Boston Blood: The first Frank McKenzie Thriller (6 page)

The news channels were all complying as he skimmed through all of the news channels. Most of them were reporting on other world events like the prime minister of England being involved in a car crash a few days ago. It was old news but the channels had to make do with what they had, or rather what they were allowed to have.

Frank was bored so he lit up a cigarette. He smoked the cigarette slowly due to the fact that he was running low, his 20 pack was now cut down to a mere 3 cigarette’s including the upside down one for good luck.

He was nearly falling asleep when the door to his office was abruptly opened and Chief Shaw walked in.

‘Alright laddie, No time for small talk Frank, you need to come to the incident room.’

Frank sprung up off his chair trying to present an alert state, even though he was feeling run down.

‘Are you okay?’ Asks Shaw

‘Yeah I’m fine, just feeling the long hours Chief’

Shaw starts to laugh out loud. Frank thought of how strange that reaction was due to the situation at hand, but some people deal with it differently he thought to himself.

‘Oh boy Frank, you never cease to amaze me. I’m nearly double your age and I have yet to fall asleep with a cigarette in my mouth, and be that tiered that I didn’t notice it burn a dam hole into my jacket!’

Frank looks down at his Jacket and shakes his head,
one more casualty of the day
.

Twenty

Crystal and Jennifer had been sitting down on the train now for around 3 minutes. The time it takes to board the train is not as long as it takes for the train to start moving. On this line it wasn’t uncommon for the drives of the motors to get out of the cab and go for a break. The breaks usually don’t last longer than 10 minutes. No one really minded because it gave people time to put there luggage in compartments, because there is nothing worse than trying to fit a large bag in a compartment while the train’s swerving at 150 MPH. The stoppage also gave people time to go to the toilet without fear of falling over. Jason Bordello was one of those people taking advantage of the train being idle. Crystal and Jennifer looked on as Jason stood up and looked at both of them with smiling eyes.

‘I need to let the hose out a minute. If you don’t mind ladies I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

The reference to “hose” made the two girls blush, Jason smiled again and walked off down the aisle towards the toilet. Both girls watched him until he was out of sight, and turned to each other.

‘Dam, I wish I got one of those cabins instead of this open space seating.’ Jenifer said.

Crystal gave her a side glanced look that was peppered with confusion.

‘Why on earth would you want a cabin for? These seats are fine.’

‘HELLO?!? A gorgeous guy and a cabin equal a much more entertaining train journey.’

Crystal looks shocked at her friend’s comments.

‘You can’t just sleep with the guy! You just met him, plus you don’t know him from anywhere. He could be a creep for all you know.’

‘Who said anything about sleeping with the man? There are far more ways of making a man happy then just sleeping with him. He’s hot anyway, what’s wrong with having a little fun?’

‘There’s fun and there’s danger, I’d rather stay on the safe side then jump on every guy I see.’

‘You’re being so lame Crystal. That father of yours has put too many bows around your life. Live a little, who knows he may enjoy the both of us giving him something to smile about.’

‘God sake girl, I am not into that sort of thing. I’m really starting to not recognise you anymore, your changing from the girl I’ve always known to someone I’m not sure whether I want to know.’

‘Be quiet, he’s coming back’

Jason walks back over to his seat looking relieved. He looks at Crystal and Jenifer.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah sure it is. I’m just admiring the view.’ Jenifer says looking at Jason’s rear.

Jason gives her a candid grin and sits down opposite her, while Crystal saves face behind a book.

Twenty One

‘What’s going on then?’ asks Frank

The incident room is once again in turmoil with phones going off left, right and center. A group of officers and detectives are staring at the big screen where Connor Chase is about to give another speech. The insignia on the top right of the screen says “
LIVE
”.

‘I thought we cut Chase’s media exposure? Who’s broadcasting this?’ asks Frank

Shaw turns around to Frank abruptly; the sound of his question seemed to shake Shaw’s attention from the big TV screen.

‘YouTube lad, he’s got a live stream on every major video website on the internet: Justin.tv, YouTube, Dailymotion, and Livestream. He’s even got some streams on pornography websites. There isn’t one video streaming website on the internet that isn’t streaming this, including news networks from out of the country like Aljazeera and the BBC.’

‘Can’t we do anything about it?’

‘I know we are the Boston’s finest Frank, but unfortunately we are not the world police. We can’t be shutting down streams of videos just like that.’

Frank shakes his head in disbelief.

‘I was under the impression we could do just that. I know we have the capability.’

Chief Shaw nods in agreement.

‘We do have the capability it’s just we don’t want to step on other people’s toes.’

‘I hardly think it’s the time to worry about public relations chief’ Frank says scornfully.

‘Believe it or not laddie, it’s always the right time for public relations. You make one wrong decision and it impacts the investigation. Before you know it we have every Tom Dick and Harry poking their peckers into our business.’

Frank was growing impatient and refrained from continuing his opinionated stance on the matter. He walks away from Shaw towards the TV to get a better view of what was happening.  Connor Chase was once again on the center of the screen. His scrawny body unnaturally engulfing the area, the result of which Frank knew was cheap quality cameras, it was more noticeable on the resolution that YouTube ran on. A little banner popped up on the TV:

“
Connor Chase Speaks in 1 minute’s time”

Frank thought how clever it was that Connor was biding time, letting news of his stream spread virally until the whole world was watching. Frank looked at the bottom viewer count insignia: 37,987,233 Viewers. Not quite the whole world but more than enough people to insight and spread a message, many more viewers than most videos that go live for the first time get.
This man had a following, could it be a dangerous following?

‘Hello again, for the people who don’t know me, my name is Connor Chase. I am armed and so are my men. We have taken hostages and are situated at the M.I.T public relations building in downtown Boston. We have rigged the building with explosives that are both meant to keep people out and in. There is no escape for the hostages; we have men guarding every possible rout out of the building. All hostages are bound and gagged. We mean them no harm, unless our demands are not met. If our wishes are not complied with then we will kill each hostage live on this stream one by one. It is important that you take us seriously so now I am willing to show you how serious we are.’ Connor Says through the TV.

The atmosphere in the incident room changes in a heat beat when a woman is shoved into the cameras view. She is pushed towards Connor Chase who catches her before she falls with a smile on his face. To Frank’s dismay the women being manhandled on the live stream is Tasha, Connors Boss. Connor looks back up at the camera while controlling Tasha’s movement by gripping her hair as she gages on the duct tape around her mouth while trying to catch a breath.

‘This woman’s name is Tasha Mitchel. She is my ex-boss. Not only that but she’s also working with the police to try and make my capture a reality. Thing is she never counted on the fact that my reach goes further then she and everyone thinks. I’m not here to divulge secretes; but she is. So I’m afraid……’

At that moment Connor chase pulls a hand gun out of his jacket with his left hand, holding Tasha’s head still with his right hand. He Aim’s the gun squarely into her forehead, the shiny metal glistening off the light that’s cascading from the crude movie set style lights in the background. He pulls the trigger which is followed by the deathly sound of the bullet echoing off the walls, closely followed by screams. The gun was fired at point blank range and Tasha’s head had exploded at the receiving end of the gunshot, her head seemingly splitting into two while a huge vapour styled puff of blood hung in the air, long after her lifeless body had disappeared from the cameras view. Connor’s white jacket was now decorated with the last fractions of Tasha’s life. He looks up to the camera with a crooked smile.

‘She had to go.’ Connor says

He puts the gun back into his classy white tux.

‘The 28
amendment will amend all the wrongs of this anti privacy government we live under. If I do not hear from someone in the next hour then I shall shoot someone else. I am not saying I want the law passed in an hour. I just want a courtesy call to show me that you people are taking this seriously. Might I add that if you are not taking this seriously then I will kill all of the hostages. Message understood I hope…’  The TV screen goes blank and is replaced with a distasteful TV test card that reads: “
REVOLUTION TV WILL BE BACK WITH YOU SHORTLY”
With a cartoon picture of “
Uncle Sam
” flipping the bird.

Frank looks into the TV screen trying to piece together what just happened. The whole room is in shock at what they had just witnessed, none more so than frank. He felt a connection to Tasha, be it a sexual one at that, it was still a connection. One he hadn’t felt since he was happily married, before all the problems started. Now he felt as if the only thing left was his problems. He felt sick.

Twenty Two

Frank was staring down into the bowl. His knees were hurting because of the prolonged amount of time he had spent vomiting into the toilet. He had lost count of how long he had been in the bathroom being sick, but he had a good inkling it was long enough to raise suspicion with his colleagues regarding his whereabouts. He flushes the toilet and gets up. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks 10 years older than he did 27 hours ago. Frank turns on the tap and sprinkles water into his hair trying to refresh himself, recharge the exterior run down look he had to a more clean and tidy presentation. He looks back down and noticed the cigarette burn that he had inflicted on his shirt a mere hour ago was still there and it was still annoying him. He pokes at it and tried to peel off the crusted shirt fabric surrounding the smelted burn. It felt like hardened plastic that had melted away
. Teach me for buying cheap shirts
he thought.

Frank gave up on tidying up the appearance of his shirt when he caught another woeful glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. The toilets in the incident building were much cleaner than any toilets he had recently found himself occupying. That being said he still felt that dirty cold feeling he always felt when looking at a reflection of himself, the cold harsh reality of who he was and what he had done always settled in hard when observing his soulless eyes and rigid story filled complexion.

The voices were back; this time the whispering was non-existent and what sounded like shouting in his head was digging deep into his psyche affecting his already battered and frayed being.

“Get a grip Frank” He whispered to himself trying to sustain an equal balance of sanity and authority.

“ITS NO GOOD WHISPERING FRANK, WE CAN STILL HERE YOU” The voice said, Frank’s expression growing ever vigilant as sweat pours out of every pour of his body, the results of which make Frank even more weary of his mind and the fact that he knew he was losing it.

“Leave me alone!” Frank shouts, grabbing his head and shaking it as if he’s trying to get rid of the sounds he was hearing.

A boastful sound of laughter is heard as the once whispering voice was now taking pleasure in making Frank’s life a hell.

With Frank growing ever weaker at every failed attempt at gaining composure, he moans in agony while grabbing onto the sink for stability.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams as he takes a forceful swing and punches the mirror so hard that his hand shatters the glass and leaves a spider web imprint akin to a car’s windshield after an accident.

Frank drops to the floor again and huddles himself up, gripping his knees with his bleeding hand, the skin on his knuckles hanging off as a result of the impact from the punch. He moans out loud and crawls to the toilet in pain, as he grips the toilets bowl, he hauls himself over and once again vomits into it, the strain on his stomach is so hard; he feels as if he had just been stabbed.

Twenty Three

Nathan’s nerve was as steady as ever. Back in his past life he had been commended on his nerve, in fact it is the reason he is so successful at his job now. This day was no different from any other. He had been summoned to Chase’s makeshift office and was waiting outside for someone to let him through. The office that Connor Chase was using was the old office that Tasha Mitchel once owned before her untimely death at the hands of Chase. Nathan noticed that the office door had Tasha’s name chiselled out, and replaced with a crude but noticeable plaque that read: “The man with the Plan”. Nathan wasn’t nervous at all, despite his position in Connor’s crew. If he showed any signs of uncertainty in his job, then it could prove fatal. There are not many explosive technicians out there that can have the luxury of worrying, or they wouldn’t get anything done. Nathan always thought that there was a difference between worrying too much and knowing too much. Nine times out of ten knowing too much would be more useful than worrying about not knowing anything at all. A perfect balance had to be met. Red or blue was not a guessing game; in the films it’s always red. Nathan knew that in real life, you strip the wire down and locate the correct circuit type to know whether or not to cut the red or blue wire. He always got it right.