Boston Blood: The first Frank McKenzie Thriller (15 page)

Fifty One

The year 2006: SIX YEARS BEFORE BOARDING THE TRAIN

Mrs Gardener is standing in front of her whiteboard as she surveys her class. The attendance is much lower than her usual classes; this is due to the fact that she is hosting the ever popular after school detention club. She hated that part of her job. She always thought how useless these proceedings were, especially since she always saw the same people in there every time she was assigned to the job. The school teachers would draw straws on whose turn it was to host the extra-curricular event. She always seemed to pull the short one.
Bad luck
she thought to herself.

She stood in front of her class wearing her usual appealing ware that kept the male students from spit-balling each other and the female students from liking her. She coughs out loud to draw the attention of ten students sitting in front of her with the expressions of boredom widely visible on their faces.

‘Okay boys and girls. Even though it’s end of year and all, you still find it impossible to go about your school activities without finding yourselves here. Now I’m not going to waste my time telling you people how to live your lives, so I’m giving you all this time to reflect on your behaviour leaving school and going into adult life. Please use this time allocated for you to catch up on any work that I’m sure you are falling behind on. Save all questions till the end of detention.’

The class moans consecutively and goes about their business while Mrs Gardner sits down and starts marking some papers. She goes into a work fuelled zone where the only thoughts that are rushing through her head are what she is likely to do when she gets home.
A bottle of wine and a TV dinner for one
she thinks to herself.
The thought stops her in her tracks as she gazes out of the window for a while, taking in the sunny day and brisk wind brushing against the trees on campus. She spots someone sitting on a bench facing her direction. She immediately wonders who it is. Suddenly she feels a vibration in her jeans pocket and pulls out her mobile phone, she darts her eyes to her class and notices no one looking at her.
Professional at all times.

She unlocks the phone and reads the message. She smiles. It’s someone she knows. She messages the person back while being cautious of her surroundings as she makes sure none of her class is attentive to her text messaging. She hits send and looks back out of the window. She notices the figure on the bench in the distance reach into his jacket and pull out a phone. She smiles again.

The figure on the bench is wearing casual clothes. He is sporting charcoal washed blue denim jeans and a brown leather jacket. He fiddles in a text and hits send on his flashy phone. Mrs Gardener’s phone vibrates again. She reads the new message and laughs.

The student’s attention goes from their work to her. She immediately puts the phone back in her jeans pocket and carries on marking her papers.

She looks out of the window again and notices that the figure on the bench is now gone. She sighs in contempt as she reaches into her pocket and quickly glances at the new message on the phone.

“I’ll see you tonight at yours. Wear something revealing, ideally nothing. Kiss.” It read

She smiled once again, her heart beating hard in her chest at the thought of her being with another man consumed her. She looked at the name above the message and glee filled her like air fills lungs. She knew who it was anyway, but enjoyed seeing his name. It meant that this was real. The relationship was real and her feelings were real. He made her feel like she was worth more than money and dates. She felt as if she was worth time its self. She glanced at her class room and noticed that nobody was looking at her. She took the opportunity to take one last look at the name above the phone.

“617-338-7786.

JASON BORDELLO”

Fifty Two

Nathan is sat down on an oil drum in a store room. He looks up at an opening in the ceiling, a man made one. He looks at his watch impatiently as if he is waiting for something to happen. He gets up to straighten out his legs and looks at his watch again.

‘Fuck sake, Hurry up!’ He says to himself

At that moment some ash drops on his shoulders. Nathan brushes them off and looks up at the hole in the ventilation system. Fredrick has his head poking out of the hole and a smile on his face.

‘Come on star, it’s all safe up here.’ Says Fredrick

‘Yeah I’d appreciate it if you don’t drop cigar ash on me thanks’ Says Nathan still brushing his shoulders off.

Fredrick holds his arm out so Nathan can grab it. Nathan hoists himself up onto the oil drum below the gaping hole. He balances himself, trying not to take a fall. He steadies himself and reaches for Fredrick’s arm that’s still extended just above him. Nathan grabs his arm while Fredrick pulls him into the ventilation system. The vent is a lot darker then the store room, which only shared one characteristic. It’s very confined. Nathan turns around to Fredrick who has begun crawling.

‘Where the hell are we going?’ Asks Nathan

Fredrick turns around slightly

‘We are going to get out of here’ whispers Fredrick

‘Yeah I know that, but where does this lead to?’             

‘It will take us right through the 1
floor of the M.I.T building. Straight through the hornet’s nest right out to the wastes my breda’

‘Hornet’s nest, are you mad?’

‘No it’s the only available route. They have destroyed the entrance foyer; no one can get through there. Not to mention they have got plenty of guards walking patrols man, so if we get caught we will die, I’m sure you don’t want that to happen now do you.’

‘Course not, but how did you get into the building?’

‘The same way we walking out star, through the ventilation ducts’

Nathan grabs Fredrick’s arm

‘This better be safe’

Fredrick pulls his arm away from Nathan

‘Course it’s safe; I never put myself in danger. Why you grab me like that? I’m no batty boy star!’

‘Batty boy?...’

There is nothing but complete silence in the duct

‘Never mind, let’s get going’ says Nathan

‘Fine by me star’

‘Lead the way “
Star”’
Says Nathan Sarcastically

‘Ah my man likes the word star now, that gwan’ be good hear you say that’

‘Yeah whatever let’s get going, we need to get the hell out of here Fredrick. Let’s leave the playing around shit for the outside. I’ll make you a deal, you get me out of here and I’ll tattoo the dam word on my ass for you’

‘I would settle for a beer Breda, no need to get your ass all bruised. Come, let’s go’

Fifty Three

Chief Shaw is sat on a chair staring at the big screen in the incident room. His mind is racing as he gazes at the blue screen flickering in the now quiet room. He looks around and notices officers sitting at desks motionless trying to get a grip on the day’s events. He looks at his watch and sighs. Seven more hours till the FBI will take the case over. Shaw finally snaps out of his solitude and gets up. He starts to pace the immediate area like a man with a plan. It is all part of his job. Look concerned, act in control. In reality he feels everything around him slipping. The phone rings. Everyone in the room gasps as they all look over to the phone planted on the big oak desk a few meters away from Shaw. He sighs as he walks over to the ringing phone, taking a few steps to consolidate his thoughts. He stops dead and reaches for the shiny black phone, his hand visible in the reflection of the matt style plastic that cases the handle. He knows that particular phone line is dedicated to one thing only,
communicating with Connor Chase.

‘Chief Shaw speaking’

A clicking sound pops into Chief Shaw’s ear as he speaks; the recording equipment is doing its job.

‘Hello Mr Shaw. It’s Connor Chase here. I’d like to speak to your esteemed Detective, Mr Frank McKenzie if possible.’

Shaw begins pacing once more, this time slow and methodical as if the way he walks helps him stand his ground. By now the incident room is full again with officers taking seats around desks. They are all wearing head phones and listening into the phone call. Standard procedure when it comes to terrorism. Chief Shaw starts to bite his nails as he continues to talk to Chase.

‘I’m sorry Connor, that won’t be possible.’

There is a long silence, the only audible sounds in the whole room is the deep breathing coming from the other end of the phone.

‘Why won’t my request to speak with Frank be possible?’

‘The thing is we fired him after coming to know about some of his questionable decisions’

‘Oh, what sort of bad decisions did he make Chief, was it anything to do with the fact that he behaved unprofessionally and slept with a so called key witness or did he, I don’t know, just shoot up a down town storage facility?’

The room bursts into sinister chatter as officers start dialling in calls.

‘What are you talking about?’ Asks Shaw

The line goes dead.

‘Shit, he’s gone sir’ says a technician from across the analysis desk.

‘I can see that!’ Shouts the Chief in frustration

He turns around to face his men.

‘Okay, you all heard what Chase had to say, and for those of you that did not hear what he said, I’ll make that clear right now. Chase just told me that Frank was down town in some storage area shooting the place up. Obviously we don’t know if that’s true but unfortunately giving the situation, we need to find McKenzie and bring him in. I have a feeling that this cock sucker chase is going to ride this out for as long as possible so we need to get Frank in just in case he demands to speak with him and use him as another reason to kill more civilians. I need people to look into all the storage facilities in down town Boston and make sure we find the building and Frank. I’m going to send out a combing party of officers to surround the area and sweep it for McKenzie. When we find him, I need him arrested and taken back to custody, right here. Is that understood?’

Agreeing silence fills the room.

‘Good get going people!’

Fifty Four

Frank is leaning his weight against a brick wall, looking up at the sun; he covers his eyes from its rays. Sweat is pouring down his brow as he wipes it away, smearing blood on his temple. He looks down at his feet, his shoes once black are now covered in mud and muck. His clothes are torn and worn out. Blood stains his clothing and dirty blonde hair, his muscles ripping through his lacerated apparel, showing more than veins and scars. His marine core tattoo is visible; it’s plastered on his right shoulder. He looks down at the marine insignia and shakes his head. Fear and loathing are not feelings Frank feels often, but at this moment both of them are running through his body quite like the blood that once ran through the guard he beat to death a short while ago. The voices start talking.

‘Fear is for the weak frank, knuckle up you pussy’ Says the briskly voice. At that moment Frank darts his head from right to left, trying to pin point the voice’s location. He looks around, nothing but open woodland and concrete tanks surround him. He looks up at the sun again and goes down to his knees. He reaches into his ripped shirt pocket and pulls out his empty pill container. He starts sobbing and moaning, visibly in pain. He holds his hands out in front of him, as if he doesn’t recognise himself.

‘Man up!’ Shouts the voice in his head

‘Don’t be weak, you don’t need those pills my boy, you have me!’ Snarls the voice

Frank turns his hands over and looks at his palms. The lines on his hands contour much like his life. He never believed in psychics or palm readings, but he could tell how someone could read some one’s life through his. Busted fingers and broken knuckles are few of the things that serve as a footnote for his life. Frank stops looking at his hands, as he pulls himself back up using the railing attached to the wall. He brushes himself down and looks back up at the sun, and then to his front. He sees the gate that he entered a few hours earlier. The guard that let him in is in his booth watching the CCTV. Frank takes out his gun and slowly pulls the hammer back.

‘Forgive me’ Says Frank as he reaches the window of the booth and takes aim.

Fifty Five

Officer Mullins walks into the foyer of the incident room in midtown Boston. He is greeted with a buzzing of chatter as he stands still and witnesses the chaotic poetry of the building. Masses of officers are walking and running around urgently as they scramble for offices and phones. He turns around to his partner and throws him a cautious blink. Mullins carries on walking with his partner towards the incident rooms’ central operations area which is boarded up with plaster wood. He is met by a few smiles and nods from his co-workers. Mullins notices the people acknowledging him are doing so in politeness rather than need. He looks out of place in the building as he is a street officer who walks a beat; most of the people in the incident room are decorated members of the police force, not to mention the ever growing presence of the FBI and CIA. He suddenly jumps as some one’s hand pats him on the shoulder, jolting him out of his haze. It’s the DA, Eddie Smith.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you there’ laughs the DA

Mullins nods his head in relief, happy to see a familiar face

‘No problem sir. What’s going on here then?’

‘Chase has been in contact with us and it seems he has taken a liking to Frank McKenzie. He wants to talk with Frank on the phone, but obviously that’s slightly impossible since he is MIA. We need to locate Frank as soon as possible, or I fear Connor might start killing more hostages.’

Mullins glances at his partner and back at Eddie; worry washing all over his face

‘Don’t worry kid, everything will work out. Just worry about keeping the streets safe and doing your part in the case.’

‘The thing is sir; I’m finding it hard to sit around. I want to do more, and I feel that I could do more to help the investigation.’