Re: log: patrick/frank - the capital, a meetup
Frank didn't anticipate a kid with the audacity to wander up to a meeting of the oldschool cosa nostra to have his shit together, and much less to know how to hold a gun. That didn't prevent him from grabbing and dragging him along, because, gun or not, he was just as likely to get himself killed as he was to help, now that the situation was blown. There was something stiff and unnatural about his front, too - was he wearing a fucking vest?
He let the kid go when he started talking, and managed an eyeroll at 'not shooting before being engaged.' Now that sounded like a cop, but if the kid was police, Frank would have seem some presence, any presence at all, in the surrounding area. He repositioned behind a pallet of tiles wrapped in fiberglass, neatly stacked along the side of the warehouse. "Only time that's ever true is in movies, kid." Anyone could kill you at any time for any reason. Right now, though, he felt cool inside, even, the long itch along the inside of his skull eased. He could salvage this, if he was fast. He wouldn't get the info he'd come looking for, but he'd get a shiny consolation prize - six dead idiots, two of which ranked highly enough to put the fear into the Italians.
One of the guards on the opposite side of the warehouse had now come peering out through the entry where the two dead men were splayed on the gravel, their blood soaking the stones. He shouted into the building, and the man on the other side peeked around the corner, earning a shot to the temple.
One, two, three. He reloaded the gun. "They'll try to take those cars out of here," he growled. "When their man doesn't come back." Sure enough, inside the warehouse, a pair of engines stuttered to life. Priorities.
Frank broke from behind cover and ran. "You want yourself a citizen's arrest?" he called back. "Take out the tires." There were two cars now peeling away through the half-open warehouse doors in opposite directions. Frank went west. What direction the kid went was his business, so long as he didn't put a bullet in his back.