Daredevil (2015–…): Season 2, Episode 1 - Bang - full transcript

In the void left by Fisk's removal, a new threat to Hell's Kitchen emerges. Murdock and Foggy take on a client with a questionable past.

Record temperatures
in the New York area

as 100-degree weather hits its fifth
consecutive day with no end in sight.

I'll tell you who I want!

I told you I'll call you later.

Yeah, you'll get what you want.

...lowlife pulls a piece on me.

It never worked!

What's wrong with you?
I tell you not to touch...

You want to move your car? Huh?

Get out of the way!

Oh, my God!

Move, move!

They opened fire.

Move the hell out of the way!

Drop the gun!

Drop the gun and get on the ground...

Out of my way!


Move, move, move!

You get out of the car!

- Get out of the way, now!
- Get out of the car, now!

Call 911.

- And then he went to...
- You! You!

Stay calm!

Call the cops.

Let me go!
Please put me down.

- Help! Anybody, please help!
- Shut up! Shut up!

Stand back, everybody.
Okay, please, please.

You ever wake up
in the morning...

from the second you get out of bed,
it's like...

every molecule in your body hurts?

- No, never.
- I'm in agony, dude.

What, did you go back to the gym?

Hell, no. Do I look capable
of making healthy life choices?

I went out, Matthew.
Went out dancing.

- I'm choosing not to believe that.
- And yet, it's true.

- Mind if I ask you a personal question?
- Go ahead.

- Are you insane?
- Yes.

- Tell me it was the barista.
- Hey, Foggy. Looking good!

Her name is Bethany

- and she is very limber.
- Oh!

You're my hero.

- Watch it, asshole.
- So, uh, when's the next date?

- Well, therein lies the true pain.
- No!

Yes. One and done.

End of the night, she hugged me
like a cousin and said, "I'll call you."

Oh, that's brutal.

- You know what my problem is?
- Well, it ain't the moves.

You know I got the moves.

That's the tragedy of you being blind,
you've never seen me dance.

Yeah, but I can cite the legends
I heard in law school.

So come on, what is it?
What's the problem?

No wingman.
You never come out with me anymore.

Could you imagine
Nelson and Murdock on the dance floor?

I can't deny
that does sound epic.

- Then come out with me, Matt.
- All right.

Come on, just one time, me and you.

What is it?

You're bleeding.

- Huh. Where?
- Base of the skull.

Did you get it?

No one's gonna notice,
if that's what you mean.

Thank you.

- I hate this.
- We don't need to talk about it.

Good thinking.

You know, Karen's been asking questions.
The cuts, the scrapes, the bruises.

- What do you tell her?
- You have a drinking problem.

That's horrible.

Well, it's more plausible than

you put on a devil suit
and beat the shit out of strangers.

You know, this whole thing
isn't just your problem anymore.

And I'm past worrying
about the broken bones,

and finding you beaten into a coma.

- What about us?
- Nelson and Murdock?

You ever stop to think
what happens if you get caught?

At best, you'll be disbarred.

Then you'll continue to do
the good work we started together.

Do you even hear yourself?

You're my partner.
I don't wanna continue alone.


last week, a client came to our office,
Zuly Almeida.

Claimed her life was in danger.
We had no legal recourse to offer.

I remember.

You recommended an excellent shelter
for battered women.

- And she went.
- Yeah, she tried.

That night, her husband found out
she wanted to leave him,

and he followed her to the bus stop

with a gut full of beer
and a butcher knife in his hand.

- You never told me that.
- Well, I'm telling you now.

Mr. Almeida walked out of his apartment

with the intention to hack Mrs. Almeida
into many bloody pieces...

starting by taking off her head.

Guess what?

Never happened.

Instead, he woke up in a hospital
with two broken arms

and a restraining order
safety-pinned to his chest.

Jesus, Matt.

If I take a night off,
people get hurt.

I don't wanna lose you.

- You won't.
- Promise me.

You want me to cross my heart?

Do not make fun of me.

I swear.

Come on. Let's get to work.

Yeah, I gotta get out of this heat.


Good morning, guys.
You take the scenic route this morning?

- Morning to you, too.
- Morning, Karen.

- What have we got?
- All right.

Well, uh, Mr. Marino's dog
was viciously beaten

by his neighbor
after the dog, um...

defiled the neighbor's statue
of Saint Francis.

- "Defiled"?
- Um...

humped repeatedly until completion.

- That's a dog I want to defend.
- Oh, he's... he's all yours, cowboy.

And, uh, Mr. Maxwell here
was attacked in a bar fight last night.

He started it.

Oh, I... I called Metro-General
and the other guy will recover,

but if you are looking at trial,

you probably wanna wait
until his jaw is unwired.

Your girl's a badass.

You've no idea.

Um, and, uh,
Miss Jacinto's working papers

have been denied
for the third time.

Her father's gone
and she says that factory work is

the only way she can support her family.

- Well, tell her not to worry.
- Yeah.

I've already pulled her applications
from the DOE.

Good, because we're gonna find her
something better.

And that's just the appointments
for the first hour.

You wanna talk about our 10:00 a.m.'s?

Uh, what's that?

Oh, uh, the bananas are from Mr. Tate.

Payment for that fender bender thing.
And for you...

Strawberry rhubarb.

You will be mine.

Uh, so, um...

I installed this free trial
of accounting software on my computer.

And the good news is that
I can re-up it every 30 days

with a fake email address. But, um...

the bad news is that...
we're broke.

As in, literally no money.
And our income can't cover our bills.

We'll manage.

I don't know how,
but I know we will.

All right.

Well, in the meantime,
I guess we have, um...

lots of pastries and...
and fruit.

Yeah, and fans.

- Portable, electric fans.
- Yes.

And, uh...
and each other.

Miss Jacinto,
will you come in, please?

Let's see if we can find you a better way
to live in Hell's Kitchen.

Please, sit down.

Apologies, Mr. Nesbitt.
Blood's still up.

Best you mind him, Thomas.

You miserable mutt!

Where was all that fight 10 minutes ago?

Place smells like dog shit!

There's a pot calling the kettle.

Someone get this poor man a drink.

Grotto, you mangy shite.
How's the view up Nesbitt's ass?

Gentlemen, if you'll permit me...

a word before we begin.

This is a night for celebration.

A night to discuss
the future of our family...

the gratitude we feel
for the support of his father.

But perhaps as important...

it is also...
a moment for sober reflection.

Sober, my ass.

Two hundred years ago, our people
were little more than dirt farmers,

struggling just to survive.

They had nothing
but their hopes and their fists,

and they brought both of them along
when they came to America,

many to this very city.

Think you've had enough, George.

Now some of you are young...

so there's no reason you'd remember,

but there was a time
when the Irish owned Hell's Kitchen.

Wasn't a mother's son could
make a move without giving us our due,

and any sorry shite dull enough
to cross us paid a heavy price.

We had the cops, judges, councilmen.

We had the whole bloody city
at our beck and call.

But we got complacent.

Lost our edge.

Just enough for a piece of garbage
like Wilson Fisk

to steal what was rightfully ours.

That's right.

Some of us feared Fisk.

Some, in fact, ran.

A few...

maybe even deigned to work for him.

Siding against their own kind.

But now the Devil's taken him down,

and that, gentlemen, has provided us
with a singular opportunity.

The Russians are dead.

The Chinese, they turned tail and ran,

leaving the drug trade
ripe for the taking.

The yakuza have gone silent.

- Piss on 'em!
- Piss on 'em all!

- Piss on 'em all.
- 'Cause this is our time!

Anyone crosses us,

we'll paint the streets red
with their blood.

And when they're gone,
we'll make your father proud,

and purge ourselves of the filthy traitors
who betrayed their own kind

and make Hell's Kitchen ours again!

See, I don't know, that definitely
sounded like cheating to me, Miss Page.

Foggy, you sure
we're not being hustled here?

As sure as Josie's AC is busted.

What AC?

At least she brought water.

- Oh!
- No, you don't wanna do that.

- You can't drink the water here.
- Josie's pipes have issues.

Rust, mold.

I think I can actually see the bacteria

- floating in there.
- Oh, ew, ew.

See, that... that's why we, uh,
keep our cocktails neat.

Pretend you're abroad,

on vacation someplace exotic,
but no mojitos.

Josie just throws mint in the beer.

- Right.
- Take over, buddy.

I gotta hit the head.

And don't let her out of
your four working senses.

- She's as quick as she is beautiful.
- Right.

She reminds me of myself.

Ah, this place brings out something...
special in Foggy

Are you sure
it's not the alcohol?

No, it's the company.

He likes it when it's the three of us.

If it were up to him, we'd be doing this
the rest of our lives.

God damn it.

- What happened?
- There goes my shutout.

Um, you're going for a shutout
against a blind man?

How do you sleep at night, Miss Page?

You don't get any sympathy
from me, Murdock.

I'm still not sure
who's hustling who here.

All right.

Here's your cue.

All right,
you're lined up with the cue ball.

Six is at your two,
pocket straightaway.

Six and pocket two.


Fire away.

- How'd I do?
- Well, you've got potential.

- All right.
- Here, go again.

Six ball.

Straight ahead. Just...

real soft.

Come on, you've done this before.
Just go for it.


That good, huh?

- Sunk the eight ball.
- Well, something went in.

I'll tell you what.
You boys re-rack, I will, uh,

buy rounds for the rematch.

- I leave you two alone for one minute...
- She wanted to teach me.


Show off.

Hey, Foggy.

The guy at the bar looking this way,
you know him?

Why? What's his deal?

Adrenaline's high.

His heart rate's out of control.

Well, he is sitting next to Karen.

There's something in his coat.

Coat? Hot room.

I don't need fancy senses
to know he's probably packing.

What? Matt, don't make a thing.
Half the people in here are carrying guns.

Yeah, but none of them
have their finger tapping the trigger.

Thanks, Jos.

You, uh, new here, friend?

- No, actually.
- Hey, it's all right.

Look, I'm just... I'm just
letting you know, this is a good place

with good people.

A lot of places
a guy like you could drink.

Just saying.

It's not what you think.
I got business here.

With Nelson and Murdock.

You must be the blind one.

Fifteen men, tough Irish.

All of them blown away.

It was a massacre.

We weren't hit by any rival family there.
I'm telling you, we were...

hit by an army.

- That's quite the story.
- It's a fact.

And believe me,
you can go see for yourself.

Burren Club, 47th and 10th.
Can't miss it.

It's the... part of New York
that looks like a goddamn war zone.

What's your involvement
in their organization?

- Who's she?
- Answer the question.


I've run with them for a long time.
I don't deny it.

Pick-ups, drop-offs,
sometimes doing things I...

shouldn't be.

No question, I'm...
I'm no choir boy.

I'm tellin' ya, I just skirt the surface.

Unlike the men I work for,

and the guys that did this.

I'm telling ya, I had nothing
to do with that massacre.

Assuming you're correct
and the Irish were hit

by a powerful crime syndicate tonight...

if you're the only one who survived,

your good fortune's gonna rub
some dangerous people the wrong way.

No shit!

I got a pack of killers
gunning for my men.

My people think I'm a traitor or a rat.

So, what can Nelson and Murdock
do for you, Mister...

- I'm Grotto.
- Grotto what?

Just Grotto.

Witness protection.

You guys need to get me
the hell out of here

before I end up in the only place
hotter than this...

- permanent.
- We're a private law firm.

Yeah, a trustworthy one.

Quite a reputation
after you took out Wilson Fisk.

The DA's office is the only place
that can make a deal.

Yeah, I'm not walking to the DA
without representation.

I know a lot.
I seen a lot.

I'll give the cops anything
to get me out of Hell's Kitchen.

Well, we have a reputation
for representing

the good people of Hell's Kitchen,

not for negotiating
on behalf of career criminals.

What if a criminal wants to...
change his career?

A second chance,
that's all I want.

I know I'm only coming here with my word.

I got nobody to vouch for me,
but I can...

barely cover your fee.
But word is...

that Nelson and Murdock
put their faith in people.

And I need a little of that right now.


Lie low.
We'll look into it.

You have somewhere you can stay?




Guys, he's bleeding.

Aw, sheesh.

Every time I think we've seen it all...

Hell's Kitchen manages to sneak up
and kick me right in the balls.

It's gonna take weeks
to process this shit.

And where's this asshole's hand?

- Guys, we gotta post stuff now.
- We got two.

- You got two?
- Yeah.

- All right, you might need additional...
- Right, right, right.

We also got forensics on the scene.

Hey, I just need to know
if my brother's in there.

Step back, please. I'm sorry, sir,
but I can't answer that right now.

Hey, Brett!
Over here, Matt.

I would say it's good to see you,
but under the circumstances...

- Would you please step aside, sir?
- We got a couple of questions, Brett.

If you're here to chase ambulances,
you might notice there are none.

- Any leads on what happened?
- Oh, you wanna know what went down?

Read about it in the papers
like everybody else.

We're not everybody else, my man.

Did you just say "my man"?

Uh, label this one six.

All right, now.
Let's get body bags over here.

Look at this, will you?

Now, what kind of bullet
can punch through

polyethylene fiber vest
thicker than my dick...

then punch straight through
the same shit on his back?

All right, we get it.

You can't talk about
an active crime scene.


what if...

hypothetically speaking...

we may have recently acquired
a new client that could help...

shed some light
on this investigation?

- How recent?
- Farm fresh.

- Was he here?
- Client privilege.

Well, uh, Mr. Nelson,
if that was true...

Hypothetically speaking.

...I'd tell you that withholding
your client from the NYPD

would be obstructing
governmental administration,

and I'd probably just
arrest your ass myself.

In theory.

I guess we really
can't help each other after all.

It's over 100 degrees
out here tonight, Sergeant.

Why would an Irish mobster

wear body armor to a private meeting
inside his own club?


Tell 'em keep it down in there
or somebody's getting written up.

I help you...

you help me?

That's all we want.

There's a total clampdown
on any of this getting out to the press.

- I'd like to keep it that way.
- Brett...

you can trust us.

We're lawyers.

Come with me over here.

Come on.

DA's going bat shit
trying to figure it out.

This isn't the first hit
that matches this MO.

Call it massive gang-on-gang overkill.

Downtown office thinks we got
new players in Hell's Kitchen,

and whoever they are, we're talking some
kind of paramilitary-type organization

with the training, knowledge and hardware
to take out half the city.

- What do they want?
- That's what's driving the DA nuts.

We don't know who they are.

We just know who they're not.

I'd say they're definitely
not fond of the Irish.

You think?

Where exactly
am I gonna put this asshole?

The morgue's completely full.

This is worse than what happened
to the Dogs of Hell.

Now, we got history,

so I'll tell you as a friend,
you stay out of this shit.

If you got a witness, the smart move
is to turn him over and walk away.

Hell's Kitchen is about to explode.

You hear that?
He called me friend.

What'd you pick up?
Your hearing's better than mine.

Whatever happened here happened
to the Dogs of Hell last week.

- The biker gang?
- Yeah.

- What are we stepping into?
- I don't know.

I think I can rattle some cages,
see who talks but, uh...

Did you even listen to Brett?

We're talking about a squad
of trained killers loose on the streets.

Not the kind of guys you challenge
to a fist fight in your underwear.

It's not underwear, Foggy.

Underwear is comfortable.

You're a lot of things.

Bulletproof is not one of them.

- I'll see you in the morning.
- You're an asshole.

But if I can't stop you,
least I can do is help.

I have a guy I can talk to.
Maybe come back with a few puzzle pieces.

Cool. Just be careful.

You don't get to say that!

Okay, okay, okay.
You've got multiple lacerations, Steve.

All right? The doctor said...

- No! No doctor.
- The cut is deep, all right?

Into the muscle,
but there's no vessel damage.

Nothing that a few weeks
of physical therapy can't cure.

You need to stay here.

- That ain't happening.
- No, I'm here to help you.

By hog-tying me to a hospital
with a target on my ass?

You wanna wait for a bullet
through the window

- or pull the trigger myself?
- You need to listen to me, Steve.

- No, you listen to me, you daft woman!
- You can trust me!

- Who, in Christ's name, is Steve?
- You are.

Your name is Steve Schaffer,
and I am your wife, Isabelle.

You got into a bar fight
defending my honor.

And other than the beer
that was wasted

when that bottle
sliced through your flesh,

I have got no regrets, because I have
loved you since I was 16,

hot Irish temper and all.

Nurse actually cried
when I told her that part, by the way.

It's a nice story, doll.

You gotta run home now.

You ain't got the balls for what's coming.

Slide into bed, sweetheart,
and settle in.

Because I am the best chance
you've got in the world right now.

You got your break-action singles,

your side-by-side,
your over-unders,

and the classic pump-action.

All guaranteed to supersede
every other on the market.

None of these is semis.

Aw, what do you need semis for,
couple bad-asses like you?

Whatever this army is,
they're planting men by the dozen, Turk.

No semis, no deal.

Man, I seen you shoot.

No semi's gonna
magically make you have good aim.

Saw these off,
spread your blast,

and thank me later,
'cause you ain't no deadeye.

What'd you just say?

Oh, shit.

Nice duds.

The Irish had a whole squad
massacred tonight.

That's a damn shame,
'cause I'm fresh out of sympathy cards.

There's talk about an army in town.

Military grade firepower,
high volume.

- Who's the supplier, Turk?
- You think I know?

Shit like that's so high above
my pay grade...

I'm telling you the truth, man.

That tin in my trunk
couldn't kill a rabbit.

Okay, okay!
Okay, listen.

I did hear somethin'
from a guy in Rikers.

It's got to do with Fisk.

- Fisk is gone.
- Yeah,

but once you took care of him,
what'd you think was gonna happen?

Every gang worth shit's trying
to grab up everything fat boy left behind.

I even heard
the cartel's getting into it.

They're bringing up
some heavy munitions from Ju?rez.

Military grade.

- Where?
- Warehouse.

Meatpacking District,
13th Street and something,

I swear I'm telling you all I know.

Listen, man.

I gave you what you wanted.

My hand's busted,

I got all this glass
I gotta replace now.

Maybe, just let a brother go, huh?

Come on, D.

I'm out on parole, man.

I can't go back to jail.

I missed Hell's Kitchen.


It didn't miss you.


Know what?
Be like that.

'Cause we both know I'll be back out
by the end of the month...

I'll see you then.

Members only, pork chop.

It's okay, I'm meeting a friend.

Get lost or get hurt.

He's a full-patch member
of the Dogs of Hell.

I swear, I just need to talk to him.

What's this big shot's name?


Don't move.

Does it look like I'm packing?

Gonna wish you were.

Come with me.

Look at this asshole.

Says he's here to see Smitty.

Old friend.

- Old friend?
- Yeah.

Third grade.
Sister Haney's class?

She really had it in for us.

Is he around or should I just...
Ow! No, no, no, no!

Holy shit!

- What's your name?
- Foggy! Franklin Nelson!

Never heard of you.

I've known Smitty
for a long time.

Oh, yeah? Me, too.

Obviously, we went on different
career paths along the way...

- Is this funny to you?
- No.

- No, sir.
- 'Cause I'm two seconds away

- from slitting your throat.
- I'm not a cop, okay?

You a fed?

I'm a lawyer.

Look, I just...
I just need five minutes

with Smitty and then I swear, I'm gone.

Yeah, you're gone now.

Ever walk back in here again,
and you'll leave in pieces.

Nod if you understand me.

Take him out back,
show him how we feel about lawyers.

No, please, no, no, no, no, no.

It's okay.
I'm gonna get you down.

I'm gonna get you down.
I'm gonna get you down.

It was a mistake coming here,
I realize that.

- Shut up!
- I just wanted to help people, I swear.

- Smitty would understand!
- Smitty's dead, asshole.


You have to believe me,
I... I didn't know that.

Oh, I believe
there's a lot you don't know.

Whoa, okay, look.

Smitty was a long time ago.

Couple years ago,
I helped a guy named Foster.

- He was a biker!
- Not one of ours.

- Ricky Wex?
- Shut up!

I helped a guy named Pope!

Yeah, the VA said that his injuries
weren't sustained during battle,

but they were!

They just didn't manifest themselves
for 20 years.

Uh, we got his operation sorted and then,

a couple of months later,
he was back on his Harley,

doing whatever it is you guys do.
Which is none of my business!

You helped Pope?

Get the hell out of here.

- Really?
- Now!

What happened to Smitty?

- You serious?
- I came here for a reason.

I just need answers!

Look, if I don't get answers,
a lot of innocent blood could be shed.

People who both you and I care about
are gonna get hurt.

And you don't seem like
the most sentimental guy,

but you're still listening.

And that knife isn't in my neck,
so I have to believe that right now...

maybe you and I are on the same side.

You got guts, Harvard.
I'll give you that.

Columbia, actually, but it's not courage.

It's more like sheer adrenaline.

Hey, look, I wouldn't be asking,

I wouldn't be here doing this
if it wasn't important.

Smitty was on a run,

I-90 with four brothers,
transporting a big score.

They were hit by a goddamn army.
Their whole crew was cut to pieces.

Left there like roadkill.

- Any idea who did it?
- Nah.

New crew, doesn't matter.
Whoever they are, we're gonna find 'em.

And when we do, you wanna be
very far away from the action.

You didn't hear none of this from me.
Now go.

And don't come back.

I always knew
the devil would come for me.

But I thought I would be dead first.

- I'm gonna get some help.
- No!

No... no...

Who did this?

No one escapes this.

No one can get away.

Tell me.

Tell me who they are.

No "they."


It's one man.

Hold it right there.

Oh, my God!

Oh, God.

What was that?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.


Someone's come to finish the job.

Shh! Don't move.

No, to hell with that.

He's got a gun!


Come on, come on, come on!

Come on!

Dear God.


What? You...
You don't have the right keys?

- Shut up! Shut up!
- Is this even your car?

- Belonged to a friend.
- Where's he?

He's dead.

Get in!