That night, John took a plane back to New York.
The first thing he did after landing was get into a police car.
"This is Agent Dex, Mr. Wick." An FBI agent named Ray Nadeem introduced John.
John sat in the chair and sighed. "I thought I could wait until my driver came to pick me up."
He glanced at Agent Dex, who radiated a dangerous aura. Ray, on the other hand, carried an air of sincere justice. John did not find this annoying; in fact, he rather respected people like Ray.
"We need your help investigating a gang case in Hell's Kitchen," Ray said.
Ray Nadeem was a man driven by a sense of justice. His family life weighed heavily on him, and financial pressures and work stress followed him everywhere. Yet, none of this had broken him. Instead, it fueled his determination to prove himself and earn the credit he desperately needed.
"Hell and Heaven, you must be familiar with that place," Ray said, his tone serious. "We have information that you were headed to Hell's Kitchen, and your driver, Ferdinand, a former Brooklyn gangster, took you there."
"I need my lawyer," John replied, idly spinning his silver ring. "I do not want to talk to you until my lawyer arrives."
Ray felt a headache building. But there was nothing he could do; the law was clear. Even the most notorious criminals had the right to legal counsel.
"I know you are not a bad person, Mr. Wick," Ray said earnestly. "But you may not realize that night was about more than just a gang disappearing. There was a massive contraband deal taking place."
"Hell and Heaven was moving drugs using human couriers. That was only part of it," Ray continued. "I need your help to find out what happened that night and who was there."
He tried to appeal to John's reason and emotion, hoping to win his cooperation.
John took out his phone and dialed a number.
After a short wait, the call connected.
"Are you busy?"
John heard muffled sounds on the other end and raised an eyebrow. Matt, in the middle of transforming into Daredevil, was spinning and kicking a knife-wielding thug in the street.
"What's up?"
"I was approached by the FBI," John said with a shrug. "But I see you are occupied, so it looks like I will have to call Fudge."
Matt was about to respond when a stick struck his waist. He caught the stick, disarmed his attacker, and kicked him away. The call ended abruptly. Matt, panting, checked for more threats, then touched his arm and felt blood.
"Equipment?" he muttered, thinking about John's earlier suggestion. As Daredevil, injuries were inevitable. His current suit was just a black outfit with a simple hood and mask, offering little protection. If he had better gear, he could fight more effectively. But he knew almost no one who could make such things.
John dialed again, and this time the call was answered quickly.
"Nelson Murdoch LLP."
"I think my lawyer is willing to handle some FBI trouble for his employer," John said, hearing Fudge's voice and chuckling. "Of course, we pay per case."
As soon as Fudge recognized John's voice, he perked up. After the last police station incident, John had paid a generous commission to the law firm. For a wealthy client like John, Fudge was eager to stay close.
After promising to come right away, Fudge hung up.
Ray watched John's attitude throughout, feeling both anger and helplessness. This kind of uncooperative person was a nightmare for any investigator.
Dex, meanwhile, glared at John, a trace of bloodlust flickering in his eyes. John noticed everything. He flicked his finger, and the silver ring floated into the air under the gaze of the two FBI agents.
Dex reacted in a flash, his left hand darting toward the ring. But before his fingers could close around it, another hand shot in even quicker, plucking the ring away at the last possible moment. Dex froze, his fist hanging in midair as he stared at the ring now spinning effortlessly across John's knuckles.
"You seem dishonest, Agent Dex," John said with a half-smile, bouncing the ring again as if to provoke him.
This time, the ring shot toward Dex's face. He was quick to react, jerking his hand back just in time and even managing a slight grin. But in the next instant, John's fingers slid effortlessly through the ring's loop, outpacing Dex's reflexes once more.
Dex could not believe it. He had lost both times.
John spun the ring and said meaningfully, "You think you are fast, but someone is always faster, Dex."
Ray could not follow their exchange; to him, it looked like the two men were simply playing with a ring.
A knock came at the door.
Fudge entered, hair carefully combed, though he had not had time for hairspray.
"From here on, I will represent Mr. John Wick," Fudge announced, wearing a blue suit and a yellow-red striped tie. "My client has the right to refuse any unreasonable requests as long as there is no evidence of a crime."
"Oh, thank God you are finally here, my dear lawyer," John said, standing and pressing Fudge's shoulder, making him sit in his place.
John smiled. "The law will protect everyone."
"These two agents want to know about my whereabouts in Hell's Kitchen that night," John explained. "I think my attorney can handle it."
Ray opened his mouth, then closed it, finally sighing in resignation.
Dex was still lost in the sting of his earlier defeat, the madness in his eyes plain to John. This man was restraining something dark inside.
John waved a casual goodbye and left the police station.
Fudge cleared his throat, already anticipating a fierce legal battle ahead.
John, loyal as ever, did not leave Fudge to face things alone. He called Ferdinand.
"Boss?" Ferdinand sounded flustered.
John was suspicious. "You are not up to anything illegal, are you? If you are, just let Fudge handle it."
"No, of course not," Ferdinand laughed awkwardly. He was standing at his door, eyes bloodshot, clutching a baseball bat.
"Boss, what's up?"
"I am at the NYPD; come pick me up," John said. He had no desire to walk home.
When he mentioned needing the car, Ferdinand's heart skipped a beat. "Boss, you are back in New York so soon?"
"There is nothing fun in New Mexico," John replied. "Just cowboys and old stories. I am not interested in that kind of adventure."
Ferdinand swallowed. "Okay, I will be there soon."
He hung up, then stared at the empty driveway in despair.
Will I lose my job after all?
At the NYPD, Fudge strutted out like a victorious rooster. Behind him, Ray sighed heavily, while Dex brooded over his defeat.
"Look at that, the guy is as slippery as a fish," said FBI agent Joe, smirking over his coffee.
Ray took the John Wick file from him. The son of the underground boss, any information leaked from Ray's hands could mean a promotion, a raise, or maybe even a shot at director.
"Ray, let me give you some advice," Agent Joe said, shaking his head. "We have seen firsthand how much the underground boss cares about his his family. If he finds out we are testing his son, remember what happened with his daughter."
Ray fell silent.
Ariana Wick.
The last time the underground boss was angered over his daughter, not only the FBI but several international agencies suffered heavy losses. That is why the FBI tolerated John Wick's attitude. That is why they did not dare to frame him. The Wick family had a reputation in America: you do not mess with them.
"John Wick," Agent Dex murmured, eyes sharp as he read the name.
"You did your job perfectly, Fudge," John said, shaking his lawyer's hand.
Fudge smiled. "That is what I am here for."
"I think your firm could use some new equipment. That printer is ancient," John said with a grin.
"If you do not mind, I would be happy to sponsor a new one," he added.
"Thank you, Mr. Wick," Fudge replied, not about to refuse such generosity. He saw it as a chance to deepen his connection to John. Who would not want a wealthy, generous client?
The two waited for John's driver to arrive. Fudge found himself hoping for a glimpse of a luxury car.
Instead, a battered pickup truck pulled up.
Fudge stared. John stared. Was this a joke?
Ferdinand climbed out, eyes darting away from John's gaze. "Boss, I am here to pick you up."
"Do not tell me you sold my car," John said, not really caring about the car itself but unwilling to tolerate dishonesty.
Ferdinand hurried to explain. "My brother took it, boss. He grabbed the key from my room and left. I promise he will bring it back tomorrow."
John simply asked, "Did you give it to him?"
"No, absolutely not!" Ferdinand swore. "He took it without my permission."
"Then you should make him pay for it, Ferdinand," John said, stepping to the back seat and fixing Ferdinand with a quiet look.
Ferdinand got the message and rushed to open the door.
Fudge looked from John to Ferdinand, finally accepting that he would not be riding in a luxury car today.
As they settled into the pickup, Ferdinand tried to lighten the mood. "I will take you home, boss."
"No," John replied, looking out the window. "Go to your house."
To my house? Ferdinand's heart sank. Was his brother about to get them both fired?