Spaghetti Grime / Vol. 3

Frank flew through the apartments foyer doors and took a left, never once looking back to see whether the large Goon was close behind him. He found his truck parked in its usual slightly off center angle, stuck his keys in the door and opened it accordingly. He planted himself in its ripped leather seat. At first try the vehicle would not start, he tried once more and yet again to no avail. Without much time to spare he flung outside without locking the truck and ran onto the center of the busy road and damn near was struck down by a Classic Chrysler Valiant. The kind he would drive in with his grandpa as a wee lad. He locked the sights onto the driver and shouted “Get the fuck out!” the middle aged driver took his hands off the staring wheel and opened his car door as Frank mad his way for it, shoving the driver out of the way as he did.

As he revved the engine, the final Goon presented himself striding through the chaotic traffic seamlessly unbewildered by how close some of the cars were to wiping him out. Frank only saw him for a moment but the second after one of the goons desert eagle bullets plunged itself through the windscreen and through the rear left window. Frankie didn’t waste another moment, he stepped heavily onto the accelerator and weaved his way through the oncoming traffic.

Frankie didn’t stop until he was out of the city limits and then some. He racked his mind for what to do. If he told his bosses that he had laced the coke; he would surely be handed over to Allister and his crew of ‘Cleaners' as compensation for there loss. However if he didn’t tell them then they would soon find out anyway, which could potentially be even worse. “Arlo!” he realized inside his mind. Arlo and himself had been friends since they were in downtown pre-school together. He felt I’ll when picturing the different things they would do to his dear friend had the Goon got his mitts on him. He saw a pit stop edging forward in the distance within the cool desert road, and so he signaled right as it arrived.

Frank hopped out of the Valiant and strode towards the phone booth outside the restroom . Dialed Arlo’s cellphone number and waited for him to pick up.

“C'mon you son of a bitch answer!”

The phone began to ring over and over until he answered in a such a tone only obtainable through losing several teeth and busting a lip.

“Frank…man you gotta come back you gotta…”

“Arlo where the fuck are you? Did he get you?”

“Yeah man…” Arlo spat on the concrete warehouse floor before continuing.

“I have no idea where I am man fuck. Just-" and then another voice continued his sentence as the hop e was taken away from the bound-to-a-chair victim.

“Frank, we got your boy you slippery bastard. Were gonna remove one tooth, one finger one eyeball each hour until you show up then well let him go.”

‘A promising offer' Frank thought to himself as his right hand shook, and he tried not to drop the phone.

“I'll be there as soon as I can, just…leave him be, give me the address.”

Frank withdrew his cell-phone from his pocket and listened closely to the phone booths phone as he jotted down the credentials.

“Alright, I'm on my way.”

He clinked the plastic phone onto the ringer and lit up a cigarette with his ever so shaky hands. He let the smoke calm his nerves for a moment but didn’t waste time before he called the people who had sent him to Kuja.

“What’s up Frank everything go to plan?”

“Not at all Clay, anything but.”

The man on the other end took a moment to respond, almost as though fetching a pad and pen. Then he said: “Tell me everything that happened.” Frank collected his thoughts and took another drag of his cigarette before answering.

“I dropped off what was expected, y'know 5 ounces…pure…right? Next thing I know I'm kicking it at Arlos apartment…”

“Arlo? You mean the bosses brother, Arlo?”

“The very same, well anyway I'm having a smoke there, then these two big henchmen type grogs knock on the door while I’m on the balcony. I didn’t really see what happens all I know is that they werent happy with the product and they were looking for me…”

“Why didn’t you just reveal yourself?”

“I couldn’t exactly do that. I mean Goon 1 had this Magnum shoved down Arlo’s gob – they meant trouble for sure. My guess is that someone might have not been satisfied with the product and they came to hunt me down. One of the Goons came for the balcony but they couldn’t see me since the curtain was pulled and I shot him dead as he was walking up to me. The other came at me but I dropped down onto the story below and ran through the apartment. Man I was lucky to be alive…”

There was silence once more on the line.

“What happened to Arlo?”

“Man…geez ok the boss is gonna hate me for this one but they have him alright, I… I don’t know what to do – I think they’re torturing him as we speak we need to do something.”

“Jesus Christ Frank you should have gotten rid of the other and driven Arlo and yourself straight here.”

“Yeah well shit Clay, I get that now. Its just my truck wouldn’t start and I had to hijack the one I have now and that Ape shot out the windshield, I couldn’t exactly stick around alright. This whole nights been a shitshow man, but we can't wait til the morning alright we have to get Arlo…”

“calm down you fuckin sissy. I don’t know how these cats in Kuja roll, but here in Banku we have enough numbers to squash even the most bothering Kuja roaches you see? Come to us. Well ring Arlo once more. And well make a deal. If they’ve hurt Arlo then that’s there funeral. Come to Darcy's right now alright? Where are you?”

“I'm at some pit stop out of town, gotta be about 2 hours south of Banku…”

“You hop in that car Frank. You get here Asap or it’ll he your funeral.”

Frank’s voice almost began to crack, “Alright man, I'll see you soon then…”

Frank hung up the phone slid back into his new car and almost sobbed at the wheel. It wasn’t gonna be his funeral if he didn’t arrive soon, it WAS already his funeral. He knew the morally correct thing to do was to Return to his boss and convince him to help bring Arlo home, maybe then they would let him live. The stress made him want to rip his ear off it was so grueling. He had an option to flea altogether, throw away his cellphone. I mean he did have a wad of cash he could cross tue border and they’d never find him. Tinned was ticking and he was yet to cone to a conclusion.

‘Think Frankie Think…’