Frank watched as his target did his dealings for the day. The park. At night. Just once, he wished these low-lives would cease with the stereo-types, but alas, here he is. This particular piece of dirt was easy to follow. He had a lot of regulars, and rarely dealt with new-comers. He was a middle-weight. An apartment in your average apartment building, he even maintained a relationship with a very naive model girlfriend. She'll see him again if he plays his cards right.
As the last deal was struck, Frank followed as Skeet, which was his business name, walked around the park, slowly counting his money. This little park was a hive of junkies, and he was the main supplier, so he thought he was safe. Thought. Frank kept within the shadows, making sure not making a sound. He crept up behind Skeet and just before he could grab him, 'Hey buddy, got any spare change!?!'. Gotta love junkies and their sense of timing. Skeet turned, took one look at Frank, and was running like his life depended on it, which it did. Frank shoved the junkie away and made chase. If this leaves the park, things are going to get difficult. Skeet was tearing away towards the North exit of the park. Frank made a b-line to cut him off, but was unsuccessful. Sure, shooting him was an option, but this is about information, not elimination.
Skeet was down the street before Frank had a second to consider options. Giving chase, he ended up in a supermarket. This is going to get messy. Frank climbed up and over the aisles before crashing down on Skeet. He was fast, but not too strong, and Frank had him easily subdued. 'We have two options pal, either we go outside and you tell me what I want to know' Frank said solemnly, 'or I pull you outside anyway and bleed it out of you, your choice.' 'Alright, alright, I'll go peacefully.....' Frank let go and they walked out peacefully, not before Frank gave the store owners some compensation for the mess. They swiftly found themselves in a dark alleyway, and Frank put Skeet against the wall. 'Whose supplying you, whens the next shipment, and how do I stop it?' Skeet hesitated. 'Now. What I will do to you is worse.' 'Oh...Okay mannnn...' Skeet was sweating profusely. This kind of fear means Franks been expected for a while. 'I don't have a name, or a number. I just get an enveloped first Friday of every month with a time on it and my business name. Business used to be entirely local, but then a new guy became in charge. We all got business names and were told to show up to this place to get supplied. If we're late on a payment, we're eliminated, if we try to run, we're eliminated. It's a tight ship. Warehouse 4 in the industrial estate behind the Walmart out near Westgrove. That's all I know, I swear.' Frank considered this. Something doesn't seem right, but the guy is telling the truth. Curious. Nevertheless, he got what he came for, now to tag his territory and move on. 'You won't be doing business around here again. Leave. Tonight. I'm going to make sure you're damaged goods. You'll live an honest life because after this, no-one will want to deal with you. This is going to hurt, kid. Brace yourself.' Frank took out his knife and began leaving his message.