@foreversavvy
Do you know what it’s like to lose everything? He still had a car, still had a roof over his head, still had his balls, but in comparison those things didn’t matter. He shouldn’t of outlived his brother, he shouldn’t of outlived his sister, he was the eldest. Jack had been shot, a robbery gone bad that had ended with Jimmy Hopkins face plastered over the news. Kayleigh, she’d been stabbed forty seven times in an elevator by some hate-filled ex-cop. The easy option was to tremble and cower, let the weight of the world crush him, give in. And he did, for a while. Engulfed in a haze of alcohol and cocaine, he should’ve been there, he should’ve stopped it.
She was just a young girl. A bartender at the Snow White. She was a good laugh, she usually kept up with the patter Frankie spat out at a hundred miles per hour, but now the blather had disappeared. Now, he was sitting in a hospital. The doctors had told him that she’d received some sort of injury, a thump to the head. The doctors had told him that maybe she wouldn’t be the same when she woke up. Frankie had seen men consumed by revenge, and there were times when he understood. Tit for tat. An eye for an eye. He’d once had Jimmy in his crosshair, blinded by nothing but rage, but this was the big time now. This wasn’t booting fuck out of someone who wronged you in a rainy Glaswegian alley. This was international, this was big-time, someone had called in the heavies. Jimmy had enough on his plate -- hunting for Amy. He figured this would have to be a solo mission.
He ran his hand through Sav’s hair as she slept. “Sorry darlin’.” He would murmur every time he went out for a smoke, as if she was aware. He’d been sleeping in his car, occasionally going to the store to buy himself some booze, he was an alcoholic after all, but he was only drinking to ward off the shakes. There was only so much he could take, only so much of watching her so static that he could bear. So he went out.
“Lis’en t’me ye fuckin’ prick,” his voice dripped with a poison that came from his gut and became audible in his throat. He looked like shit. Sunken eyes, pale skin, bruised knuckles. How long had he been looking for answers? Had he slept? “A team o’ fuckin’ heavies burst into the Snow White, whit the fuck were they after? Eh?” He’d beaten the guy within an inch of his life, only picking him up with the hopes of extracting some much needed information. “Fuck you.” The guy spat. Frankie sighed, a disappointed heave from his chest. “Aryt ‘en, s’pose we’re goin’ again then.” Another messy explosion of pent-up anger, the guy ended up on the floor, Frankie’s boot hoofing into his gut. Frankie pulled his arm back, held onto his forearm with one hand and pushed with the other until he heard a snap and a scream. He was totally switched off. Frankie liked a good fight, but this wasn’t fighting, this was torture, and it wasn’t his wheelhouse. It was as if he’d had his soul sucked out, some mad zombie wandering around breaking arms. He grabbed the other arm. “Alright!” The guy yelped. “Alright, alright. All I know is the hit-squad was hired by Murdock -- he’s this fuckin’, fuckin’... Jesus.” Frankie firmed up, put some pressure on the guys arm. “He’s a high-roller from Atlanta. They were after Hopkins.”
“Murdock? Murdock whit?” Frankie quizzed.
“Scott -- that’s his name, Scott Murdock. Now you gon’na let me go or what?” Frankie pushed up and snapped the other guys arm. He screamed.
Frankie arrived back at the hospital, wiping away blood from his lip with his bruised knuckles as he stormed towards Sav’s hospital room. It was set in stone now, he’d await Sav waking up, then Scott Murdock was a deadman.