So, about a year ago, I got in touch with my agent after a long layoff. And I said to Dan, “I’ve got this idea for a novel” and I pitched it. He encouraged me to go for it.
I got about 40,000 words — or about half-way — through the recommended word count for most commercial fiction for adult readers.
The problem I ran into was this: In order to get our hero, Frankie Hicks, out of Los Angeles, the National Guard needed to seal off the city and invade it.
This would have led to a shootout between her (Frankie), the Fascist government and … I bet you can see the problem.
And if not …
As many of you know, in real life, the National Guard invaded Los Angeles — at the direction of a fascist regime in Washington — in the Summer of 2025.
It’s only this month, in December of 2025, that they finally left.
For now.
So.
Since a lot of the book was structured around getting Frankie to Los Angeles, letting her get comfortable in her old / new life, and then pulling the rug out from under her with the invasion and other things.
I hope for what are obvious reasons, I shelved the book to work on some other things.
Frankie Hicks will return in some way, shape, or form. I don’t know how or when yet, but she will.
Until that time, there’s this question of what I should do with the 40,000 words.
I’d hate to lose it. Or just have it rotting on an external hard drive.
So. The solution, for now, is this: I’m going to share with you the first chapter of [Title Redacted]. No. That’s not the name of the book. Neither is “Frankie Takes a Vacation.”
I’m not telling you the actual name until I’ve done all the appropriate legal things.
The first chapter works well enough as a short story, and since I am unsure of when I’ll be back this way again, I didn’t want it to languish.
If for any other reason than I want people to know that I’m not just someone churning out thousands of words each month doing a dime store version of what Hunter S. Thompson did for Rolling Stone in the ’70s.
Enjoy the chapter. Share it with your friends. Like Tinkerbell, I need constant attention and applause to live.
I’m kidding.
Mostly.
-BJ
P.S. Happy New Year.
P.P.S. As a member of The Author’s Guild, I have taken an adamant stance against generative AI.
I don’t approve or authorize or give my consent for any of this content below to be used for training.
I’m sure that’ll happen all the same. I can legally say this because Anthropic stole my first book — among many other books belonging to far more talented people — and used it to train their Large Language Model. (I’m getting a settlement check from them some time in 2026.)
But. I’m still letting people know of my wishes here.
I also did not use any generative AI products in the production of this chapter, nor do we use Generative AI for anything our company produces. Everything we do is 100% crafted by humans.
***
Chapter 1: Large, Person Sized-hole
Frankie celebrated the end of her journey with some bubble gum. The coffee shop was a ten mile walk from the Silver Line. She was drenched in sweat. Both from the heat and the weight of her tactical backpack. Frankie didn’t mind. The backpack came with a hydration bladder. And if you think Virginia is hot in August, try Cairo. Frankie had. She carried heavier gear there too. Despite best practices, Frankie kept her long curly hair in a ponytail. In the heat, the sensation of the it on her neck made her crazy. Not a great state of mind to be in. Especially when you kill people for a living. It was just after nine in Tysons Corners. The bell over the door jingled. With her height, blending in was impossible. But that’s ok. Nobody was inside, and she rarely bothered. Frankie wore mirrored sunglasses, black pants, and a black Megadeth t-shirt. The shirts were an inside joke. She preferred show tunes to heavy metal. 1978’s “The Wiz” was her favorite. Frankie hummed “Ease on Down the Road” on the way here. If her day went as planned, she would have hummed it on the way back too.
The inside joke worked on two levels. First, perception is reality. To the outside world, Frankie was death herself. So the Department of Defense wanted her to look the part. Second, a megadeth is a unit of measurement. One megadeth is a million deaths attributed to a nuke. It also counted the number of people Frankie killed. She got a new shirt for every dozen. And the shirts were taking over her apartment. Frankie’s apartment was pink and girly. The walls were lined with stuffed animals. Most with a name and elaborate backstory. She was most fond of the cats. Her work kept her from owning a real one. It was one thing for DoD staffers to water her plants. But Frankie didn’t like the idea of having a cat — she would name it Jo, after the second oldest March sister — only to see Jo on occasion. A cat required roots. And she had no intention of putting them down in D.C. These jet black Megadeth shirts were a nuisance. One she had not figured out what to do with. She couldn’t get rid of them. That would raise too many questions. The least of which were: Why does a woman her age have all these Megadeth t-shirts? Was she going through a divorce?
The DoD staff cleaned her apartment and kept it stocked. They where not to touch anything else. There would be consequences. One staffer found out the hard way. Rearranging a large purple unicorn to make it look it was fucking another. Frankie threw him off a roof. When the cops questioned him at the hospital, he said he did it to himself. In a way, he had. Frankie blew a big, pink bubble. The coffee shop was called “We Got Issues.” It was owned by a man named Linus Mckenzie. She looked at the menu. Every drink was based off something from DC Comics. Caffeinated beverages for the adults had names like “Thanagarian Mace.” “Apokoliptian Battle Armor.” “Kryptonian Sunrise.” She moved on to the kids menu. No coffee for them. Just slushees, fruity drinks, and assorted candies. The candies were called Kirby Dots. There was a spinner rack by the door. A bench next to it. A seating area to the left. There was also a large front window. Frankie stood to the side of it. The spinner rack was filled with dollar box comics. All from DC. Most featured Batman. With no one at the counter, Frankie looked the rack over. There was a metallic ringing in her ear.
Behind the shop, a woman limped out of a blue Lamborghini. The car sped off. Kicking dirt in the air as it did. Frankie heard the back door open. She reached for her gun. A Ruger .22LR Revolver. She kept it in a holster on her belt. The weapon was small. But it offered you eight chances to survive. The revolver also wasn’t the gun you had to worry about. There was a Sig Rattler LT in her backpack. It would be a shame to ruin this place with one of those. So Frankie did the math. She walked ten miles from a random metro station to this random coffee shop. No one was following her. Not when she left her apartment. Not from the station either. There would be footage of her riding the metro. But DoD would take care of that. She also didn’t clock any drones. The kind that didn’t submit manifests to the FAA. She also noted the lack of other unidentified aerial phenomena. Like the kind that had so recently surprised her. The store was empty. But that wasn’t unusual. Tysons was a commuter town. By now, most people had their coffee and were at work. Traffic outside was minimal. Weather was clear. But those last two points bothered her. The clear weather meant great visibility for a sniper. And minimal traffic meant a team could roll up on her. The probability for trouble was low this morning. But not zero. She took a deep breath. Slowed things down. Listening for any noise that’d decide how the next few minutes would unfold. The ringing in her ear grew louder.
2
Few decide murder would make for a fun side hustle. Those who did were not to be trusted. If they didn’t value human life, they weren’t going to value any arrangement they had with you either. Frankie was not born an assassin. She never served in the army. And she wasn’t a former police officer either. She worked in a profession with a variety of names. The one she liked most was “Compliance Professional.” The name advertised exactly what she did. If the government wanted you to do something — and you didn’t — Frankie would “negotiate” with you. Not every negotiation ended in violence. But most did. Growing up, she did not enjoy violent video games or violent movies. She didn’t even like violent combat sports. The latter surprised the few people she talked to. This was because of the amount of time she spent practicing Judo. Most negotiations involved men larger than she was. Since men are stupid and aggressive, judo worked fine. Use their weight against them. Shoot them in the head. Bob’s your uncle. She liked that saying. An English Compliance Professional suggested it. She said it was more whimsical than what Frankie had been going with, which was “Fuck you, you piece of shit.”
The door in the back opened again. There was a muffled argument. A voice from the back said, “someone will be right with you.” Then there was a bang. Frankie didn’t want to get involved. This was supposed to be her day off. A moment passed. Then two. She thought about the English Compliance Professional. Her face flushed. Other parts of her twitched. But then a knot formed in her stomach. Before she could act, Frankie spotted a stressed mom. Out of the corner of her eye. Mom and her two kids were headed toward Frankie. She took her hand off the revolver. Gun violence is the leading cause of death among American children. If she went to investigate — and there was a shoot out — the kids could get hurt. So Frankie took off her tactical backpack and sat down on the bench. She scanned her surroundings once more. Opened a compartment. Used her deodorant. Then slipped the deodorant and the revolver inside. Frankie took off her mirrored sun glasses. She was still dressed head to toe in black, but now looked less intimidating. More importantly, the children wouldn’t see her gun and be afraid. Frankie grabbed a comic off the spinner rack. She removed it from the bag and started to read. It was a copy of Batman # 452. “Dark Knight, Dark City.” Best known for a scene where Thomas Jefferson tries to summon a Bat-like demon. Yes. That Thomas Jefferson. The one who’s memorial Frankie liked to visit. Long after everyone else in the District went to sleep. She would walk to the memorial from DuPont Circle. On most days, it takes less than an hour. Except for when she left from the White House. Once at the memorial, Frankie would read the inscriptions. Then stare out at the Tidal Basin. As still as Jefferson’s statue. A part of the night. Lately, she was fixated on a specific passage. It was found on the south east exterior wall. It read in part, “I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions. But laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times.”
Frankie too the opportunity to let her hair down. She removed the tie and put it around her wrist. You could count the number of hair ties she’d lost in actual megadeths. The door bell jingled. The family entered. Frankie blew another bubble and read her comic. The little girl was drawn to Frankie. Fascinated. The boy explored his surroundings. Mom needed to stare off into space for a while. In the way children do with strangers, the little girl started a conversation. “I’m getting the Kirby Dots today.” “That’s an excellent choice.” Frankie had no idea if it was. But she knew psychology; and how to build rapport with anyone. Kids included. Mom turned and did a parental threat assessment. Frankie smiled at Mom. Mom said, “Is that band still around?” “Honestly, I have no idea.” Sensing Frankie wasn’t a threat, Mom turned her attention to the menu. The boy was now interested in Frankie’s mirrored sun glasses. “Can I try those on?” “You look responsible. Can I count on you to hold them carefully?” The boy nodded. “Then you can try them on.” Frankie held the glasses by the arms. This was to demonstrate how she wanted the boy to hold them. He tried them on and showed his Mom. “Those look expensive, Noah.” Mom turned to Frankie. “Is anyone here?” “They said someone is coming out.” The boy handed Frankie her sun glasses. Frankie thought for a moment. The boy looked like the one that was killed in front of her. There was a mournful expression on her face. She said to the boy, “You can keep the glasses.” The boy said, “Wow. Really?” Mom looked at Frankie to confirm the exchange. Frankie said to her, “Whatever you order is on me too.” She took some cash out of her backpack. The little girl watched as Frankie handed it to the boy, who handed it to his mother. The little girl looked at Frankie as she sat back down. She said, “You are beautiful.” Frankie was relieved for the distraction. Thoughts about the murdered boy sent her to a dark place. She said to the girl, “Well that’s very kind of you.” “Are you a movie star?” Frankie laughed. A real one. You can tell because she snorted. “Would you believe I was?” The girl didn’t believe Frankie, but Frankie was telling the truth.
3
Laurel Robbins lived in Chicago. Everyone said she was “freakishly tall.” So on her 18th birthday, Laurel Robbins took a bus to Los Angeles. She wanted to be a model. Laurel had the looks. But the fashion industry was not as progressive as advertised. Most places weren’t. So she took what gigs she could. Including waitress, stripper, and escort. Laurel promised herself she would never return home. She did whatever it took to keep that promise. Eight years later, Laurel — and her daughter, Frankie — were enjoying sugary drinks at the mall. A man came up to them. His suit was worth three times what Laurel paid for rent. The man said he owned a talent agency. If Laurel called him Monday, he can get work for Frankie on Tuesday. Laurel felt slighted. She just turned 26. Later that day, Laurel took Frankie to see her father, Eugene Slott. Laurel did not tell Eugene about the talent scout. It would only enrage him. His family was away in Utah. Skiing in Park City. That left Eugene alone in his mansion. He spent these visits chasing Laurel around the pool. Frankie spent them reading books her half-sister owned. Her name was Jamie. They’d only met a a year earlier. “You’re the one reading all my books” Jamie said. “How did you know?” “Because I don’t dog ear mine. I use bookmarks.” This was at the Emmy Awards. Eugene was up for “Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series.” His first nomination for anything since the eighties. Almost all of Eugene’s kids were there. Laurel said it felt like a practical joke. The moms standing around. Shooting daggers at each other. The kids awkwardly saying hello. As far as anyone knew, Jamie and Frankie were the only girls. When it came time for photos, the Moms and children were directed elsewhere. Only Eugene, his wife, and Jamie were pictured. Jamie found Frankie after and apologized. She said it was wrong. Frankie didn’t know why Jamie was apologizing. She barely knew the man. She and Jamie left notes to each other after that. Often in the margins of Jamie’s books. Their notes and conversations were never substantive. But it was more than Frankie got from Eugene. His only comments were things like “Don’t worry kid. Nothing else is going to happen to your mom’s rocking body. I’m shooting blanks now.”
The gigs came heavy. Laurel managed the money. Her cut varied based on how resentful she felt. There were photoshoots. Magazine advertisements. TV commercials. Then, a small role in a TV movie. One about the 2000 presidential election; and its Florida recount. Frankie — credited as Franchesca Robbins — played the daughter of a mom who accidentally voted for Pat Buchanan. When mom was told by a news crew who she voted for, Frankie did a spit-take. Frankie often thought about that movie. What would have happened if the Florida recount been allowed to continue. It’s possible she wouldn’t have spent so much time in Afghanistan. Bin Laden escaped capture in late 2001. He then vanished into Pakistan. Leaving little reason for the Americans to remain. And yet, they did. For nearly twenty years. 2,459 military personnel died. Almost 200,000 civilians perished as well. When she was there, Frankie would say to the base commanders, “Any idea why you’re still here?” The response came in two flavors. They either thought she was CIA, and didn’t want to talk to her. Or they would respond by saying, “Fuck if I know.”
Frankie impressed that film’s producers. She memorized dialogue. Her’s and everyone else’s. So they booked Frankie for a guest appearance on their legal procedural. The show was called “Lawyers, Guns, and Money.” It got its name from the song. Frankie played “Esther Rook.” The character being so popular that they kept bringing her back. Esther was a homeless teenage weed dealer with a heart of gold. Playing Esther led to Frankie’s first starring television role. A comedian named George Hicks — enjoying a career revival after peaking in the early ’70s — had producers begging him to do a sitcom. George was watching “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” when the producers came to see him. George pointed to his TV and said, “Book Esther Rook and I’ll do it.” This wasn’t a stroke of luck. An hour before that conversation took place; George’s wife called. She said they were running low on blow. George later told the media a different story about how he discovered Frankie. Frankie appreciated that. She loved George. Frankie would have gone to hell for that man. Sometimes, she felt like she had.
4
A man wearing a Superman shirt came out. The tag said his name was Rick. He greeted the mother. Then took care of their order. The little girl raised her Kirby Dots in triumph. The boy wearing her mirrored sunglasses. Frankie held out her fist. Both kids fist bumped her as they left. Mom said thank you. Frankie nodded. The door closed. Frankie turned her attention to Rick. “Is everything ok?” His nostrils flared. “Sure. Great. Do you know what you want to order?” His smile was insincere. She stood. He backed up. “I want a coffee. Black.” “That’s a Lobo.” “A what?” “A Lobo. You know, The Main Man?” “I don’t read comics.” “Funny place to get your coffee then.” Frankie didn’t like Rick. “How much is a Lobo?” “$15.” “It’s $15 for a black coffee?” “You also get to use our Wi-Fi. The bathroom. And you can stay as long as you want.” Frankie reached into her tactical backpack. In her hand was a thick roll of hundreds. Rick salivated. Frankie counted her money. She did this while making sure Rick watched. When you want to persuade someone, draw their attention to something desirable. “I want your Wi-Fi password. And then I want the person in the back to bring me my Lobo. Not you.” “That could be a while.” Frankie had two options. She could spit her gum in Rick’s eye. Chop him in the throat. Then walk back there herself. See what’s going on. But the probability for trouble would increase every second after she did so. He could call the cops. He could fight back. She’d have to kill him if he did. She wouldn’t mind. The second option was bribery. His eyes were glued to the money. Just like she wanted. Rick could be bribed. Frankie could extract the person from the back without incident. “This is $1,000. $485 is for you. The rest is for the person in the back.” Frankie put the money on the counter. Rick grabbed it faster than The Flash. She opened her bag and took out the Ruger. Rick watched her put the gun in its holster. She took a beat to tie her hair back into a pony tail. Frankie had his undivided attention. “Virginia is an Open Carry State. The gun in my bag is bigger. Want to see it?” Rick shook his head. He got the message. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” “Kltpzyxm.” “I’m going to need you to write that shit down.” Frankie picked up her backpack. Rick handed her a napkin. With the name of Superman’s inter-dimensional nemesis spelled backward. “When they bring me my coffee, I’m going to ask how much cash you gave them, Rick.”
5
The George Hicks Show aired for four seasons. George’s younger brother, Pat, worked as a detective for LAPD’s Robbery-Homicide Division. George played a fictionalized version of Pat. One that retired, moved back to NYC, and opened a bar. In reality, their mother moved Pat and George to Los Angeles. Wanting to escape their alcoholic father. He beat George relentlessly. Their mother didn’t want the newborn Pat to suffer the same fate. Despite the show’s New York setting, it was filmed before a live studio audience in Burbank. Right before filming began, Frankie tossed Laurel through the set. It created a large, person sized-hole in George’s office. The producers liked the hole and left it. Its origins were kept a secret. But Pat knew. When he wasn’t solving cases, Pat was paid to consult for the show. Not only did George play a cop, but so did most of the men on the show. Pat gave them pointers. Explained police terminology. He even showed a few of actors how to walk like one. Before production began, Pat and his boot, Toni Cervantes, even came to the writer’s room. They were invited to share their stories. Toni’s stories were light and funny. Like how she got pissed on within her first hour as a member of the LAPD. Pat’s stories were more serious. And he had a lot of them to share. Some still kept him up at night. The fight between Laurel and Frankie became one of them. He and Toni had just come back to the car. On her first day as Pat’s boot, he said to her, “Shut the fuck up and don’t touch anything.” So that day, Toni had asked if she could turn on the radio. Pat agreed. They were listening to Nickelback. Pat didn’t remember what song. All of the band’s big radio hits sounded the same. He and Toni had just watched a rehearsal of the show. Afterward, he signed some paperwork in George’s office; leaving his lucky pen on George’s desk. Pat told Toni he’d be right back. “Don’t touch anything.” She sarcastically saluted him. He rolled his eyes. He knew she was going to be a handful. Pat went inside. The set was empty. Everyone was taking a break. Pat went into George’s office and got his pen. That’s when he heard shouting. The fight started because of a role Frankie was offered. A major studio film directed by Brett Ratner. It would have meant millions for Laurel and Frankie. But Frankie had to be topless for several scenes. Ratner insisted. So, Frankie wanted to turn down the role. Pat came over to see what was going on. Frankie said to Pat, “I don’t want my tits on the Internet.” Pat said, “That’s gross. Aren’t you a little too young for that?” Frankie turned to her mother and said, “See? He thinks it’s creepy too.” Laurel punched Frankie in stomach. Frankie whimpered. Laurel wasn’t satisfied. She went to hit Frankie again. Pat got between them. Laurel said to Pat, “Mind your fucking business.” Frankie ran around Pat, grabbed Laurel, and created the hole in the set. Then Frankie kept hitting her. Pat saw the look in Frankie’s eyes. He recognized it. He knew what came next. Pat grabbed Frankie. He told George it was like holding a lion. One that had been poked with a sharp stick for the last time. George paid for Laurel’s silence. Mother and Daughter never spoke again. When Pat came back to the car. Toni asked what took so long. Pat said, “I’m going to be tough on you. That’s my job. But if I ever cross a line, or you feel uncomfortable, I want you to tell me. There’s a difference between making sure you pay attention to the details, and abuse.” Toni nodded.
6
Frankie pulled a Getac B360 Pro out of her backpack. The kind of laptop that laughs at abuse, according to PC Magazine. They weren’t kidding. Frankie beat a man to death with one. Then checked her email. It worked just fine. Next, she took out a Motorola Moto G. Frankie went through these like she did her gum. She removed the phone and its battery from a Faraday Bag. She placed the phone on the table and popped in the battery. It rang. “Marvin, I just got here.” “Do I sound like a Marvin to you?” Frankie put the phone down. She balled up her fists. Then pounded the table. Rick looked to see what was happening. Frankie pointed at him. “Where’s my coffee, Rick?” She took the gum out of her mouth. Then she stiffened her spine. “Ma’am.” “Were you having another little fit just now? You look so cute when you have those.” The woman on the other end was in a mood. In D.C., shit rolls down hill. The Vice President is the punching bag for the President. The Speaker of the House is the punching bag for the Vice President. On and on. All the way down The Hill. Until you reach an eighteen-year-old intern fresh out of Georgetown. But this Vice President was different. “This wouldn’t be a good place for us to speak, Ma’am.” Are you blowing me off, Franchesca?” Frankie didn’t answer. “Tremble, thou wretch. That hast within thee undivulged crimes. Unwhipped of justice.” The line went dead. Frankie’s heart raced. She bit her lip. Then she thought about Rick’s dumb face. The excitement faded. Frankie dialed a number. “She’s calling me again, Marvin.” “I know, Frankie. We have made our position on asset utilization quite clear.” “I hear a but coming.” “It’s her country now.”
Frankie opened her laptop. Before Ubuntu could load, the screen was black. Frankie saw a hooded skull staring back at her. Its eyes contained the beginning and end of all things. It said to her, “Everything that was, is, and will be again.” She was relived to log in and look at something else. Anything else. She searched for a term describing being both aroused and angry at the same time. That’s how she felt when the Vice President told her what to do. There wasn’t one. Then again, Frankie just entered “horny and angry” in the search box. It’s possible she missed something. Then, looking for another distraction, she searched for her favorite comedian. His name was Hank Hendrix. Just like a comic book protagonist. The persistent metallic ringing in her ear was louder than usual. So with nobody in the seating area, Frankie turned the volume way up. “I gotta ask you all something, can I do that? We’re all friends here, right?” The crowd laughed as Hendrix spoke. “You know all the firefighters who refused to get vaccinated? What was up with that? Your job is to run into a towering inferno of death. Every day. There’s a non zero chance you’ll run into a Towering inferno of death. So you mean to tell me … You’re afraid of a little needle?” Frankie snorted. “Sorry everyone. Sorry. I don’t want to get ‘political.’ We can’t talk about the pandemic. You know? We’ve put it behind us. Like it never happened. Over a million people died in America.” Hendrix snapped his fingers. “Like that. And now when you mention it? People say, ‘stop being political Hank.’ Or they want to fight me. Have you had that happen?” Hendrix pointed to a man in the crowd. He was wearing a Kangol Cord Casual hat and white framed glasses. The man shook his head no. “You know why, Sir? Because you have style.” The crowd laughed. “Me? There’s always someone who wants to fight me.” That wasn’t a joke. Hendrix received death threats. Mostly from a gang of skinheads in Los Angeles. Rolling Stone did a story about it a few years ago. At the height of the pandemic. After reading the story, Frankie looked him up. Thought he was cute. Started watching his clips. Saving the ones she liked to a thumb drive. Frankie found his voice to be soothing. So much so that sometimes at night, when she was alone in some remote part of the world, she listened to his clips as she fell asleep. Hendrix continued, “You know the kind, right? They got a new ‘fuck your feelings’ bumper sticker on their unwashed truck.” The crowd laughed. “But boy oh boy. If you hurt his feelings? He’s going to let you know about it. All while calling you a Snowflake.” Frankie snorted. “Let me ask you something else, my strange and interesting friends. Do I look like a fighter to you?” Hendrix took off his leather jacket. He then flexed his skinny arms. She giggled. Frankie lined graves with the bodies of men who took themselves too seriously. This man was silly. Frankie liked silly. As she watched Hendrix flex, Frankie imagined a very different life for herself. She was back in George’s home. The one she moved into after the fight with Laurel. Not far from Santa Monica Beach. Coming home from the set of a movie. Or Maybe coming home from another mission. She hadn’t decided yet. Frankie would open the front door. Dinner would be made. And he’d be there waiting for her. As happy to see her as the day they first met. Then Frankie would say, “Hello handsome, how was your day?” She closed the laptop. Odds are good, the Vice President would call back. Or more likely, Marvin would be calling on her behalf. That meant Frankie couldn’t wait any longer for her Lobo.
7
Frankie locked the front door. When Rick came out, she pushed him against the wall. The revolver was now under his chin. “Are you the kind of person who values their life?” Rick nodded. “Good. Come with me.” As they walked, she noted the blood on his sneakers. Frankie put the revolver against his spine. There was a kitchen area on the right. That’s where Rick was a few minutes ago. Washing the knife. Frankie saw an employee bathroom. A couple of storage closets. One of them was open. She shoved Rick inside and closed the door. “If I hear this door open, you’re going to be buried without a face.” There was the back entrance. And just off to the side, a small room. It was filled with comic books and gore. Slumped on the floor was a young woman. “Oh no. No no no.” Frankie got down next to her. The tag on her Wonder Woman shirt read, “Wendy.” Rick gut Wendy like a fish. There was no saving her. Frankie sat in the blood and held her hand. She said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She was furious at herself. Thinking, “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Wendy was fading fast. Quietly Frankie said, “I saw something impossible, Wendy. Floating in the sky above me. Until that moment, I thought nothing mattered. That there was no purpose to anything in life. No place for us to go when we died.” She heard Wendy take rapid breaths. The end nearing. So Frankie squeezed her hand tighter. “But then I saw it, and I realized I was wrong, Wendy. I don’t know anything. None of us do. We don’t know anything about this world. About this universe. Not having all the answers. That gave me hope. Something I haven’t had in a long, long time. So I hope there’s a place for you to go. I hope someone is there waiting for you. And if there is, be brave, Wendy, and go to them now.”
After the fight with Laurel, Frankie moved in with George and his wife, Teque’lia. They didn’t have any children of their own. So the home in Santa Monica became a castle for Frankie. To protect her from the abuse of Laurel Robbins and the neglect of Eugene Slott. George and Teque’lia doted on Frankie like a princess. The happiest moments of her life all happened inside that home. She missed it desperately. After the lawyers and courts removed Laurel from her life, Frankie only saw her biological father once after that. It was during the show’s third season. A cameo suggested by the network president. Eugene Slott was his boyhood hero. More specifically, the starship captain Eugene Slott portrayed was his boyhood hero. George hated Eugene Slott. But the appearance would be good for ratings. So he told Frankie it was up to her. If she didn’t want Eugene on the show, she could say no. They would drop the matter right then and there. Frankie said, “Let’s do what’s best for the show. A lot of people are counting on us for the work.” Pat was over for dinner when that discussion took place. After they were done eating, he pulled Frankie aside. Pat said, “Are you sure?” Frankie said to Pat what she said to Jamie many years earlier, “I barely know the man.” Pat wasn’t sure that was the entire story. So he didn’t let Frankie out of his sight that day. He never told anyone whether this was for Frankie’s protection. Or Eugene’s. His concern turned out to be overblown. Eugene had learned about the beating Frankie gave Laurel. He stayed, literally, as far from Frankie as he physically could while filming. Without a single word or glance exchanged between father and daughter. On The George Hicks Show, George played Pat. Frankie played Pat’s fictional daughter, Gabby. Pat ran the bar like Sam Malone. Gabby waited tables like Diane Chambers. In this episode, Gabby goes to a comic book convention. She’s there to get the autograph of Eugene Slott. It was supposed to be a Father’s Day surprise for Pat. Gabby spends almost the entire episode waiting in line. Dressed up like Hawkgirl. But Eugene leaves before Gabby can get the autograph. George structured the episode this way. He wanted to minimize Frankie and Eugene’s time together on set. In the episode — after Eugene left the autograph table — Gabby chased after him. But she lost him in a crowd of comic book writers. So she tackled who she thought was Eugene. As is the way with television sitcoms, she tackled Stan Lee instead. Stan looked at Gabby laying on top of him. Then he looked at the camera and said, “Excelsior!” Don’t judge the scene too harshly. This was a show that aired on Fox. There was another notable scene in that episode. One where Gabby picked a man up off the ground by his throat. He had been sexually harassing her while she waited for the autograph. Gabby said to the man, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Frankie didn’t get the reference. She thought the line should have been, “I find your lack of boundaries disturbing.” The day they filmed it, George said, “Trust me. It’s funny.” Frankie thought about that scene as she strangled Rick.
8
There was a knock at the front door of the coffee shop. A man was standing there. Frankie thought about shooting him. Instead she took out the revolver and said, “Leave.” He didn’t. “Am I supposed to be afraid of your little water gun, girlie?” Frankie went for her tactical backpack. She took out the Sig Rattler LT. The guy saw her coming and tried to flee. Instead, he tripped. Frankie unlocked the front door and shot at him. Intentionally missing. But not by much. Then she blew out his car’s windows. The tires. Then she destroyed the entire side of the vehicle. Frankie lowered the Sig. “Keep your hands over your head and don’t you fucking move.” She put the Sig on the counter and dashed to the seating area. Frankie put the rest of her things away. Then she dialed Marvin. “Marvin. Two bodies. I also fucked up some guy’s car” “Jesus, Frankie. It’s not even noon.” “Call the police for the first body.” “What about the other?” Frankie walked to the back. She checked Rick for a wallet. Keys. She also took her $985 dollars back. “I’ll take care of him.” She hung up. Frankie took a look outside to see if the man had moved. He hadn’t. So she grabbed the Sig and went to the back door. The coffee shop parking lots were configured like a half-moon. A skinny road connected the two. The back lot was smaller and obscured by trees. There she spotted a lonely 2017 Dodge Challenger. She tossed her tactical backpack on the passenger seat. Then she popped the trunk. Frankie put on the safety and placed the Sig inside. Then she went back for what was left of Rick.
9
Frankie had other movie and television roles after The George Hicks Show. One was an snooty Art House movie called “Poetics.” Every character spoke in iambic pantemeter. George and Teque’lia’ teased Frankie relentlessly about that one. George Insisted the title of the film was, “Who Watched Me?” In one stand-up comedy special, Teque’lia’s show was built around a weird film her daughter made. The entire set was a hilarious takedown of the film. Focused on the navel gazing perspective of the wealthy people who made it. The set also featured a semi-fictionalized version of her conversations with Frankie about making the movie. Frankie said to Teque’lia she wanted to make a movie that said something about Los Angeles. Teque’lia said if that’s the case, Frankie should star in a film about the Watts Riots. In the stand-up special, Frankie can be seen in the front row. Alternating between squirming in her seat and laughing. George’s stand-up was good. Some would say legendary. But Frankie and George agreed Teque’lia was the superior comedian. Frankie also co-starred in a Kevin Smith film. In it, a man in his thirties named Walt dates a woman much younger than him named Sloane. Sloane introduces Walt to marijuana, and the film is about him experiencing everything while high for the first time. Frankie played the role of Sloane. The co-starring role came as a favor to George, who Smith idolized growing up. The favor came because it was difficult for Frankie to get movie roles. “Poetics” didn’t help. And after she turned down the Brett Ratner movie, one producer said to another, “She’s difficult to work with.” Frankie really liked the Kevin Smith film. And Smith was the one who explained the Star Wars reference to Frankie. She told George as soon as he did. “You were right. That line was funnier.” But like a lot of Kevin Smith movies, it was a good flick that took a while for the audience to find it. Once they did, they loved it. But movie executives obsess over the box office. If a film doesn’t open in its first weekend, to them it was as dead as Rick.
10
Frankie never had her own apartment. George and Teque’lia were always traveling. So Frankie felt like she had a place of her own with their house. When she wasn’t in Santa Monica, Frankie spent time with Pat, his wife Cynthia, and their children in Hollywood. Pat had one of those homes in the Hollywood Hills. Looking an earthquake away from sliding into oblivion. After the show was picked up, George bought it for him as a thank you gift. Pat saw the steep incline. And the stilts the home stood on. When George gave Pat the keys, Pat said, “If you’re trying to kill me, I wish you would be more subtle about it.” With Pat working as a detective, and Cynthia working as a management consultant, Frankie spent a lot of time babysitting their six kids: Junior, Amy, Hunter, Tommy, Liam, and Marcy. She loved every minute of it. Junior was closest in age to her. He was a freshman in high school, and played drums in a punk rock band called “Goodspeed.” The band took its name from the Nicholas Cage character in “The Rock.” Junior wasn’t very good. But he was working his ass off to get better. Frankie’s last acting gig was a low budget move on SyFy. It ranks as one of the worst ever made. Although whether this was intentional is subject to heated debate. The movie was called “Escape From Planet Monkey.” If you can imagine a planet-sized theme park — one filled with hyper intelligent apes — you can probably figure out the rest of that movie. It’s the only lead role Frankie had. Her acting career would later come to a screeching halt. Like many successful women. It happened inside the office of a sleazy Hollywood producer. One known for making popular TV shows. Groping Frankie was the last thing he ever did. Pat came as fast as he could. He arrived to find Frankie sitting on the couch. Frozen in fear. Pat thought the man had done something worse. He didn’t. The producer got handsy; and Frankie caved in his skull with an Emmy Award. The thing that scared her was Death. It stood over the producer. Admiring Frankie’s work. That night, Pat taught Frankie how to manage a crime scene. So she made sure Rick’s prints were on the knife. That the knife had Wendy’s blood on it. And that his sneakers would be found in the storage closet. Nobody was around to see Frankie destroy the man’s car. The coffee shop didn’t have any surveillance cameras. DoD would remove the vehicle, any evidence, and pay the man off. You’d be surprised at what people don’t see. Especially when enough money’s involved. Frankie made sure to pocket Rick’s phone. That one she did for herself. She said to the man on the ground, “Hey. Asshole. You can get your coffee now.” Then she took the back door and flung it wide open. The way Rick would have if he was fleeing the scene. Frankie got into the Dodge Challenger. She pulled out of the lot. Then made a left onto SR-267 West. She called Marvin again. “They just got their Frankie. Along with some of our friends to smooth out the edges.” “Thank you.” “What about the body?” “I was going to leave it in the economy lot at Dulles.” “How about I help you with that?” That wasn’t good. It was rare for Marvin to leave his office at the Pentagon.
11
Frankie waited in the Dodge Challenger. She checked the glove compartment. But only found a manual for the car inside. There wasn’t much else. Just some trash from McDonald’s. Frankie thought about hunting down every member of Rick’s family. All his friends. Even the ones who barely knew him on social media. Marvin pulled up in a Chevy Suburban with two DoD staffers. The first to get out was a woman with a pixie cut. She handed Frankie a Megadeth t-shirt, black pants, and black sneakers. She did her best to avoid eye contact. Frankie looked the woman over carefully. The knot in her stomach returned. But at that moment, Frankie was navigating other thoughts. Drifting on the waters of a black ocean. In a boat made of rage. The woman turned her back as Frankie got changed. Frankie saw a tattoo on her neck. Written in Copperplate. The tattoo said, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof.” She left her old clothes in the Challenger. Frankie said to the woman, “Hey.” The woman ignored Frankie. She was humming something. Watching the planes come in. “I was going to say thank you for the clothes. But I can see you’ve decided to be a total bitch today.” The woman kept her back to Frankie. Marvin had his windows down. “Let’s speed this up, shall we?” Before Frankie got into the SUV, she opened the Dodge’s trunk. She took out Rick’s phone and used his face to unlock it. She disabled Face ID and reset the passcode before closing the lid. Frankie took one last look at the woman with the pixie cut. Then she got into the SUV and closed the door. Marvin said, “Two bodies before noon and a man who pissed himself?” Frankie thought Marvin was about to lecture her. But Marvin thought the situation was funny. So she made a joke instead. “The worst part is that I never got my coffee.” He cackled. “We can fix that.” Frankie feigned a smile. The woman got into the Dodge Challenger and drove away. Marvin gestured for the SUV’s driver to follow her. While presidential administrations came and went, Marvin Durand endured. He did so by managing situations exactly like this one. Frankie browsed Rick’s phone. She found a series of texts between him and Wendy. Others between Rick and Linus about Wendy. Wendy said to Rick she was too hurt to work this morning. She needed Rick to cover for her. Rick texted Linus. Linus said to Rick he had beaten Wendy bad. He bragged about it. Frankie decided she would kill Linus first. She looked up at Marvin. “Can you find out who she was?” “She?” “Wendy.” “Who’s Wendy?” “The girl they killed.” “They?” “They.” She looked down at the phone. This morning Wendy told Rick she was going to the cops. She thought she could trust Rick. That they were friends. But going to the cops would have been bad for Rick and Linus. Marvin knew where this conversation was going. He leaned forward. Like he was sharing a secret. “You know, Frankie … you can’t be dropping bodies when you’re home.” “That was an awful way to die.” He frowned. “You would be the expert on that.” “I wasted the time she had left. Wendy suffered. Alone. I hate myself for letting that happen.” Marvin went quiet. Frankie went back to exploring the contents of Rick’s phone. This was no longer a laughing matter. He sent a series of texts while Frankie was distracted. One of them went to the Vice President.
12
Marvin held out his hand. He wanted Rick’s phone. Frankie didn’t look up. She was reading texts. Memorizing addresses. Like the location of Linus Mckenzie’s condo. “Let the tech people do that for you.” His hands were enormous. Like the paws of a friendly grizzly. Frankie sighed. She knew they weren’t going to be as helpful as Marvin implied. She gave Marvin the phone. He looked out the window. Watching the Commonwealth of Virginia roll by. Frankie looked at her nails. She made a note to get them done. She wanted every last inch of Rick erased from this earth. The man driving the SUV couldn’t look away from Frankie. The last time he was this close, she threw him off a roof. Frankie recognized him. “If you don’t take your eyes off me, I’m going to find a taller building …” The driver steered wildly before composing himself. Marvin snapped to attention. “Play nice, Frankie.” Marvin was thinking about the last time she was turned loose in the States. In a rage like this. There was a hostage situation. She failed to rescue a young boy and his mother. Her response was to leave a long and terrible trail of the dead. He spent the next six months filling out paperwork. Protecting Frankie from criminal prosecution. He didn’t want to see his best asset rot away inside ADX Florence. There was too much to do.
13
Back in the District, Frankie and Marvin got their coffee. Then they took the tunnel from the Treasury Building to the White House. The tunnel’s origins traced back to the Civil War. It was originally a path. One designed to evacuate President Lincoln to a more fortified position. The actual tunnel began construction after the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. Later, the tunnel became a way for presidents to sneak in their girlfriends. As they walked, Frankie told Marvin about her search. The one for a word that described being both horny and angry at the same time. “How can there not be a word for that?” He said this at least twice. At the end was a sub basement in the White House’s East Wing. This was as far Frankie usually went. But with Marvin present, they took the newer tunnel. This second tunnel was built in the late 1980s. It ended next to the president’s bathroom. He cautioned her to be mindful of the hidden cameras and microphones. Marvin and Frankie waited to be invited inside the Oval. They spoke softly. Their hands over their mouths. “Who do you think was punching down at Veep?” Marvin shrugged. “Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. That’s us Frankie.” The door opened. Behind the Resolute Desk was the Vice President, Alex Cheng. She motioned for them to enter. “Franchesca. Chinese deep sea vessels. Too far into our territory. Kill the crew of one. Send those fuckers a message.” Cheng then waived Marvin and Frankie away. Frankie looked at Marvin. Then she looked at Cheng. “That’s it? You could have put that in a tweet, Alex.” Frankie liked to be put in her place. Cheng was one of the few people who could. So Frankie enjoyed winding her up. They met a year ago. Frankie and Alex spent an evening flirting during a G20 conference. Not long after Cheng’s inauguration. Frankie was there to mingle with her fellow Compliance Professionals. But she spent the whole time bantering with the Veep instead. The two following each other around like newly acquainted puppies. More than a few attendees saw them sneak away together. But most thought Frankie was part of Cheng’s security detail. The Vice President looked up from the Resolute Desk. There were other people in the room. They noticed she stopped working, so they stopped as well. Cheng put her hands on what remained of the HMS Resolute. She started to say something to Frankie, but stopped. Flustered. Her face bright red. Then she put her hands together. “I want everyone to leave but Franchesca.” Marvin mumbled to Frankie, “I’ll call Merriam-Websters about that word.” He returned an hour later. The door to the Oval opened. Frankie staggered out. The brat sufficiently tamed. Marvin had stopped at the gift shop. He handed Frankie a commemorative White House t-shirt. She snorted. “You ass.” She was in a much better mood now. Marvin thought he solved his problem. But Marvin was wrong.
14
Frankie walked home via Connecticut Avenue. She went upstairs. Then stood in the hallway for a moment. Taking a long, heavy breath. Her neighbor, Fatima, opened her door and said in Pashto, “No activity, Frankie.” Frankie thanked her and opened her apartment door. She put down her tactical backpack. Then she went into the bedroom. Inside was a California King bed. The bed was elevated to provide additional storage underneath. The DoD staffers had a betting pool. It was based on how many dead bodies they thought Frankie had stashed under there. There was a dresser with a full length mirror next to the bed. And boxes of Megadeth t-shirts. She changed into a polka dot mini dress from Elie Tahari. In her dresser was a glasses case. Covered in dust. She opened it and put on a pair of Prada Sunglasses. George bought it for her birthday. Not long after the fight with Laurel. She admired the dress in the mirror. “Is this what it feels like to be normal?” Frankie twirled. “Maybe it’s time for a vacation then?” It was in that moment she decided to go to Los Angeles. The UAP had opened her eyes and woke her soul. She thought there was magic in the world again. And her world was in short supply of it. Seeing the spacecraft in the air shook Frankie from the routine she found herself in. Year after year. Mission after mission. And then Frankie saw Wendy in her mind. Frankie had seen worse deaths. She had done worse than what happened to Wendy. But there was something awful about the betrayal Wendy must have felt. She thought Rick was her friend. When Frankie killed people, they saw her coming. She hoped not to kill anyone, but they often left her no choice, and so she did what she had to do. But Wendy … And to have been killed in such a way. By someone who clearly didn’t think twice about it. Frankie balled up her fists. Then she wondered if she was even allowed to take a vacation. She wasn’t exactly in this apartment by choice. Frankie looked at herself in the dress. “I’m going to take this with me.” Frankie changed back into the clothes the DoD staffer gave her. The one that wouldn’t make eye contact with her. Frankie was aware of how little some at the DoD thought of her. They read her file. They knew what she did before she came to work for them. And they made up their mind. Frankie was a necessary evil. Not a friend. And definitely not a co-worker. But not everyone felt that way. The Megadeth shirts came from her fans. But even they kept a healthy distance. In Los Angeles, whenever she felt lonely, there was someone she could be with. Here, all she had was Fatima and her husband Ahmad; and that relationship grew more complicated by the day.
15
An hour passed as Frankie packed. Then two. That was long enough for Marvin to be back at the Pentagon. Busy with something else. She was afraid he’d say no to her request. Especially given what she was about to do. So she wanted to delay that conversation a little while longer. Hoping to catch him in a better mood. Frankie examined her revolver next. Then she placed it into its holster on her belt. She took the escalator into the DuPont Circle Metro Station. Frankie looked at the concrete wall along the escalator. It was inscribed with words by Walt Whitman. An excerpt from his poem, The Wound Dresser. “Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad.” She closed her eyes and thought of Wendy.
Frankie sat among the people on the metro. It was one of her favorite things to do. Like the numerous scars that covered her body, each person had a story. And each person was special in their own way. Even if, on any given day, life had told them otherwise. On her way to Tysons, she picked a new person at each stop. Then she imagine what their day was like. What troubles they might have. What fun. She couldn’t save them all, but she would give everything to try. Frankie got off at the Greesnboro Metro station. Then made her way to a building at 1650 Silver Hill Drive. It overlooked the intersection between Silver Hill and Greensboro. The easiest way into anywhere is to act like you belong. So Frankie sat on a bench by the front door. Before she left, she grabbed another pair of mirrored sunglasses. The new pair was dangling from the collar of her Megadeth t-shirt. They had their purpose. Building trust was not one of them. In order to get in, she would need a card to unlock the front door. And then again to use the elevator. That meant striking up a conversation with someone who lived there. She didn’t have to wait long. A woman was out walking her dog. A cream colored retriever. The retriever decided to make friends with Frankie. It got up and started kissing her. Frankie said after each kiss, “Oh thank you. Oh thank you thank you. Oh thank you thank you.” The dog’s owner said, “She seems to like that. I’m going to have to say that after she kisses me now.” Frankie said, “they are excellent judges of character, aren’t they?” The woman replied, “I know it.” That was the opportunity Frankie was looking for. Frankie asked, “Do you live here? My boyfriend lives upstairs. He’s not home from work yet. I left my phone inside.” The woman nodded. She held out her hand, “I’m Esther.” Frankie grinned. “I knew an Esther once. What a lovely name.” “Well thank you.” “You can call me Jo.” “Can I call you to dog sit, Jo?” Esther was half kidding. “Daenerys likes you.” Frankie smirked. “You know, I’ve been thinking about a change in careers.” The woman was close in age to Frankie. So Frankie added, “Do you think it’s too late for me to be an actor?” The woman chuckled. “If you were ten years younger, maybe. Men think we expire at thirty.” Frankie laughed. She walked with Esther inside the building. Then Frankie said, “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” Frankie got down and kissed Daenerys on the head. “I love you. I love you.” Daenerys kissed her back. Then asked for belly rubs. After rubbing her belly, Frankie said, “Be good for Esther.” The dog reminded her of Pat’s golden retriever. It’s name was Mr. Burns. He liked saying “Excellent” every time the dog did what it was told. The kids laughed every time. The dog liked it too. It would bark when Pat steepled his hands and imitated The Simpsons villain. Frankie hadn’t seen Mr. Burns in years. It was doubtful he was still alive. She didn’t know if Pat was still alive either. Frankie had no concept of time. She slept when she could. She did what she was told. There wasn’t much incentive to tell the difference between Monday or Tuesday. Let alone one month from another. When Esther mentioned her age, Frankie didn’t know offhand how old she was. Frankie and Esther got on the elevator. Esther got off on the fifth floor. Frankie continued on her way to the penthouse. She got off the elevator and looked around. Then she walked to the door for 2401 and knocked. “Fuck off.” If he wasn’t a scumbag, Frankie would have found the brogue attractive. Frankie took the Ruger out of its holster. She knocked again. “I said fuck off!” This just made her knock louder. Nothing else was on the floor. Only this condo. She could make as much noise as she wanted. She intend to. Finally, the door opened. “Are you Linus McKenzie?” “Yeah. What’s it to you Hot Topic?” She shot him right in the gut. “I heard you beat women.”
16
The sun was rising. Frankie admired the view. Linus cried on the floor. “Shh. Don’t ruin it.” Frankie stood motionless as the star’s light enveloped her. Then she knelt next to him. “I have to get going. Have you thought about how you want to die?” She held the little Ruger to his head. “I can do what Rick did to Wendy. I had to eviscerate someone once. It was one of those, ‘Frankie. We need you to send a message’ type of deals. I threw up as soon as I finished. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. I said I’d never do that to someone again. But …” She got as close as she could to Linus’s face. Frankie smiled like a Great White. “I’d make an exception for you.” He shook his head as much as he could. “Rick though, he had no problem killing like that. You know what that means, Linus? That means he’s done it before.” She got up and kicked Linus hard. “Am I right?” He nodded. “And how about you, Linus? Have you killed anyone?” He didn’t respond. So she got in close again and put the gun into his mouth. “You’re going to die, Linus. So why bother lying?” He nodded. He had. She removed it. “So that’s option A, Linus.” She got up and walked in a circle around him. “Option B is that this can all be over in a flash. If you answer my last question. Maybe that’s what we’ll do.” He sobbed. “You were laundering money. $15 for a black coffee? In Virginia? How dumb do you think people are?” She kicked him again. He nodded. “Tell me for who, Linus.” After he did, Frankie went to the kitchen. “Did I forget to mention there was an Option C?” “Wait. Wait …” Linus screamed. Frankie opened the cabinets. She pocketed a book of matches. Then she found some Cheerios and took out a bowl. “Do you mind?” Her knuckles, palms, knees, and elbows were killing her. She had beaten Linus for hours. Had her trainers seen her left hand, they would have been furious. There was nothing precise about what she did to him. Frankie moaned when she closed her left hand around the spoon. It was definitely sprained. Frankie ate while Linus begged for Option B. “I don’t know if I can change, Linus. I want to. But who would I be if not … ‘Death herself.’” She said this with her mouthful. “That’s what my coworkers think of me. Can you believe that, Linus? They think I’m a monster.” She finished her cereal. Then Frankie got quiet. She saw Death moving toward her latest victim. Like it did all the others. Linus eeked out a “please.” Frankie ignored him. “I’m going on vacation, Linus. My boss is going to be pissed that I killed you. But he’ll get over it. And then I’ll ask him if I could take a few weeks off. See my old home again. I’m going to figure my shit out, Linus. Priority number one? I’m going to find a way to get that thing away from me.” She pointed at Death. Death pointed to itself as if to say, “Who? Me?” Linus couldn’t tell who or what Frankie was pointing at. With the number of broken bones he had, it was too painful to move.
Frankie stood and stretched her back. Then she went into Linus’s bedroom. There was the sound of rummaging. She found Linus’s keys. Then she came out and went into the other bedroom. There were women’s clothes in that bedroom. A lot of them. “None of this fits me, Linus!” She found what she could and then took a shower. Frankie spent most days covered in blood. Until she saw the space ship, she barely thought about that. Now she hated it. As the hot water ran down her body, she thought about how nice it would be to do something else. To not find little pieces of skull and brains in her hair. The pony tail was damaging enough. She went back into the bedroom. Then she came out holding her own, better fitting clothes. She also had a copy of Detective Comics # 1 in a CCG slab. “Linus. Why the fuck would you do this? I can’t read it like this.” She thought about killing him with the slabbed comic book. But that wasn’t something Batman would approve of. She also wanted his closing moments on Earth to be as horrible as Wendy’s. So blunt force trauma wouldn’t do the trick. She chucked the slabbed comic at Linus. Then picked it up and put it over his face. She put her foot down on top of the comic and pressed. He screamed. She ignored him. “You can’t take it with you, Linus. Didn’t you see the play?” She picked the comic back up. He didn’t answer. “No? How about the movie. Did you see that one? I saw it with George and Teque’lia every Thanksgiving.” Linus begged for her to stop torturing him. “You’re no fun, Linus.” Frankie placed the Batman comic by the door. Then she was standing over him again. Frankie dumped her old clothes on top of his body. “You know what’s crazy, Linus? We’ve turned our homes into bombs. All those petroleum products. Your sneakers for example.” Linus had on a pair of $25,000 sneakers. A collaboration between Michael Jordan and the rapper Macklemore. “These wild fires are scary enough. But you factor in the number of accelerants inside your home? Then all those single family homes built in places they shouldn’t be and … Well. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.” Frankie went to the kitchen. One by one, she brought over every bottle of alcohol she could find. Holding each of them in her right hand. Arranging them like bowling pins over his head. There was no reason for this. She just wanted him to suffer for as long as possible. “This feels really good to talk to someone, Linus. I’ve had a crazy day. A highlight? I came like a fountain in the Oval Office. What was the highlight of your day?” Death was now standing beside Frankie. She emptied a bottle of alcohol onto Linus. “Cops are stupid Linus. I’m going to hand them a slam dunk case. They’ll think your friend killed you. The one you’re laundering money for.” She emptied another bottle all over him. “I’m going to put that Batman comic and my Ruger in his car.” She smirked. “You think the cops are going to work hard to find ‘the real killer’? You’ve been watching too much “Law & Order.” Frankie finished pouring the last of the alcohol on Linus. She was annoyed the process was over so soon. So much so that she shook the last bottle to get out every drop .”You’re out of booze, Linus.” Frankie took a step back. Without realizing it, she had stepped completely into Death’s shadow. The two becoming indistinguishable. Frankie lit the match. Linus eeked out one more pitiful,”No. Please!” “I held Wendy’s hand as she died. I’m not going to hold yours.”
-30-
