"You picked the bed next to mine completely by chance?" Matt asked, irritable, but not unreasonable. It could happen. There was a finite number of beds after all. Perhaps someone had identified that they were from the same place. Perhaps they'd stick all the New Yorkers in the same room as see what happened.
Matt sighed and gave up. He couldn't exactly demand Frank leave now he was settled. He had no personal reason to demand Frank's removal as Matt Murdock. A bad client isn't the end of the world. Matt wasn't about to mouth off to anyone that the man a bed over had once shot him in the head.
He bit his tongue to stop himself asking 'what life' to Frank's rant. What life? The life of crime? Life of a murderer? God. Frank was everything Matt tried so hard not to be, and the worst part was, Frank's way was so much easier. All you had to do was sell your soul.
He tossed his cane onto the bedside table and slowly he started to tug his tie, loosening the knot. "It could be worse," Matt agreed sullenly, "At least the dog in charge isn't making us into slaves." He paused for a moment, and then laughed with just a hint of derision, dropping his tie so it dangled around his neck. "You know what? I don't think anyone's ever said that before."