2013.07.13 - Triad Tango

Deadpool throws the guy he's dragging along onto the ground while he reloads. The dude ducks and covers, screaming inarticulately in Chinese. "I TOLD YOU," Deadpool bellows, kicking the guy in the ribs. "I don't speak Sezchwan!" I don't think that's how it's spelled. He leans sideways and sprays some bullets down into the alleyway, which is more like a broad and untravelled street than a narrow, cloistered alley. A massive volume of return fire flies back up at him, and even Deadpool squats and hides from the onslaught. "Bored! This is BORING! I can't ninja at them or anything! Escort missions are the worst! This is why no one likes them in video games. I swear, if you get stuck on a doorframe or something, or charge into enemy fire, I will kill you myself and respawn and start from scratch!" he warns the guy, waggling a barrel at him.
For his part, this 'guy' screams and keeps his head covered from the falling glass and plaster and the psychotic mercenary waving a gun at him.
What the...Chinese people, shooting at. Oh. It's him. Crouched on a rooftop nearby, Mend frowns. Helping Deadpool always leaves a foul taste in her mouth, but it actually looks like he's NOT the aggressor this time. Sigh. Deadpool...what's she going to do with him? For right now, she's more moving into position and assessing than trying to DO something, though.
It's just another overly boring, overly hot, overly sunny, overly crowded day in an overly exaggerated city. This weather makes Zoya miserable. She likes the cold and the gloom. She also likes to be left alone, lost to her own devices.
That there's a shootout taking place on the very street that she's wandering down somehow fails to register in her mind as a point of importance.
She keeps right on moving, hands in pockets, mind adrift in who knows what dark, psychotic corner it likes to lurk within. She'd keep right on going if she didn't happen to walk right in the middle of that firefight. She wouldn't even notice except for getting shot in the temple.
The offending bullet drops to the sidewalk beside her, the tip only slightly mushroomed out. It hit something, though that same something stopped it before it could keep her brainpan company.
The Russkie stops short, looks down at the lost bullet, then turns her attention toward the Triad that happened to land the shot on her.
In a flash she's got one arm drawing a Russian-made pistol out from beneath her opposite arm, the block of steel spinning around a crooked index finger before it slaps grip-first into her palm, angled a quarter turn as she snaps a shot off without truly aiming.
The Triad man takes one in the chest. Somewhere. She doesn't really care where it landed so long as it pegged the guy.
Her pistol comes back around in another crazy backward-forward spin, lowering the hammer as she continues to walk along.
Following along on escort missions (does anyone really LIKE those? Like, seriously), it's Lunair! Or at least, a pretty much armored Lunair. She's tagging along just behind Deadpool, keeping her own shotgun in hand(s). Not wanting to break or bruise anything, she does in fact, use her shotgun two handed. It's odd that she really doesn't seem to think much about the morality of what she does anymore. She has a friend and a mentor, and the money is darn good. At least it's a more positive direction in life. She does her best not to get filled full of holes for now. "Yeah... I hate it when they charge and die," Lunair agrees. She's in cover at least.
"Right?" Deadpool stands up and sprays the alleyway with 4.7mm rounds, firing akimbo. He grabs the guy and drags him along through the walkway, shielding him with his own body as they cross the path over the wide access path. "It's like 'huuh I'ma walk right out of cover!' and they get shot. Man, that pisses me off. Did you play that new Bioshock game?" he asks Lunair, dragging the guy along by his upper arm with an iron grip. "That chick is /so useful/," he comments. A pair of Triad goons get a wildly inaccurate burst of automatic fire to the chest as they round the corner. "She phases in weapons and stuff- hey! That's you! You're my, uh, phase girl!" He tosses the PDW aside and snappoints at Lunair. "Gimme something big. Autoshotgun?" he half demands, half asks. "Maybe, explosive rounds? That seems needlessly excessive," he says with a self-satisfied nod.
Mend starts to descend into the alleyway, although she's not starting up any banter yet. No sense giving away her location. Okay. Deadpool, dragging guy along, another merc type. He's probably playing bodyguard, but you can never be sure with him. Especially as he's completely insane and delusional. Good at what he does, but completely insane and delusional.
Zoya gets a few more steps before gradually coming to a standstill, the one pistol still resting in her palm with the barrel aimed skyward. Hadn't she been hopelessly bored a moment ago..? She had been, hadn't she? Then there was that thing, and she shot the guy, and that felt kinda good, right? He didn't have any staying power, but for half of a second her boredom had been cured.
She enjoyed that. Maybe she should do some more of it. It's a little more interesting when they shoot back.
She turns in place, watching the heated firefight as her sidearm idly rolls around in her hand. Forward. Backward. Backward. Stop.
She thumbs back the hammer then retraces her steps.
What the hell. Ammo's cheap, da?
"They charge more if they're squishy," Lunair observes. Death wishes, oi. She nods. "I started the other day," Lunair admits. "she does seem handy." There remarks. There's an amused look. Lunair seems genuinely happy to be of use! "Really? Awesome!" She'll take it. After all, on her own, Lunair is /terribly/ fragile. But when she can take cover, well. "Sure. How's the AA-12?" Good ole AA-12. Low recoil and all that jazz. It only takes a moment to pull one from what seems to be the air and hands/tosses it to Deadpool. A genuine automatic shotgun. It's a bit terrifying and one hopes not to be in front of it. Explosive rounds, too. "Let me know if you need grenade rounds," She offers, after the gun is passed over. "Hm. Well, fight to win or don't...?" She considers the excessive bit. After all, enemies alive are enemies who like to come back when you're taking your morning duties and give you what for. She is following Deadpool, though if she can see Zoya, she'll wave.
More triad to deal with.
After getting back to the states, Frank started putting together the links between the boss he killed in Shanghai and the crews running through Chinatown in Metropolis. A few nights investigation and he came up on paydirt: a high value target whose intention was to go states evidence to get out of a drug deal gone bad, one that cost the life of two teenagers on vacation from Ohio.
There's only limited proof that links him to the crime, but with a little more digging, Frank surfaced that several officers working of the LAPD on beat in Chinatown had covered up the murder for a large sum payout so that the DA could run the Triad in to turn over on his friends.
This is not exactly something that the Punisher has any inclination to let slide.
Perched on the roof of one of the buildings the group is running between, Deadpool dragging his target, Frank stares down at them with a scoped M4 carbine nestled up in the curve of his shoulder. The weapon comes up and three shots ring out with the snap report of a silenced weapon, exploding the heads of two triad chasing them and blowing the leg off a third. Leaving him bleeding and screaming on the filth of the alleyway.
Deadpool grabs the AA-12 out of the air and tucks it under his arm, running and pulling the guy along. This guy who happens to be the proof Frank needs- the weak link in the entire operation, the Triad's lead accountant in the city. The guy Deadpool is being a meatshield for, and mowing down the endless waves of Triad hoard running down the industrial road.
They enter another building- some big industrial building with pipes and vents and mechanical stuff- y'know, it's all industrial, do we need more detail? Catwalks abound. "Up and at 'em, Wang Chung," Deadpool tells the guy, who is still screaming and babbling at him and clawing at Deadpool's hands to no effect. "I'm out to get paid, today. Lunair's out wearing her lovely new battle armor. The sun's out because of the natural rotation of the earth. Man, I am /really/ craving Lo Mein noodles for some reason," he frowns back at Lunair, who's covering their flank. "Why is that? Am I pregnant and having cravings?"
Triads. Deadpool. Guy being protected by Deadpool. No civilians. Honestly? Mend's tempted to leave, but she's not going to do so without making SURE there aren't any innocents in the line of fire. Doing so leads her lower...and a stray bullet whizzes past her ear. "Oh, come on. I'm not in the mood to die today," she grumbles, likely betraying her presence to the merc with a mouth.
Hey, isn't that..? It is! Zoya's 'friend,' from the other night. The small girl from 'The Gumbo Experience.' The Russkie automatically flashes Lunair a bright, friendly, and completely faux smile that would make any celebrity proud.
It falters slightly in another instant. That's a big gun that she just handed over to the guy in the black and red (she knows him, too.) Where did that gun come from..? Now she's curious, and a curious, temperamental, bullet-proof psychotic woman can be an unhealthy thing for others.
Well, now she's got a buddy or two involved. There's people to shoot, and by jove these are the kinds of crazies to shoot them. She just needs some proper motivation... Easier said than done. She's feeling lethargic today. Maybe they could just line up single-file for her? There's a guy on the rooftop with a rifle, he's a good shot. But, Zo really knows Deadpool and Lunair more than anyone else. They're also getting away.
With a drawn-out sigh she sets in a dead sprint after them, gathering enough momentum that when she passes through the first doorway she does so in the air, kicking off of the frame and whipping around to rattle off a handful of full-auto shots at the Triad thugs behind them. Inside the warehouse is a free-runner's dream. She angles up the nearest wall and catches the base of a catwalk, momentum carrying her around until she's on top of it and continuing to blitz. It's been too long since she ran.
Deadpool and Lunair and Co would hear her coming. It's a full-tilt sprint on a hollow metal walkway. Subtlety is not Zoya's strong suit.
It is! Lunair is probably pretty recognizable. She pulls a hunting rifle from - the air and blinks. There's a polite smile and wave, but she keeps her gun steady, to pick off anyone outside the range of Deadpool's shotgun. Where is she GETTING these things? Lunair seems -almost- normal looking, but there's that slight blank, detached nature beneath it all. She's moving to help the fellow up. She takes a pot shot at a fellow nearby, though she looks puzzled as Zoya is getting /closer/. At Deadpool's question, she pauses. "Lo Mein is pretty good... ummm..." She doesn't seem to quite grasp whether she should answer or not. "Hey, they seem to be-" Is it just her or are more of them falling over than-
Frank ducks beneath an open window leading into the catwalks of the building Deadpool inc. just entered, taking another few shots from elevation on the group of triad chasing them and tossing down a frag grenade to encourage them to take up defensive positions rather than barge in the doors. Reslinging his rifle on his back, the Punisher pulls instead a 9mm beretta with an extended clip and modified slide and barrel.
In addition to his usual black armor he's also wearing a reenforced trench coat to add a bit more protection as well as concealment for the assortment of weapons he's nodoubt carrying. Not to mention his cool expression. In his other hand he's carrying a take away of chinese food, still warm.
Glancing around at those who came in with the merc, Frank heads directly towards the man he's dragging while holding up the take away for Deadpool... "Lo mein." Quietly, eyes on the accountant.
"Hey, is that Castle?" Deadpool stops- just, stops, in clear view of everyone- and cups his hands to his eyes. "Oh wow, it is!" He jumps up and down, pointing at the heretofore concealed sniper named Frank Castle. "Hey guys, look! It's Frank Castle!" Oh my god, he brought CHINESE FOOD! 
"Mend!" Deadpool states, spotting the woman slinking up next to him. "I see my overwhelming heterosexuality has once again brought you into my life," he declares, throwing his chest out a bit and swaggering at the woman. "It's all right- I understand," he says, throwing a hand out dramatically to forestall her inevitable eyeroll. "You had to find the manliest man who ever manned, and deny the deeper attraction between us for the sake of your lifestyle. I get that." He comically asides to Mend, "bee-tee-dubs, that's why I sleep with supermodels. Just to confirm I'm straight. Also, the gay guys won't go out with you unless you've got three years of ballet with two of jazz/tap, and I never finished school." He sniffles and sighs heavily, then brightens instantly at Zoya's approach.
"Get that woman a weapon! One slightly smaller than the one I'm using at any given time!" he adds, belatedly. He turns in a circle, clapping his hands like a happy toddler. "This is so cool! Ok, I'll be Bosley, and you can all be my Angels."
He turns to Frank and snatches the take-out box out of his hand, promptly opening it up. "Here, you better hold this, then," Deadpool says, handing Frank a Banger-9 flashbang. Deadpool casually tosses the detonator spoon out over the catwalk carelessly, then sniffs the box. "Mm. Mongo hungry!" he says, ripping it open.
Mend shakes her head. "Deadpool, can you get a grasp on reality long enough to tell me what's going on before I have to assume you're *all* the bad guys here?" Not that she and Deadpool could really hurt each other. That's part of the game. Like him hitting on her every time, knowing he has no chance. Like the fact that she SHOULD arrest him for something. She just knows she can't.
Super-powered people tend to have interesting ways of greeting one another. In Zoya's case she stops up on the catwalk (because everyone else is stopping,) then..shoots Deadpool.
Right as he's making his item exchange with Castle. Just..Bang. Back of the shoulder.
There she stays, now in a crouch with a smoking pistol held in a loose hand that dangles over the side of her knee. "Tag."
These people are having more fun than she is. She wants in on it. If she can't get in on it then she'll just have to make her own fun.
Tagging Deadpool with a 9x18 fits her definition of fun.
Lunair waves to Mend. She's lingering near their escort, at least. "Thank you for the Lo Mein," Lunair isn't eating it, but she does thank the Punisher. She pauses. Wait, was that a detonator that went by? She looks over to see. She seems quietly amused by Deadpool, but pauses at the request for a weapon. She looks to Zoya, eyes widening as the woman shoots Deadpool. Her expression is one of horror. "Ack! I don't think we shoot people while he's eating," She admits. "But um, I should-" She has a gun though. Lunair hesitates. She's acting as watch though, her rifle held up as someone pokes out of a window. Eek! A pervert! He clearly had it coming. She looks to Mend. "Hi! We're on an escort mission." Unfortuantely, they all seem to be loopy in their own way. She does regard Frank with some concern, likely as he seems to be - waaait... didn't she see him yesterday at the gumbo thing. "Oh! You got away. That's good." She looks overwhelmed. Lunair's brain can only handle so much input.
Frank sighs and watches the flash bang roll across the floor when Deadpool is shot. Or not, who really knows anymore. His eyes turn away from the resounding explosion, but he's still got a ringing in his ears even if he 'can' see.
But see is all he really needs to do. The Punisher stands straight, raises his pistol, and puts a bullet right through the accounts face. The gun, sitll smoking, rises as the former triad account falls to the ground. That done, he promptly turns to the catwalk stairs headed back up. Let the crazies and heroes sort out their own business. He can already feel the headache forming and he's not even spent five minutes around the merc yet.
His pink wiggles in his ear, jaw working to clear the ringing.
Mend was...too slow. Well, not too slow. The shooter is trying to run away...and the hero, being almost as crazy as Deadpool, is setting off after him. Maybe she can at least beat him up and take his gun. Ideally, she can get him dealt with. Whoever he is - she's not familiar with the Punisher, and all she knows is he just shot a guy in cold blood. Probably a criminal, but still...shooting in cold blood is something Mend rather frowns upon.
There is one thing which Zoya probably could have taken into account which she did not. Flashbang. Armed flashbang.
It flashes. And it bangs.
"AGH!"
She can't see and she can't hear but she knows that she doesn't like it. With the anguish that follows she goes so far as to point her gun at her own temple, touching off another shot. As if the impact might help jar her senses back into order. Instead the slightly mangled bullet drops to the floor with a comparatively soft Tink.
As her vision starts to return she sees annoying spots in her vision. A few of those get shot at, too. The end result is that she's sending a few random shots through the warehouse. Maybe there's other people in line with them, maybe not. All she's caring about is that her senses are failing her because of that blasted grenade.
The accountant is down (maybe Deadpool won't be moving so bloody slow on his feet now,) the man he called Frank Castle is making his escape, and there's some other woman now joining the fun. Was she bored, too? Except for that Castle guy, he's trying to leave them all.
Oh, and Deadpool's missing his head.
Frank seems like fun. He shoots well. Now he's also a moving target. Zoya has her second pistol free and outstretched in a heartbeat, both of the bulky pistols chattering frantically as she sends a literal wall of bullets after Frank. She'll greet him properly, too.
Hello Flashbang, much less popular than the kitty of similar nomenclature. Lunair blinks at least, and looks away, though her ears ring angrily. She reels a moment. And to think she shot fireworks at Iron Man for that guy. There's a faint stinging irritation. Hey. hey wait! That was THEIR escort guy. "Wasn't he going to turn the others in..." She looks a bit puzzled. On the other hand, Lunair is aware that the courts often have a hard time and - the thought train goes off the rails. "Um, she's gonna run out of ammo eventually. Oh well. Catch, ma'am!" Lunair will toss ammunition after Zoya and move to scoop up Deadpool so he doesn't fall too far behind.
Frank's mouth opens wide trying to pop his ears and clear the ringing, but he's still got enough wits about him to know someone is trying to grab him. The hand lands on his shoulder and his arm jabs upwards, wraps around and pins Mend's hand against his side. His elbow swings at her when he spins, slipping his foot back between her's to provide a pivot that was clearly meant to throw her over the side.
And out of the way of the bullets. Even if he was unaware he was about to be shot at.
They hit him in the back and are eaten by the armor he's wearing. It's not the thickest, but it serves the purpose of saving his life. Stumbling forward with a growl, lips pressed together from the pain of all those little wealts forming where the bullets hit him.
The Punisher dives forward behind one of those little metal seperations that line catwalks and reaches for one of his own machine pistols. Beretta 93R. Twisting his wrist over his cover to return fire in the general direction from which the wall of bullets came.
"No, you guys go ahead!" Deadpool calls up faintly, from below. "I'm totally not hanging out down here for a pose or two to make a dramatic entrance in another round once you've cornered Frank! I'm like... really badly hurt! I think I broke my leg! It definitely smells a little bit septic!"
Mend is stronger and faster than, likely, Frank expected...he dislodges her, but she doesn't go over the edge, hanging on the rail before trying to twist back up. That does mean that Frank takes all of the bullets. "Thanks, but I don't need a meat shield," she notes before circling back towards him. Great. She's going to get shot. Still, she's in little danger of having a church dropped on her. By the way, that's worse.
Oh lord, is he talking again? Still? Losing his head wasn't enough? Zoya remembers that mouth, alright. Not even a tub of ice cream is enough to silence it (though it was pretty funny when he gave himself brainfreeze.) Interrupting her momentary interruption, however? Spare magazines. Loaded spare magazines. From Lunair.
Yeah. Lunair made herself a new friend, alright.
Normally she would do another crazy/fancy around-the-world spinning of her weapons before and during her reloading of them but this time she has to catch the mags out of the air first. It's perhaps the least coordinated reload she's ever attempted. Plenty of time for, say, Frank to return fire in three round salvos. There's..just one catch.
Soon it's his bullets that are lying upon the floor, slightly crumpled, in a tight little grouping.
Frank just said 'hello' back to her. Does this mean he's a new friend of hers now, too?
People can be so confusing sometimes.
Lunair pauses. "Okay! I'll come back for you!" She's not one to ditch a teammate. But she is going to run after the others now. She's moving at a pretty good clip, rifle in tow. She's a bit baffled by the turn of events, and probably making a note to pick up more Lo mein sans explosives for Deadpool. Or maybe tacos? What are they really going to even DO if they catch up to Frank? There's a twinge of being torn. She shot fireworks the other day so he could get away. It doesn't seem - she feels a bit dizzy about it all. Either way, she has her rifle up and ready for when she can get her a pot shot. Just not yet. Huh. Miss Zoya has fancy gunwork. Neat! "Well, all the cool kids are doing it." So she's chasing too.
She's right there in his sights, Mend is. Walking right towards him down the catwalk and he moves his aim from 'over' his cover, to point right at her with a machine pistol. If she stops, he wont shoot. If she doesn't stop, he'll work it out with himself later.
"You've got that idealist look in your eye, kid." Coughing and holding a hand against his side. The way he's laying there doesn't look like he's doing it intentionally and the blood oozing from between his fingers is never a good sign. "Don't..."
Slumping down onto one elbow and pushing down the catwalk with the heel of his boot, never letting his pistol drop from Mend. She's the direct threat, right now. He's got cover on at least one side and it's the side pointed towards the crazy woman with the machine pistols.
"Why'd you cap that guy?" Mend asks. She does stop...but it's not the kind of stop that seems to be long-lasting. She's tense, ready to move. Ready to dodge, if needed, although if he does shoot her, it'll be...annoying. That's all. Annoying. There's something I-don't-care in her body language.
Zoya's okay. Really, she is. (No, she's not.) Things are starting to get a little messy. People are starting to fall a little bit apart. Boredom's starting to set in once more. It was fun while it lasted, right? Listening to the Red Man's incessant babbling is easier when he's doing things. His actions can be entertaining. Now that he's just a severed head babbling on about stuff that makes no sense, now she wants to tag him with another bullet. This time in the face.
So, she does. BAM! Goodnight, Deadpool. (It sure is handy knowing that he'll regenerate and be no worse for wear by tomorrow.)
As one more spent cartridge pings off of the floor below she passes a look over to Lunair, rolls her shoulders, then turns and starts to walk away. She had to do it. Everyone here should understand.
Maybe she'll go play in traffic for a bit. Those silly cab drivers, they never see her coming.
"..." Lunair looks horrified as poor Deadpool's babbling is silenced again. She pauses at Zoya. Waves. She now looks concerned as it's down to Mend and Frank. She carefully moves over. "Umm. Well. The witness is dead, but -" Pause. She can't find words. Lunair, where are your WORDS?! "Consider the fact that he kinda just plugged the dude without blinking. I'm not really sure trying to get him in prison is gonna go well." She has a vague idea, but from what she's seen, and Frank's total willingness to plug criminal dudes if not set them on fire? Wouldn't a prison or jail just be like throwing an Asian Tigerfish into a tank full of goldfish? She's not sure. "But uh. I gotta go make sure my boss gets his head back. Toodles, don't die!" She hops on down the stairs to collect poor Deadpool.
"Qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum.." Frank answers, coughing a bit as he continues to crawl backwards towards a little office on the second floor arranged in the middle of two walkways. Where he's holding his side, it's completely believable that he could have knicked a lung.
The way he's holding his pistol, on the other hand, might well indicate he's use to being injured and not likely to be dropping it until he's dead. "You wan-.." Coughing, dry deep coughing. "You wanted to, what? Put him in prison? Lock him up where he'd just get shanked by another piece of shit thug paid off in blood money?"
Frank's back presses against the wall beside the door leading to the little room he's crawling towards, legs stretched out infront of him. "Or, he gets to walk off of murder because he knows information... He g-... he..." Shaking his head with his eyes blinking a few times. 'Stay focused'. "He gets differential treatment for having a book of numbers? No.. no.." Pointing at her with his pistol, "Not on my way watch. And if you had any sense, not on your's either.."
"Didn't have to kill him," Mend notes, softly. "We aren't judge, jury, and executioner. But you're hurt bad." She's now wishing...not for the first time...she was the one who'd been hit. Time to call for backup, she thinks. Get this guy to a hospital and under guard.
Hmm. Well. She's gotta collect her boss. But Lunair does feel some sympathy towards the injured man. She thinks for a moment. Really turns it over. Probably not a good idea to have that dude in prison. Think Lunair think. Then it hits her. Anyone with two brain cells has probably left the building or is cowering deeper inside. Aaaaaaand there's an open window. With an empty room. Raising her voice to a shrill pitch and pulling the pin from a grenade, she screams, "OH MY GOD, GRENADE!" and flings it into a now empty room. She then bolts down the stairs. Like a weasel on a free buffet fast. Gotta collect Deadpool and am-scray.
"No, not a judge." Frank assures her, working his way into the room with a dragging elbow and a pushing foot. Not like he's getting anywhere fast right? He is still pointing his pistol at her, but it's in a drooping arm that he has to keep readjusting. Then, the diversion he'd needed but wasn't sure how he was going to create yet, goes off in the form of Lunair throwing a grenade into an empty room.
Frank kicks the door closed and rolls up onto his feet. Oh, he's still hurt, that much was true... but he hammed it up... a lot. He dives through a window in that room out onto a catwalk, using his jacket to take the brunt of the glass and rolls onto the landing. His weight pushes the stairs down and he tumbles down, tucking into a tight ball to keep anything from breaking in the fall. A hard grimace at the bottom and another cough...
He vaults over the railing at the bottom and lands a little less gracefully than he hoped for and grabs his side as he limps down the alley, the sounds of shouting Mandarin behind him, headed in the wrong direction.
Not a judge at all. A punisher.
This time she really is too slow. The explosion worked. Distracted her for that split second. She knows he went over the railing, following with rather more grace (given she somehow avoided getting shot this time), but she misses which way he went down the alleyway. Quietly...she pads away. In the wrong direction, of course, which she will not realize until it's far too late to find the Punisher.
Crap.
It's not terribly far to where he parked his van, but when there's a bullet in your side even a short distance can seem like a marathon. Thankfully, this is Metroplis at night, in China Town, so he's unlikely to be accosted in his trip. Men walking down the street with M4s straped to their back and a white skull logo on bullet dented armor are afforded a little extra distance on the sidewalk.
When he reaches the van and pulls open the door, Frank tosses his rifle inside and leans in against the two open sides. His forehead presses against the open door frame, eyes closed for a few seconds before he finally crawls in and pulls the door shut behind him.
At first he just slumps against the inner side, staring at the assortment of weapons, but he ultimately reaches for a burner phone sitting ontop of a briefcase and dials the only saved number.
"Carl... it's Frank." Looking at his bloody fingers, "I need you to call that doctor friend of your's..." pause, "Cash... I'll meet them at the usual place... an hour, sure.."
After hanging up he crawls into the front and drives himself as best he can.
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