The wind was lashing at his face as if punishing him for his actions. But he persisted in speeding against it. He had to reach there in time. His 650 cubic engine bike skid across the gravel as it came to a halt. He jumped down and ran, past the old wooden door of the building, which from afar seemed a ramshackle and up the stone steps. His heart was pounding. Was he in time?
The apartment door creaked as he pushed it open, leaning aside so as to avoid anything that would potentially fly out at him. Nothing. Silence crept across the room as the floor squeaked at his presence.
The place was a mess. Even messier than usual. It all revealed a fight had taken place there. Someone thrown over the table as it broke, and then across the wardrobe as it leaned open, acceding to its torturers. He could picture it all in his head. Gunshots had been fired, for there were bullet-holes and empty shells scattered around. And then he saw it…
Traces of blood.
He couldn’t tell if it was his own, as his hand was still bleeding badly. He had by now grown numb to the pain and didn’t care about that. He just wanted to find her.
If those bastards hurt her, it’s gonna be the end of them, he thought as he scanned the room for another clue, some evidence that could reveal where they where.
As he turned to look inside the hole that was forged in the wall clearly as a result of the earlier wrestling, he saw a shadow move across. The pupils of his eyes widened. Alert, he reached for the bottom of the desk, feeling for a button to press. A button that would be his salvation.
The shadow moved closer. It was tall and muscular. And it was coming right at him. A body-builder-type man who seemed impenetrable, as a dagger was still protruding out of his left shoulder blade and a piece of wood was sticking out of his foot. Yet he kept moving. Frank was apparently his next victim.
He found it! And with a click a side drawer sprung out from the desk. Frank grabbed the revolver now in sight and hammered down the personification of carnage rapidly approaching. He fell down like a thick pine tree in the woods. Only there was no-one to yell “timber”. Frank felt relieved but it was no time to relax, no matter what his namesake Frankie used to say. He quickly got up and started searching the man’s pockets. There was bound to be something there. Something that would help him find Loren. He couldn’t lose her now. Not after all they had been through. They were the only thing they had left from their previous lives. He had vowed to stand by her and he was not going to break his promise.
He found a folded paper in one of the trouser pockets. It was an address. 306 Westwood Avenue, Warehouse 5. He knew where that was and it wasn’t friendly. He had to hurry. He grabbed the gun and ran out the door.
As the bike growled to a start, another shadow appeared at the window directly above. A man, brawny yet thin, smoking a cigar. But Frank hadn’t seen him…