid dropping or stomping on it or handing it off to a homeless man- that would be ideal.”

There’s that sunshine smile again.

“Is jumping on the same as stomping on?”

“It’s the same general region of destruction.”

“Understood.”

“I can grab you our spare laptop for whatever you need,” Matt heads towards his desk and taps the edge of it with his cane as he moves to the other side. There is a cardboard box brimming with random items. He shuffles his way through the bin before retrieving a clunky, ancient looking computer.

“Apologies if there’s spiderwebs in here too.” Haley stands and with the office space being so small barely has to take two steps to retrieve it. Plunking it down on her desk, squeaking the folding chair, and opening the lid she starts it up.

“What’s the passcode?” The blue screen highlights the username of “N&M”.

“One, two, three, four.” There’s a pause. He does not laugh. He’s serious. It feels like a joke, and he does seem to have a knack for banter. But alas, the most elderly coded password is no joke. She doesn’t respond as she types it in and unlocks the computer.

They spend forty five minutes in relative silence, she glances through the open door at him occasionally. Maybe too often for the briefness of the period, she doesn’t damn herself. But it’s hard not to stare when he’s this good looking. There’s no harm in window shopping. Besides, this one can’t even tell if she’s ogling or not. Where’s the sin in that?

When 12:15 rolls around Foggy is back with the Thai take out. There’s a box of something delicious smelling on her desk and Hayley starts to fish out her wallet for some bills.

“No worries, it’s part of the payment. Since you’re on payroll, taxes, audits, and the rest of that jazz- make sure it’s a tax write off. Here’s the receipt.”

“This is why you guys are broke.” Takeout often was a brief mistake she made when she first moved out. Home cooked beans and rice gets you father. Even if cooking in her apartment is nearly impossible- a rice cooker can get you surprisingly far.

“And yet you still benefit! Huzzah!” Foggy sits down and starts to chow down, trying to finish before their client arrives.

“So, you made the hire?” Matt faces Foggy across their desks, not looking at him, but paying attention.

“She is literate, I couldn’t pass someone her up.” He says through a mouthful of noodles.

“Wow, you didn’t mention that rare talent earlier.” He says as she takes two bites, recognizes the time, and starts to rush to get to the post office. She says a quick goodbye before grabbing her purse and heading out the door, through the bleach hallway, and down the block to the post office.

Immediately starting the job was not the plan for the day. She saw the ad online and haphazardly edited her resume to fit the job description the night before. Landing the gig and having a laundry list of to-dos within the first ten minutes was unexpected. Molly had to be called, lunch canceled- lunch! That was forty minutes ago. Hayley pulled her phone out and saw a list of text messages on her screen.

11:30 AM Molly: Got us that table with the wobbly leg

11:35 AM Molly: Do you want me to order your usual or something new?

11:40 AM Molly: Knowing you it’s the usual.

11:50 AM Molly: When are you getting here? Your crab rangoon is getting cold.

11:58AM Molly: Are you ok?

Missed call at 12:02 PM

Missed call at 12:07 PM

12:15 PM Molly: Your crab rangoon is getting eaten. I’ll feel really guilty if I just ate a dead woman’s chinese food.

Missed call at 12:40 PM

Hurriedly she pushed dial.

“Are you kidding me? What was that?!” Molly’s pissed. Rightfully so.

“I’m so sorry, I had my phone on silent for the interview and it’s been a busy two hours. I got the job, they immediately had me start doing things. I’m on my way to the post office now.”

“You’re paying me back for the crab rangoon.”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll add it to your tab. So what are they like? You’ve been following them creeper style for a few weeks now, do they live up to the hype?” Matt’s smile flashes in Hayley’s mind.

“Not what I expected but good I think. Foggy Nelson is a little unconventional but he seems decent. Then Matt Murdock, that was a curveball.”

“How so?”

“Blind. Cane, glasses, braille. Totally blind. Do you remember any of the newspapers listing that?”

“I feel like one. But I could be wrong. Maybe the papers don’t want to focus on disability and have him sue them for discrimination. He’s a good lawyer after all.”

“There’s another thing…”

“Yeah?”

“He’s, like, really gorgeous.”

“Oh. OH!” Molly gasps.

“He’s got a great smile. I definitely was stealing glances when he was at his desk. I guess I don’t even have to steal them, it’s not like he’s going to catch me doing it.”

“You creep. You can’t creep on a blind man. How would he defend himself?”

“I’m not going to do anything to him that he would have to defend himself. Anyway he’s got the cane. One bonk with that and I’d be done.”

Molly is quiet for a few seconds too long and Hayley stops walking midstride.

“What?” She asks in silence.

“You’ve been single for what, three years?”

“Molly!”

“Hey! It’s an observation. You can’t be mad at me for taking note of your life. That’s called personal interest. But it’s been a while, girl. You turned down the last two guys. It was rough to watch.”

“And the last one was a homeless guy with piss on his shoes.”

“Ok fine you turned down the last guy.” Hayley shrugs, then sighs.

Thomas was a good guy. He was a barista at the cafe the two girls frequented. He was cute. He had a good style, good taste in music, and not in a pretentious way. He was in no way, shape, or form a preformative male. Thomas was real. And he was really serious. That was the scary part.

The first time they had spent time outside of the cafe, they and a few friends went to the local karaoke bar. As everyone else was singing Bohemian Rhapsody he sat right next to her, held eye contact, and asked real questions. It wasn’t creepy. Wasn’t invasive or interrogative. It was genuine. Hayley couldn’t take genuine right now.

After that night, after making the mistake of discussing her family and like two stories from BYU, she ghosted his texts and switched coffee shops. When she went grocery shopping a few weeks after and spotted him she basically army crawled out the door to not be spotted.

Molly guilt tripped her for ignoring him for a solid three months. “He’s a good guy Hal, you need to give him a chance!” She’d say, again and again. What she didn’t understand was that was his exact problem. Good guys don’t last. Good guys lie. Every good guy is four drinks away from being a bad guy.

Hayley snapped out of her moment of recollection and tuned back into Molly’s rant.

“You don’t have to do anything serious with him, but if you think he’s hot then just let it progress. You can’t stay single forever.”

“Being single for three years is not forever.”

“For me it would be!”

“Most people don’t do speed dating every Thursday night for fun Molly.”

“And most people don’t get a free supper and wine every Thursday night either dude. It is wins all around. Anyways, Jack said he’d take me out for a second date at Kashkaval Garden if I’ll meet up with him again. Speed dating gets you places.”

“Sure it does.”

“Dating in general gets you places. If you’d try it you’d know. And anyways, these New York boys are built different than your Mormon missionaries in Utah.”

That was certainly true. Most of the boys from BYU wouldn’t last a second on the subway, much less in the ten square foot apartment she and Molly rented in Hell’s Kitchen. They wouldn’t even step foot into a neighborhood with that name! She at times, even with the two years she’d been here, still felt a little guilty saying the name.

Mormon culture had done a number on her perception of the world, its vices, and its language. Swearing was a vernacular unmastered and unused by her. Coffee was an exciting and easy addiction. PSL’s and flavored cold foam were an unknown world bursting with excitement for her the first year she moved to the east coast. The first sip was slanderous, sinful, and succulent. She was hooked. A crappy “Mr. Coffee” espresso machine was bought, used for three weeks, broken, and replaced. She even went to a class on how to roast your own coffee beans. If the budget didn’t allow for take out it always allowed for coffee.

“I gotta go babe, I just made it to the post office.” Goodbyes were said as she went up the steps of the ancient brick building painted blue.

Hayley introduced herself to the teller, asked for any packages addressed to the name of Nelson and Murdock, and signed. It was a couple pounds, almost a foot in length, and well wrapped.

On the return walk she had time to really think about Thomas. What went wrong. What went right. In the five years since college she’d only been in two relationships, and Thomas didn’t count. The one spanning the start of college to the time she dropped out was intense. Rings were looked at. Children’s names were picked out. They were only 19. But that’s spinster age in Utah. Half her friends were engaged before their second year in college and the other half had serious boyfriends. Being single in Mormon culture was almost looked down on. Well, not almost, is.

When she and Jason broke up her mom sobbed. Literally sobbed. Body wracking, tears down to her neck, tissues piled and spilling onto the floor sobbing. Hayley’s mom took it harder than even she did- and it was her boyfriend! Technically fiance. But only technically. He had asked her to marry her with a piece of paper cut and taped together one night on their walk back to the dorms.

Just like Taylor Swift, “I’d marry you with paper rings…” And she’d said yes. Enthusiastically said yes. She kissed him. Something they had only done a smattering of times between the choice moments a chaperone left the room. She wore the paper ring to bed. It broke in her sleep. Five days later would be the last time they’d ever see each other.

The flashbacks today were having an effect on Hayley. Her stomach hurt from it, and from the only four bites she had of lunch, and she feverishly decided to stop thinking about men entirely. Which was an excellent and sure fire plan until she stepped back into the Nelson & Murdock office and was once again greeted by that face. That darn face.

Matt Murdock would take some getting used to.