Chapter 38: The Devil, the Ghost, and the Handgun
The moment he saw the bloody scene and realized he had inadvertently become the murderer's scapegoat, Daredevil felt a cold dread crawl up his spine. He knew instinctively that things were going terribly south.
He had no intention of explaining himself. Explanations would be useless. The murder weapon was literally in his hand; any cop or federal agent seeing the evidence would immediately suspect him.
Yet, Daredevil did not surrender.
As a lawyer, Matt Murdock was painfully aware of how unfavorable the evidence at the scene was. Even if he could win a court case later, it would definitely consume a colossal amount of his time. During that period, his old rival, Kingpin, would surely not stand idly by—he'd relish the chance to kick the Devil while he was down. At that time, not only he himself, but also his loved ones and friends might be harmed as a consequence.
Daredevil would not allow that to happen.
He made a split-second decision and quickly fled the scene just before he was completely surrounded by the Federal Bureau of Investigation agents. He understood the impact of his action. To the authorities, he would now be officially considered an absconder, guilty of fleeing justice.
However, Daredevil also had his own plan. He now possessed the handgun used by the actual killer, and based on the residual scent clinging to the metal, he had already pinpointed the murderer's precise location. As long as he could catch that person, his name would be cleared, and all his immediate difficulties would be resolved.
"Found him!"
Using the polymer steel cable in his cane, Daredevil scaled the towering buildings and traversed the grimy rooftops of Hell's Kitchen. As he rounded a precarious corner, he caught the familiar, sharp scent of his quarry.
"This guy made a big mistake," Daredevil thought, vaulting across an alleyway. If the killer hadn't been in such a desperate hurry to escape that he forgot the handgun he dropped, it would have been far more difficult to track him so smoothly.
But did Tommy Vercetti truly overlook it?
Perhaps not. As early as when he made his move, he had already mapped out an escape strategy. First, quickly execute the three targets. Then, head to Hell's Kitchen, find a random, high-as-a-kite junkie, toss the gun to him, and frame the unfortunate soul. After securing the fall guy, he would swiftly return to Kingpin's towering residence and climb back into his room, using the presence of the crime boss to create an iron-clad alibi for himself.
The plan wasn't foolproof, but it was satisfactory to many. With the junkie as the designated murderer, the FBI could finally close the case, avoid reprimands from their superiors, and might even snag a commendation. After all, catching the culprit in one night, with such high-efficiency police work, surely deserved a pat on the back, right? The junkie would be unlucky, but at least he would get free meals and shelter from the wind and rain. Being in Redhaven Prison was, paradoxically, much safer than the brutal streets of Hell's Kitchen—he might even live a few more years. And Tommy Vercetti would successfully slip out of all scrutiny, completely clear of suspicion. Everyone would benefit, and everyone would be happy. A perfect scheme, or so he thought.
However, Daredevil's sudden and unexpected appearance completely ruined Tommy Vercetti's original meticulous plan. His framing strategy might have fooled the FBI's field agents, but it would never deceive the hyper-senses of Daredevil. Once he was targeted by the vigilante, trouble was inevitable. It was precisely for this reason that Tommy Vercetti had deliberately left the handgun at the scene. He knew very well that these masked heroes always meddled in others' affairs, especially the 'Man Without Fear.' Upon sensing the clue, Daredevil would be compelled to follow the trail. The final result was exactly as Tommy Vercetti had calculated: the fearless devil who struck terror into the criminals of Hell's Kitchen now stood before him.
"Who are you?"
Daredevil sniffed lightly, his mind analyzing the new presence. The scent was unlike anyone else's he had encountered, and it couldn't be equated with any villain in his memory.
"You're not one of the criminals operating in Hell's Kitchen. Who exactly are you?"
"I am Batman!"
The name popped into Tommy Vercetti's mind the instant he saw the red-horned figure. It was common knowledge that Daredevil was blind. Yet, he possessed a unique, almost supernatural ability, like the animal kingdom's namesake, using a form of sonar to "see" the world. And the Batman next door? He was nocturnal, a flamboyant playboy by day, and a relentless crime-fighter at night, using the most ruthless methods to instill fear in criminals. Looking at it this way, both seemed to have taken the wrong names; swapping their titles would make them far more appropriate.
Daredevil, of course, was oblivious to Tommy Vercetti's internal commentary. He had no time for idle thoughts; he only wanted to subdue the murderer as quickly as possible. His short billy club instantly shot out, powered by its internal cable.
Tommy Vercetti dodged with a blur, easily evading the initial attack. The short stick, passing him with undiminished velocity, ricocheted sharply off a brick wall and spun back toward Tommy Vercetti's back. This was Daredevil's classic little trick—a move that had caught countless street criminals. Once upon a time, even the notoriously accurate Bullseye suffered a serious loss from this maneuver, the club striking the back of his head with crushing force.
However, against Tommy Vercetti, the trick was completely ineffective. As if he literally had eyes in the back of his head, Tommy Vercetti unhurriedly turned his torso just a fraction, easily dodging the fierce return blow. The precise moment the short stick flew past him, he suddenly reached out and accurately grasped the handle of the weapon. This entire series of actions flowed with smooth, predatory efficiency, without a single wasted motion.
Though Daredevil couldn't see, his ears, his nose, and his heart could all perceive the nuances of Tommy Vercetti's movements. He clearly understood that the opponent he encountered today was by no means a simple thug or street enforcer. Just this single, simple display of skill was enough to rank the man high on his list of formidable opponents.
"There's no one else here, Daredevil. Let's drop the unnecessary probing, or would you prefer to be called Matt Murdock, the lawyer?"
"What? How does he know my name?"
Daredevil, hearing his name spoken aloud by the stranger, was immediately startled. He had always guarded his secret identity meticulously. Besides his incredibly close friend, Foggy Nelson, absolutely no one else knew his name. Even Kingpin, who regarded him as a personal, festering thorn, had never managed to get a positive identification. Yet here he was, hearing his own name from a stranger's mouth. This not only unsettled Daredevil but immediately filled him with a chilling worry. He trusted Foggy Nelson implicitly and refused to believe his friend would ever betray him. The only remaining, horrifying possibility was that his closest friend must have encountered danger.
Thinking of this, a cold resolution hardened Daredevil's face. He reached for his waist, where a Glock 34 pistol was holstered—the very one he had picked up earlier at the bar. He was blind, but that didn't mean he couldn't aim. On the contrary, his marksmanship was superhumanly precise, surpassing most marksmen in the world. Even Bullseye, known for his terrifying accuracy, might not be his match.
However, Daredevil rarely fired his gun. He knew that some lines, once crossed, were difficult to return from. If he relied too much on firearms, he might quickly devolve into another Punisher, causing more bloodshed than he prevented. That would betray his original intention, which he absolutely could not tolerate.
Unfortunately, considering the immediate safety of his close friend and the sheer skill of the enemy before him, Daredevil, intending to end the fight quickly and escape, had no choice but to make a tragic exception.
Bang!
The gun fired.
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