Famer's Story writing debate Round#3 TUF V.S. REN

http://www.youtube.com...(music added in for effect while reading)My head is pounding. Almost throbbing. The place on my had where the butt of the man's gun head whacked me on, was extremely sore. I am not a violent man. I was usually good at avoiding fights, or talking my way out of them. But I never really had any incentive to get in them. Most of the time the conflicts I would be involved in would have something to do with a pointless drunken argument, which held no meaning or barren to anything. I didn't care enough about anything in my life to really get offended by anyway. Except Mandy. She is all that is on my mind right now. All I can think about it the pain I will bring to the men who stole her. I haven't slept in the 37 hours since the bank robbery. Jim and baby Easter were hopeless. The pigs were still "investigating" the incident. But as of right now, we had nothing. Here I am, alone, at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol, with absolutely nothing. My doorbell rings, and the sounds pierces my already pained head. The doctors said it was just a minor concussion and that it would heal in a few weeks. Somehow, with the pain I was experiencing though, I doubted it. The doorbell rings again. Screw off.I need an Advil. No, actually, I need to wake up from this horrible dream I have been in for the past couple of days.The stranger knocks on the door loudly six times. This guy was persistent. Fvck it. I go unlock my door and open it, only to find that my visitor really wasn't male. It was a cop. She looked to be of Latino orientation, with dark brown hair, done up in a bun. She has big brown doe eyes, and an expressionless face painted on.She looks me up and down. I know I must look like sh1t. I am wearing the same clothes (a plain white shirt and jeans) from the robbery, my eyes are bagged and veiny, and I look like I have been hit by a train."Good morning, Mr. Pratt, I am Officer Mendez. May I come in?" She asks.I just nod, and turn back into my apartment. She follows me in, and sits next to an oily pizza box on my old couch."Want a cup of coffee?" I ask as I start to pour myself a glass from the steamer cup."No, thankyou Mr. Pratt." She responds politely.I pour a small cup of cream into my coffee, and then proceed to sit down on the couch next to the Officer. "I am here to tell you about our current info on the kidnapping." She says calmly.Suddenly, my ears perk up, and I am interested. Up until now, the pigs have had nothing every time I have called. "These guys are pro's at bank robbery. Or so we thought. The robbery was quick, clean, and fast. They all wore gloves, which prevented us from doing any finger printing on the suspects. But after a more thorough sweep of the building we found something." She stops, and pulls out a plastic evidence bag from inside her coat. Inside is what I would best describe as a metal bullet." What is that?" I ask intently."It's a blank. We think it fell out of one of the robbers pockets as he was leaving."Damn. These fvcks, robbed a bank and took my little girl, armed with AK-47's, and they were carrying blanks? I suddenly feel more angry than I did before. "Please leave." I say angrily. I don't want to hear any more of this bull sh1t."Wait!" She exclaims quickly. "That's not all. We found a partial print on the shell. The owner of the finger print is Daniel Moza. We sent in a police squad to his residence, but he evacuated. Were currently searching for him now."I am surprised. Still I don't know what to do with this information. I just stare at her. Finally she gets the point."Good day Mr. Pratt, We will let you know if we find anything else." She says in a voice that sounds aggravated. She then gets up and walks out the door. Good riddance. I finish my cup of coffee, and then toss the cup in my sink that's already full of dirty dishes. I can't stay here any longer. I need to do something. Anything. I have no resources, nobody I can count on to help me find my girl, just the police, who have only been able to give me a name. Daniel Moza. Hmm... For some reason the name sounds familiar, however, for the life of me I can't place it. Whatever. I grab the keys to my Honda, and leave. I can't be here anymore. It's almost 11:00, and Mark will be waiting for me at Le Gout de France.I personally hate the coffee there, it tastes like p1ss and beans.A big part of me wants to walk in the coffee shop, tell mark to fvck off, and the punch him in the face. A smaller part of me is actually interested in what he has to say. Let's add a little more emphasis on how small that part of me is...But since the first part will likely end up in me getting arrested, I start to drive toward the coffee shop, and calm myself as much as possible. I still look like crap and have been drinking quite a bit, but I don't care.The drive is about 10 minutes from where I live, making me a few minutes late.I get out of my car, and walk into the coffee shop. The scent of warm coffee fills my nose, as it wafts out the open door. A nice melodic French tune is playing, though I don't understand any of the lyrics.I look around the decorated little coffee shop, until sure enough, I see Mark sitting at a table alone, wearing a striped oxford dress shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, with his hair slicked back, looking good as always. In high school, he was the one who always got the girls. Seemed he still did. Even his best friends' girl. I go and pull out a chair next to him, and plop in it.He looks up at me surprised. "Hey, I didn't think you would come..." He says in a voice that sounds as if we were still good friends."What the fvck do you want!?" I say. I am not here to bull sh1t, and pretend to be fake.He is taken aback by my harsh tone."Jesus, Colt, calm down. I.... I wanted to help you find Mandy... I know you have some harsh feelings towards me-"I roll my eyes at this, but let him continue."But I know you care about Mandy. Well I do too. I want to find these dirt bags and hurt them for taking her. But I want some help. I don't know any one else who would be more passionate in finding her than you, Colt." I chuckle. "You serious? Are you high right now? What in the world would make you think I would want to help you? I hate your fvcking guts." Mark just sighs. "I understand. I am not asking you to like me. I am not asking you to forgive me. Colt, I just want you to help me. Mandy means a lot to me... I have loved every minute I have had with her. I don't want or expect you to feel sympathy for me. But I can't think about anything else other than trying to find her right now Colt. Every time I think about what those bastards could be doing to her right now... I..." A tear is running down his cheek. I understand his pain, because it is mine as well. I am just better at hiding it than he is. I know exactly how he feels. Hopeless. Desperate. Like I should be doing... something... But what? What could we possibly do? What could a steel designer and a sales representative for Phiser possibly attempt to do to save my little girl? We were helpless. And that is what caused the most pain. I feel angry again. He doesn't deserve to feel this pain. To share it with me. He took the only two things in life I cared about. I hated him. "Listen mark, were done here. We have nothing. I have nothing. You made damn sure of that. The cops will find her. They have to. They have already given me a name, Daniel Moza. They will find her. Til then, I don't want to have anything to do with you. Goodbye Mark." I get up and turn towards the door. I am halfway to the door when he shouts after me. "Daniel Moza? What, you mean to douche bag that used to sell weed to us in high school? The one that always crashed at Manuel's place?" Then it clicks. It all makes sense. He spoke back at the bank. I knew I recognized the voice. Mandy, Daddies coming baby, stay strong.