@the-oldest-reaper
Frank Castle was glad to be home. The familiar feeling of the New York streets under his boots and the smell of the city brought a sense of belonging to him that no other place in the world did. Almost as if the city had missed him and was reminding him that he had work to do he saw a familiar figure as he approached his van.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Turk?” he asked as he approached. Turk was a low level scum bag that popped up on Frank’s radar pretty often. He’d never done anything bad enough to make Frank’s list and usually proved useful enough that the worst Frank ever gave him was a beating. Not that Turk ever learned from it.
“Shit! I was just gonna move it for you, man,” Turk said putting his hands up and backing away from the van.
Frank gave him a hard look. His hand moved as fast as a striking snake and bounced Turk’s head off the front panel of the van. “Try again,” he said.
“Look, I didn’t know it was yours,” Turk replied starting to whine a little. “Honest mistake, come on, man.”
Frank grabbed Turk’s jacket with both hands and glared hard at him. “Tell you what, I just got back so I’m feeling a little generous today. I’m gonna let you walk away from this just for today.” Turk started to thank him and Frank shook him to shut him up. “You just gotta tell all your shitbag buddies that Punisher is back in town. Whatever vacation they’ve been enjoying is officially over and I’m gonna be coming for all of them. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got you, man.”
Frank shoved Turk away. “Get gone!”
He watched Turk run away, stumbling a few times as Frank dug his keys out of his pocket. Once the door was unlocked he pulled the Slim Jim and wedge out of the window before opening the door. The back of the van had a mobile arsenal along with enough space for a body or two on the floor. He liked to be prepared for contingencies.
The van was a little rough starting, but he figured he wouldn’t have a problem getting back to his safe house. As he drove the fingers of his right hand felt at the bare spot on his left ring finger. He figured Maria would understand, might even laugh about how bothered he was by its absence, but it felt wrong that he wasn’t wearing it.
When he glanced to his right to check the mirror in order to change lanes he saw the passenger seat was occupied. “Fuck!” he shouted causing the van to swerve a little. Homocidal New York drivers honked and shouted their opinions which he rewarded with shouts and a few gestures of his own. “You scared the shit out of me,” he snapped. The part of his brain still wired for survival spoke up and Frank’s attitude abruptly softened. “Pardon the language, ma’am, I didn’t expect to see you.”