You really shouldn't

[man_without_fear]

Her name is Mrs. Cardenas. She smells of light rose petal perfume and cocoa butter lotion.

In the offices of Nelson and Murdock a discussion about rats, bad computer equipment and Russian beheadings is interrupted by the light knock on the door and the old woman standing in the doorway uncertainly asking for, "Señor Foggy Law?"

For the next few minutes Matt and Foggy listen as Karen translates Mrs. Cardenas's story; told in Spanish halted by emotion and broken English. A slumlord named Armand Tully is trying to force her and her neighbors out of a rent controlled tenement to make room for posh condos. When buying off the residents didn't work, Tully resorted to having workmen come in and rip up the place, trying to make the space unlivable.

Mrs. Cardenas's voice quakes with emotion and there's saltwater on the air from her tears, but even through her own doubt and uncertainty there is steadfastness and resolve. Mrs. Cardenas doesn't want money, she wants to stay in her home in Hell's Kitchen. The police can't help, the sleazeball responsible has a lawyer army, and Foggy and Matt are her only hope. With comforting words to her in Spanish, Matt accepts the case.

After the grateful Mrs. Cardenas leaves the office, Matt reveals to Foggy that he volunteered the man to go and meet with her landlord's lawyers; the very firm Matt and Foggy interned with and left.

While Foggy and Karen go to swim with the sharks of Landman and Zack, Matt heads to the police precinct to see what he can dig up on Mrs. Cardenas's landlord. A professional dirtbag like Tully is bound to have a list of complaints out on him, if not worse.

Walking up to the sergeant on duty, Matt is greeted by an old friend from the neighborhood, Brett Mahoney.

"Look who it is… Murdock," Brett greets, sounding about as enthused as an NYPD cop greeting a defense attorney can sound, but Matt knows there's a smile there in the man's voice.

"Sergeant," Matt greets cordially, "how's your mom?"

"Smells like a stogie," Brett replies, rather pointedly. "Otherwise… "

Brett shrugs and Matt gives a light chuckle.

"Yeah, I keep telling Foggy not to get her cigars, but… "

"She'd sneak 'em, one way or the other," Brett says, breaking with his own light chuckle and head shake. "Crafty old bird."

"Right, it's why I'm here," Matt replies. "Friend of hers has a case we're looking into."

Brett knows right away which case Matt is talking about and while he admits there's nothing the police can do about Tully, Brett's willing to dig up the information Matt is seeking in the hopes of helping the case.

"Let me see what I can find," Brett says before stepping away.

Matt thanks Mahoney and takes a seat on a nearby well-worn bench, cane resting between his knees.

The bustle of the police station goes on around him, and Matt lets his senses drift.

The smell of bad coffee permeates the air, along with the odor of someone's stale sandwich, abandoned to dry out on a desk. Cigarette smoke, a wino's breath, some officer who took a bath in his cologne, another who had a Reuben for lunch…

Phones ring and there's chatter everywhere, but the sound of a Russian accent sticks out over everything and pulls Matt's focus.

Immediately Matt squares his attention on the man speaking and the conversation being had.

It's one of the Russian's Matt met in an alleyway while looking for Vladimir. He's in an interrogation room with two detectives, and Matt listens while they try to bait the guy into giving up names.

"We have you at the scene with a dead Chinese illegal, Piotr," the first cop says. "And a backpack full of drugs."

"Uh-oh, that'll buy you a one-way ticket to 30 years in Asshole Land," the other taunts.

The rest of the precinct around him bleeds away as Matt tunes into the conversation. He can pinpoint the exact moment the Russian caves, and when the man finally gives up a name Matt's jaw tightens hearing it.

"His name... is Wilson Fisk."

So focused on the Russian and what he's about to spill, Matt almost misses the shift in the other two.

They press for more info, but they're almost lackadaisical about it. Like they don't care.

And then Matt realizes, it's because they already know.

Realization hits just as the shouting starts. One cop punches the other in the face and they both start yelling about their suspect going for one of their guns.

Meanwhile the Russian cowers, obviously confused and afraid, and Matt rises to his feet, but all he can do is listen as the one officer draws his gun.

"You really shouldn't have said his name," the detective says coldly before he fires.

[dialogue taken from Netflix's Daredevil: 1.5 - World on Fire]