Boston Blood: The first Frank McKenzie Thriller

FRANK MCKENZIE ONE

BOSTON BLOOD

Luis Samways

Text © 2012 by Luis Samways

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Damonza

Luis Samways has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

EBook Edition first published in October 2012.

First Edition

For more information on books by Luis Samways Visit:

www.LuisSamways.com

www.Twitter.com/LuisSamways

The characters in this book including but not limited to Frank McKenzie are © of Luis Samways

For without you I’d be merely a victim of stories untold and fables unheard for it is you who gives me the strength and courage to tell my tales. This book is dedicated to my Fiancé, soon to be wife, Louise Wright. She taught me dreams can come true, I found that out the day I met her.

L.S

One

The sound of his beeper wakes Frank up. He looks around the room trying to get his wits about him, shaking his hangover off as a result of the night before. He lays slouched against the head board, and looks around his bedroom while squinting, trying to adjust to the light that is finding its way through the curtains. Smiling to himself when he sees the empty bottle of jack lying on the floor next to his gun. He grabs his packet of cigarettes from the bed side table, fondling around the draw,  he tries to find his lighter, he finally finds it and lights up the cigarette, the dim light reveals a messy room with folders and documents strewn all over the place on the tables and floors occupying any free space that was available. He drags hard on the smoke and exhales a cloud of grey bliss that’s soothing him to near sleep once again. As he dozes off his cell phone starts ringing, it startles Frank. He picks it up and answers.

‘Frank speaking’ he mutters, still smoking his cigarette half awake.

‘Hey Frank, you need to come in. There’s been an incident down Stella Avenue in Rixton.’ The voice says on the phone

‘What kind of incident?’

Frank coughs trying to clear his throat

‘There’s been a massacre in a family home, around 15 dead Sir.’

‘Dam, I’ll be down in a bit, meet me down there’ says Frank

He hangs up the phone and shoots out of bed, quickly rushing around the room looking for his clothes. He puts on what he can find, a white T shirt and charcoal trousers. There’s a stain on the sleeve of his shirt which he manages to get out after a few minutes. He goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror. He stops dead while intently staring at himself, like he doesn’t recognise who he is. Grabbing some hair gel from the cabinet above the mirror, he starts to apply it to his blond short hair. Stopping again as he looks harder into his reflection, noticing his beard is starting to come through; he has no time to clean shave. Frank starts to look around the bathroom for his electric beard trimmer; he spots it on a pile of wet towels. Grabbing it he starts shaving rapidly, not caring about the hair debris from the razor falling on the floor. At that moment he realises he is getting the bathroom floor messy so he moves over to the sink. As he continues to shave he once again looks up at the mirror, this time he doesn’t stop still; he carries on shaving, driving him into a hypnotic state as the sound of the razors sheering his beard are embedded into his mind. The sound is gradually getting louder and louder, as he stares deeper into his own reflection, catching a distorted glimpse of his eyes. He stares harder into his cold dark blue eyes, and stops still in awe of his self. The razor’s still shredding hair on his face as it makes its way up and down his side burns. Frank remains dead still, flashes of the reasons he drinks play in his mind non-stop while he looks at himself, he looks deeper into the mirror and as he does, a women’s face appears in it, replacing his reflection. She snarls at him, her face is covered in bruises. She laughs.

‘HAVE FUN DIEING FUCKER’ the women in the reflection growls

Frank jumps with fear. The razor he is holding clips him on the ear and blood trickles out. Frank lets out a sneer. He throws the beard trimmer at the mirror and shatters it. Shards of glass fall sharply and bounce off the hair ridden sink, falling flat on the floor; Frank lets out a yell in frustration.

‘FUCK!’ he screams

Frank composes himself and opens the medicine cabinet. He rummages through the assortment of pills and medical paraphernalia until he finds what he is looking for. He grabs the yellow pill container. Frank gasps in relief. The label reads
“Veratril: .benzodiazepine 125 mg Medicated 2 x’s a day.
FRANK MCKENZIE”.

He opens the little container and pours 5 pills into his cupped hand; he puts the pills in his mouth in an urgent fashion. Bending down to the sink he runs the tap, drinking from it like a water fountain. He cups his hands until they are wet and splashes the watery residue on his face and hair. He looks into the mirror once again; his entire face is relaxed and dripping wet. Brushing his hands through his hair for a neater appearance, he walks out of the bathroom and grabs a grey suit jacket. He puts it on and kneels down on the ground as he slots his boots on. Just before he gets up, he grabs the gun from the floor. He walks over to the front door of his apartment and turns around to take a look at his home. Scanning his vision around the room he realises this could be the last time he sees his apartment. He gets the feeling that this could be dangerous. Gut feelings have never let him down before. He sighs and turns around, and walks out. The sound of the door swinging back shut echoes in the dark empty room. The bolts snap in place as the quiet hiss of silence deafens the apartment.

Two

A blue Ford Capri Pulls up to a driveway that seems to go on for miles. The car gently stops just before the assortment of officers rushing around the crime scene. One officer spots the car and shakes his head in disapproval. The officer turns to his superior.

‘It’s McKenzie, he actually showed up!’ The officer says in disbelief.

The official looking superior gives the brown nosing officer a smile as if to say he agrees at the police man’s distain for McKenzie. The superior walks over to McKenzie who is leaning on his old style Capri Lighting up a cigarette.

‘What the hell are you doing here Frank? You don’t work for the department any more. I believe it has to do with the fact you’re a no good drunk’ echoes the superior officer loud enough to catch the attention of the surrounding officers outside. The men and women in the crime scene stop what they are doing to witness the public grilling of McKenzie.

The officer smiles as he is made the center of attention while Frank carries on smoking his cigarette, Frank stairs a hole into the man who is challenging him.

‘What’s the matter frank? You forgot how to talk or something? Because the Frank I used to know would not shut the hell up! I find it strange that a man that was once notorious for talking too much is stone cold quiet now!”

The crime scene erupts in laughter as Frank is being teased by the Official looking man. Frank carries on smoking his cigarette; a brief smile comes across his face as the man carries on staring him down while licking his lips in glee.

‘If you’re not going to talk Frank then get the fuck out of my crime scene! I don’t see the point in having you here if you’re not going to give me a reason to take the piss out of you.’ The man laughs

Frank stays calm and takes one last drag from his cigarette. He smiles, then he flicks the cigarette but at the superior officer. It flies straight into the man’s right eye. The officer screams, and clasps his hands over his face, holding his injured eye that’s burning in his grips. The man removes his hand from his face, and pulls back to strike Frank, but frank beats him to the punch with a solid upper cut to the jaw, knocking the officer down to the cobble stone drive way. The surrounding officers do not interject; they remain idle as they look on at what is unfolding in front of their eyes. Frank laughs quietly to himself and shrugs off the adrenaline. He looks up at the surprised officers who outnumber him and takes a deep breath.

‘This is my crime scene now. I am in charge of this case, appointed by the district attorney as of 25 minutes ago. Truth is I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here. I guess it’s hard to look into the eyes of the men who sold me down the river because of a few discrepancies. After all I did for you guys. You were all taken care of and most importantly, I got the job done at any means necessary. The costs accumulated throughout the years have not been on you but on me. I have to live with my mistakes and me only. I am only human.’ Says Frank

The on looking officers are still in shock at what they are seeing.

‘Get back to work. 15 people died here tonight. Let’s make sure we catch whoever is responsible for this.’ Frank says

He walks over the knocked out officer on the floor and up the cobblestone path into the entrance of the house. The surrounding officers make way for him; a few are attending to the man on the ground as Frank disappears into the crime scene.

Frank walks into a narrow hallway. The signs of a struggle are evident everywhere. He looks down the hallway and takes a deep breath in as he takes in the carnage he is witnessing. Blood is caked all over the walls, and pools of it contaminate the ground. Frank is careful not to step in any as he is aware that leaving your own footprints in a crime scene will confuse the attending crime lab people. He notices the excess amount of blood on the floor, but no bodies to match the mess in the vicinity. He makes his way down the bloody path. The amount of blood in the hallway suggests some one died there but not one spec of blood was anywhere else but at the entrance to the house. What he does notice though is an abundance of holes in the walls from which are the unmistakable aftermath of shotgun shells. The whole of the hallway was plastered with shotgun shrapnel. The light from the other rooms was piercing through the holes in the walls. It surprised Frank, because when he stuck his finger through one of the holes, he noticed how thick the walls were. They were at least 3 inches from one side to the other, which suggests the shooter was in close proximity of the wall when shooting. The kicker, Frank thought, there was not one body near any of the bullet holes. There was a lot of blood though. Frank pulls his finger out of one of the bullet holes; he then fixes his stare back on the hole. He has an urge to peep through and see what’s on the other side. He bends down and looks through it. He is met by an eye staring back at him, it makes him jump. He backs away from the wall, sweat starting to formulate under his brow. Frank loosens his tie a bit, thinking the room is getting hotter. He walks back over to the wall, his mind starts racing. He hears faint whispers coming from the hole in the wall. The sweat’s now trickling freely down his face, Franks breathing gets heavier. He feels the heat of the wall with his hand, the whispering becomes clearer.

‘DON’T YOU TOUCH ME’ the dark raspy voice whispers

Frank squirms at the sound of the voice; he pulls back his hand from the flaky dry wall. The sweating has become more perfuse, now his once white T shirt has become drenched in sticky sweat, Frank’s throat feels dry.

‘It’s so hot…. The wall is so hot’ He says to himself

He reaches at the wall one more time, the whispering stops. He smiles to himself, a nervous smile at best. Once again bending down to look through the Bullet hole; the eye meets his gaze yet again, staring fire into Frank’s soul, the eye burning blood shot red.

‘DIE FUCKER’ says the whispering voice.

Frank pulls away from the wall again. A man approaches Frank from behind, and taps him on the shoulder, it startles Frank. He turns around to face the man. The man looks at Frank in curiosity.

‘Are you okay Frank?’ The man asks

Frank clears his throat….Twice

‘Yeah I’m okay; it’s just really hot in here Eddie’

‘Yeah, Like a goddam Mexican whorehouse. Well heck it’s good to see you! Boy it’s been far too long, but under the circumstances I’d rather just get down to business. You know that I don’t like to come to crime scenes at all, but this one is a little too close to home. I knew a few of the victims. If this sort of shit is happening on my street then what hope have I got at making this city a safer place?’ Declares Eddie

Frank looks unsympathetic

‘Sir, with all due respect, I think we would all like to not have to come down to crime scenes like you’ Frank says with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

‘How many times have I told you Frank, We have been friends long enough for you to know that I hate you calling me sir’ Explains Eddie, trying to ignore what frank said.