Damned If I Do *Matt Murdock* (book one of Damned)

2) Looking for heaven (find yourself in Hell instead)

Verča – no, Vera from very this moment, because 'Verča' would sound weird around here, she wasn't in Czechia anymore - was looking at the piece of paper. It didn't matter how many times she read it, the address didn't change. She was going to live in Hell's Kitchen. She didn't watch cooking shows, but she was ninety-percent sure it was a name of one of those. Could have been worse. At least it was funny.

She finally got off the plane, found her briefcases and put on her contact lenses instead of wearing glasses. Outside the airport building, the sun was high, illuminating the halls through the ceiling made of glass. She found her sunglasses and felt like a real tourist. Where was her guide with an umbrella or flag?

The airport was full of people with stupid signs reading names and nicknames. None of them was waiting for her. The deal was she would text Mrs. Larkin when she would find a cab and they would meet on the given address. She had never hailed a cab in her life. This should be fun.

It wasn't fun. Everyone was hailing a cab or so it seemed. It took her 15 minutes to realize that she had to yell really loudly to get some attention; way to make girl feel welcomed. Maybe she should have wear short skirt instead of jeans, but she wanted to be able to sit comfortable during the nine hour flight without scandalizing people, sue her. Could anyone sue her for that for real in here? Šmarja. Could they?

It hadn't occurred to her before that she didn't know much about the laws. The important one was that she could drink alcohol, just in case she decided to throw herself a pity party or something. Or meet new people – she should meet new people somehow, right? Wasn't it something people went to bars for? She snorted at the idea of her sipping her orange juice with extra-long blue straw and the bartender asking if she wanted at least some vodka in it.

When some driver actually took pity on her, she considered herself lucky. He was a nice black man in his fifties, chatty, asking innocent questions and gave her a considerate smile when she admitted it was her first time in New York and in United States in general. He even named a few buildings they passed, which was nice, although she forget the name the very moment he said it. She appreciated the thought nonetheless. However, when he asked the money, she was tempted to ask him to take her back to the airport and take a bus or something. Děláš si prdel? That was it. She was never, ever, EVER taking a cab again. Her wallet cried. She managed a polite smile when she said goodbye to the driver and made a mental note to herself to look into public transport. How had she missed that before?

The apartment building was unimpressive, ordinary, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It might be a good thing in fact. She counted six floors and crossed her fingers for her apartment not being in the sixth one. Or at least for the building having an elevator, but she honestly doubted that. She checked her mobile phone for messages and missed calls and didn't find any. She was about to call Mrs. Larkin when someone tapped her shoulder lightly.

She yelped a turn around to find a smiling brown haired woman with an extended hand, the source of the tap.

"Hi. Veronica Machackova?" she asked, smile not leaving her face. Vera liked her instantly. She had a feeling that not all of the people were going to be as nice as her or the taxi driver (although she would be nice too if someone was paying her so much money for a single ride).

"Yeah. Yes. That's me. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Larkin." Vera extended her hand and returned the smile. The woman had a firm handshake. Honest.

"Likewise. Also, Nina is fine," she offered and Vera nodded, unsure. It always troubled her, being on the first name basis with someone older than herself (at least five years older that is, which this woman surely was).