Burnt Bridges – part six

Warning:  This story contains harsh and vulgar language, disturbing descriptions, and adult situations.  This story is not for children and they should not be allowed to read it.   Consider it rated “R”.

The next day, Frank found himself driving down the side streets on the low end of town.  The file he had begged for from the office clerk at the station lay open on the passenger seat.  A torn yellow sheet of paper was on top of the pile and stood out of the rest with the words, “Matt Harris – 51 Highland” scribbled on it in red ink.

Frank scanned the houses as he counted their addresses.  Leaning porches, gated doors, rusty fences, and faded dull paint; It was if the street was under some weird, bizzarro world, home association rules.  The occasional used, but obviously maintained car parked on the curb showed that some did have the money to keep up their place, but chose not to for fear of becoming a target.  A  maintained house in this neighborhood was a sign of money.  A sign like that could be deadly in this area.

The brakes on the battered Crown Vic ground to a halt, announcing Frank’s presence.  Frank slowly pulled partially back on the slide of his Glock to make sure a round was in the chamber before checking the mirrors for any person or vehicle waiting to make a move.  Satisfied, Frank exited the vehicle.

He stood for a moment in his worn, leather coat long enough to give any hidden onlookers the wrong impression; then walked up the stairs and to the door in determined steps.  Not waiting a moment, opened the screen and rapt on the heavy front door harshly.

“Bam!  Bam! Bam!”

A groggy voice called weakly form the other side.  “Who is it?”

Frank didn’t answer as he knocked again.

“Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!”

“Damn it I’m coming!”  Yelled the voice inside.

Frank took a step back as he heard the tumbling of the dead bolt.  The front door opened six inches before a security chain stopped it further.

A partial pale face with a scruffy beard and sunken eye filed the void.  “What do you want?”

Frank spoke in an authoritative voice.  “Matt Harris.”

“Yes.”  He answered.

“Shawna Pritchett.”

The man behind the door deflated as he heard the name.  “Oh man.  I told you guys everything.  She hasn’t been here for ages.  I don’t know where she is. Now leave me alone.”

“Let me see for myself.”  Frank ordered.

“Fuck you!” Matt replied as he started to close the door.  “Get a warrant!”

Wood splintered and the man fell back as Frank kicked the door in.

“Does it look like I need a warrant?  Does it look like I need a fucking warrant?”  Frank yelled as he rushed inside.

Grabbing the man by his undershirt, Frank picked him up and slammed him against the wall.  Cheap furniture crumpled and a lamp shattered on the floor as the skinny man struggled vainly against the assault.

Frank pulled his gun and crashed it against the bridge of Matt’s nose.

“Where is she?”  Frank yelled as he slammed the man into the corner of a doorway.  “Where is she?”

“I don’t know!”  Matt yelled back in pain.

Frank slammed him again on the frame of the doorway.  “Tell me!”

“I don’t know!”  Came his reply.

Frank threw him to the ground. “Where is she?”

Half blind and with the wind knocked out or him, Matt wheezed.  “Fuck you.”

“Pow!  Pow!”

Frank fired two shots close to Matt’s ears before kneeling down and pressing the hot barrel against matt’s knee.

“Teddy Bear!”  Matt cried out in panic.

“Who?”  Frank asked, pressing harder.

“Teddy Bear!”  Matt repeated.  “Ted Brown.  Candy left with him. He was the last guy I saw with her.”

“Where is he?”  Frank growled.

“Tender Trap.”  Matt answered franticly.  “He runs the Tender Trap.”

Matt wheezed in a mixture of pain, relief, and dread as Frank stood up.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”   Frank deadpanned as he picked up the empty cases off the floor.

Climbing inside his car, Frank casually topped off his magazine before scrawling a note on the file.  “Ted Brown – Tender Trap”

Taking a moment, Frank pulled a bottle of Kesslers from the glove box.  Taking  a swig, Frank stared at the house with a satisfied smile of contentment.  He knew he didn’t have to worry about the cops.  No one would call.  Gun fire was common around here.

Setting the bottle back in its place, Frank turned the key and headed down the road.

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