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