INT. NIGHTWING RESTORATIONS-DAY COLLEEN WING sits at her laptop, typing furiously. A dripping water bottle sits by her. The door to the office opens and Colleen looks up to see Misty. Whose bike is that out there? Im standing in the doorway of Nightwing Restorations, using my thumb to point out into the street behind me where, this morning, as I was finding a place to park, I saw a gleaming sliver motorcycle eased into what is normally Colleens parking space. Colleen looks up, brieflyyou had to be quick to see itfrom her computer screen, her golden-red hair spilling down the sides of her face. You like it? she says, before going back to her typing. I got it as a little present to myself. Oh, great. Meanwhile I cant afford to eat anything that doesnt need to be cooked in a microwave. I stomp into the office, dejected, letting the door slam behind me. And youre off buying new motorcycle. Please. Just call it a bike, is all Colleen has to offer. Colleens my girl and all, dont get me wrong, but sometimes, its like the chick aint living on the same planet Earth Im living on. But thats what you get when youre descended from Japanese daimyos and spent most of your life learning the ways of the samurai from your grandfather. Getting real life isnt high on the priority list. Of course, theres always the good Professor Wing. Colleens dad has tenure at Columbia and has written many books on AsianAmerican culture, Chinese history, Japanese and European relations, and probably even on the history of the fortune cookie. Daddy Wings got more than a little bread stacked up, and he likes to spoil his adult daughter since he didnt have the chance when she was younger. I walk through the office, bypassing my desk and going straight to the coffee machine where I pour myself a cup. So, besides the bike, anything going on this morning I should know about? Lots. I turn around. Whatever Colleen is doing, its commanding her attention. I snap my fingers. Yo! Earth to Colleen? Huh? I gesture at her computer. I thought I told you not to watch cat videos on YouTube in the office. Colleen slams her laptop closed and spins around in her swivel chair. Im not. I mean, I wasnt. I didnt. What? Why do you have to look at me that way? I shake my head as I pour some sugar into my coffee. You said there was something going on this morning, something I should know. No, no, check it. You said there was lots going on. I toss the torn up sugar packets into the trash and stir my coffee. So, as Marvin Gaye would say, Whats Goin On? Well, okay, maybe not lots, but a couple of things. Our bail bondsman license was approved, she says, holding up a manila envelope containing, what I assume, is our bondsman license from the State of New York. So, were officially in the bounty hunter biz. And Matt Murdock called for you. I blow on my coffee to cool it off. Matt? Whatd he want? I dont know. I guess hes juggling a few cases right now and could use our investigative expertise. I met Matt Murdock through my good friend Luke Cage. Lukes another Harlem brat like me, just another youngblood fed up with the way the bad guys are running the streets. Like me, Luke decided to do something about it. Luke, Danny Rand, Colleen and I used to all chill together back in the day, but, then, well, you know how life is? If I have time to chill now, I usually spend it in group, counseling sessions, drinking alone, or having nightmares. Having fun? Getting crazy with Colleen, Luke and Danny? Huh. Not much these days. Besides, Lukes in love with Jessica Jones now and has been quite domesticated as of late. Anyway, back then, hed occasionally bring Matt Murdock around. At first glance, Murdock appears to be another square white dude, but hes another hood rat like Luke and I. Murdocks an Irish kid coming straight outta Hells Kitchen. He fights back to, but as a lawyer. And, like Colleen and I, his practice is just getting off the ground and his financial situation means he has somewhere between squat and jack s*** to spend on investigative expertise. Matt cant afford to pay us, I say, matter-of-factly, the indifference of the tone making it sound colder than if Id said it with malice. Well, Colleen begins, that did come up. I guess he and Franky Foggy, I correct. Thats what I said: Foggy. Him and Foggy are going after this big time chemical company or something. If they win the case, not only will he pay us twice our rate, but thered be a pretty hefty bonus. Uh huh, I say, unimpressed. And what if he doesnt win? Colleen takes a huge gulp from her water bottle and sets it back down on her desk. Then Then what? I dont know, Misty! What was I supposed to tell him? Hes a friend of ours! You tell him we dont work for free! No. Forget that. Ill tell him! You should. Youre in charge around here. Colleen reaches for her water bottle again. In charge? Aint no one in charge around here. Were partners, equals. Im talking a mile a minute. Were girls, were crew. Neither one of us is in charge, here. Its not you and me its us. I slow down, realizing that Im doing it again. Its of course now that I notice Colleen isnt using a coaster under her water bottle as it leaks condensation all over the place. Damn, girl! I say, pulling a coaster out of the drawer by the coffee pot. Ive told you: use a coaster! I dont want rings all over our furniture. I walk to Colleens desk, pick up her bottle, and put the coaster on the desk. Then, with exaggerated movementsas if Im displaying an item on the Price is RightI set the bottle on the coaster. See? That, Colleen says, pointing to the coaster. Thats what I mean. Thats why youre in charge. I put my hands up in a conceding gesture. Okay. Yes. I admit it. Ive been a little uptight lately Oh my God, a little uptight? Misty, I havent seen you smile since She stops herself in mid sentence. But she doesnt have to finish. I know what shes thinking. The quick glance at my arm told me that. Why dont we have fun anymore? she asks me. I grab the nearest unpaid bill, images of motorcycles I cant afford flashing through my mind. Because you cant eat good times. No, but you can starve without them. I want to fight, but I cant. Im tired, but also, I know shes right. Which means, Im wrong. Goddamn it, I hate when that happens. Youre right. Im sorry. I need a night off. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and try to imagine a scenario with my friends where my arm doesnt monopolize the conversation. Maybe we should round up the old gang for a few drinks or something.