I managed some sleep the night before, but it wasn’t even close to what my body needed. My muscles still ached and protested every movement and there was a dull headache beginning to form at the base of my skull. I’m sure that half full whiskey bottle which now sat empty from the previous night didn’t help matters any. 

At some point during my time asleep, or more accurately, passed out, someone had slid a telegram beneath my door. With my eyes half closed in a rather groggy state, I bent to pick it up with a low groan. I had to find a balance soon, I couldn’t keep this up for much longer. My body or mind wouldn’t allow it. 

Pushing those thoughts away, I decided to focus on the Telegraph. It was a simple piece of paper folded in half. The only words on it were Ballard Cemetery, 9pm, Heineman. There was no address or name but I had enough experience with things like this, that I knew exactly what it was. 

I shot a glance over at the clock that was ticking away behind the couch in the living room. Damn, 8:50. I certainly could have used to fresh air and the physical exertion at the moment but there was no way what so ever that I’d be able to make it all the way across town before nine. I let out a half disappointed, half relieved sigh. Somebody else would have to take this one.

It had been a week or so since I caught that bullet in the chest and it didn’t feel like it was getting any better. The dull, constant pain would flare up every so often, sending me crashing to my knees. Dr. Lesko had been adamant about rest and no activities but I was starting to go a little stir crazy being cooped up in the apartment all the time. There was only so many books to read and walls to stare out.

A few calls had come in but I was in no shape to swing a pickaxe or struggle with a shovel right now, even if I wanted to do absolutely anything to get outside. I decided it wasn’t a total wash and shuffled my way over to the kitchen table, grabbing the phone with a bit of pain as I sat down slowly. At least I could help spread the word, there had to be someone out there who could use a free grave rob at the moment. I flipped through a Rolodex for a moment before landing on a number. Dialing the digits, I held the phone up to my ear, “Hey, it’s Billy...ya, know managing at the moment...it’s good to hear from you too. Listen, I’ve got a job and I need a pair of hands to take care of it for me. I’m a bit laid up at the moment but I’ll double the pay if it’s done quickly. You want it?...Perfect. Name is Marvin_Ortiz...yup, in Ballard...Sounds good. Best of luck.”

Recently, vGoddess had been given the names of some dead people and the cemeteries they are resting in but she's been too busy to go and get the work done herself. She heard that Billy_Russo has people who might help her get it done.

She picks up a pen and starts writing:

"Hello. I am attaching a list of names whose graves need to be taken care of. I hope I can get some help from you."

1. drumheller in Waterfront, Seattle

2. RandolphLivingston in South Philly, Philadelphia 

3. Schlesselman in South Philly, Philadelphia 

Reaching for the letter as it slid through the mail slot, I said a silent thank you to vGoddess for helping out. It wasn’t a common occurrence around these parts anymore. Someone willing to do something for someone else just for the hell of it.

I still wasn’t in any condition to dig but I was certainly going to pass along the information, maybe add a name of my own onto the list. I rifled through a couple of papers that sat in the desk before finally finding the one I was looking for. It had big block letters on it that read, Rusiecki Brooklyn, NY scrawled across it. 

I made a few phone calls, passing the information into the hands of someone who could use it.

The ringing phone startled me awake on the couch where I must have dozed off at some point. Moving around was still a pain even if it had diminished somewhat. I managed to struggle just enough to reach the phone that was sitting on the kitchen counter, “Hello?...yea, it’s Billy. How are things on your end?...Believe me, id love to take it but I’m still in no shape for that...Theres a couple of guys and dolls that I trust, I’ll pass the word along...What was the name again?...MaryClendenon in Pioneer Square, easy enough...Thanks, I appreciate the heads up. We’ll catch up when I’m back in town.”

Hanging up the phone as I took a deep breath, well as deep of a breath as I could anyways. I hated having to keep playing the messenger but unfortunately, it was about all I could do at the moment. I thought about it for a few moments before I flipped through the Rolodex, finding the number I was looking for easily enough.

”Hey, it’s me...I’ve got something for you in Seattle for you. Pioneer Square. It’s all yours if you want it.”

“Yea...That shouldn’t be a problem...I know a few people out here. They don’t mind getting their hands dirty from time to time...I appreciate the call. I’ll make it worth it...Yea, yea, yea, I know, add an extra zero...What’s the name again?...ScottHeineck In Ballard, got it.”

I hung up the phone as I pushed the pad of paper I scribbled the name down on across the countertop. There were a couple of ways to play this. I already had one dinner reservation set up for the night and I wasn’t sure if I should take on another. 

After a glass of whiskey and thinking it over, I decided to pass it along to someone else who could use it.

The stupidity level had been raising in recent weeks which was actually a good thing. Sure, everyone had to listen to lying rambling idiots, but at least the work was steady. Steady enough in fact that there was no way to get through it all in one day or night. There were always going to be new people in the ground, new people to separate from their precious belongings, new people to kill. 

I had heard about Outsourcing many moons ago, back when someone would help someone for no other reason than just to do it. There was someone who was on these streets, giving others a chance. The world seemed to get away from that. Now it seemed like one after another shouting at the top of their lungs how they were the greatest and no one would ever be greater. Granted, the majority of them were loudmouths and liked hearing their voices over and over again. They turned it into a nice little racket that if you weren’t part of the boys club, they would try their hardest to have you run out of town. They wanted to corner the market and because they were so loud and vicious, it kept going on and on. Talk about beating a dead horse.

I picked up the phone after tipping Undertaker Jacob Kramer handsomely, “Hey, I’ve got some info I need you to pass along...Zekria is six feet under in Brooklyn...Doesnt matter, pass it along to whomever wants it. Sure beats having to pull twenty thousand from their own pocket.”

They turned it into a nice little racket that if you weren’t part of the boys club, they would try their hardest to have you run out of town.

I've heard this nonsense sentiment echoed before by ghosts of losers past, how certain street speakers are targeting what your duplicitous lineage refers to as "The Writing Community", a conglomerate that I have never heard of before, that I assume derived their name from their presence in the streets.  Meanwhile most of these people that your tarnished ancestry vilify are all equally active, but with a distinctly different and more inclusive approach than this "Writers Community", which as far as I can tell from your inherited and limited view of the world is exclusive and elitist. 

I can page through my journals and cite examples that have encouraged street presence and even defended members of this community.  Doubtful you can do the same.  Instead, you paint an inaccurate portrayal of people such as myself that have targeted an entire community of people for their participation in the streets, when in actuality it's just you.  And not for your participation in the streets either, but because you are an ass.  I recognize that's a much harder pill to swallow than if it were you and an entire group of people that were being shit on, but that's not the case.  Break this cycle, Frank.  Quit lying to yourself and everyone else, take some accountability, and be better.  

As soon as I heard whatever babble coming from the streets, I pulled the window down. Sure, it was hot as hell in the city but I’d take a little heat over having to listen to whatever was being spewed in the streets. Some people just couldn’t function in this world if they didn’t have someone to attack. It wasn’t worth the effort of even acknowledging them at this point. Someone so dead set on believing that they’re in the right are hopeless. That probably explained why they were outside my door again shouting at the top of their lungs anyways. From the way they kept going on and on, this clearly went over their head.

After making a few more calls, I had lined up another contract job. I wasn’t going to be in town for very long so I was going to have to pass this one down the line as well, “It’s me again, got another...Yea, in Brooklyn too...Lorette_Jochumsen...Shouldn’t be terribly dangerous...simple snatch and grab...good luck, stay safe.”

The last traces of summer began to wane in The Loop in Chicago, the wind picking up significantly off of the Great Lakes. It was a bit refreshing after the scorched months of heat and humidity. 

After stopping to grab a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat, I headed back towards my apartment. It wasn’t much but at least it was quiet now. Tossing my keys onto the end table by the door, I made myself comfortable before dialing up the answering service as I grabbed a pen and paper. Listening to the messages, I hastily scribbled down the information. Elmo_Chhom, six feet under in The Loop, Chicago.

I had been back in the city for a few days now, working my way through odd jobs here and there to make as much money as I could for the family. It wasn’t the most glamorous work but it paid well enough and kept me busy for the most part, even if I was starting to spread myself a little thin. It was a comfortable living, enough to keep the lights on anyways. 

I headed back to the apartment after a quick stop at Josie’s for a couple. I knew there was going to be some more work to take care of but I needed to slow a bit or else I was going to burn out. I wouldn’t be any good to anyone if that were to happen. 

I flicked the lights on inside as soon as I stepped through the door, tossing the keys aside before I made my way to the ice box, grabbing a bottle out of it as I did. It had been a bit since I had been back and the pile of mail underneath the slot in the front door was beginning to pile up. After scooping it up, I sat down on the couch, flipping the dial for the radio on as I kicked my feet up on the coffee table in front of myself.

The mail consisted mostly of bills but there was a certain letter that caught my eye. It was an unmarked envelope with only my name hastily scribbled on the front. I had a feeling of what it was even before I opened it. The folded piece of legal pad paper read Bronx, NY-Latham. It was an open contract that I unfortunately, didn’t have time to take care of myself. Someone else was going to have to pick this one up, I had a plane to catch in a little while.

The phone rang loudly as I reached for the door knob with my over night bag slung over my shoulder. I debated letting it ring but after glancing at my watch I figured I had plenty of time to take a quick call before heading to the airport.

”Yes, this is Frank Castle...uhm, yea, let me grab a pen. I’m in a bit of a time crunch at the moment but I’ll pass the information along. I’m sure there is someone out there who can use it...Arla_heykoop in the Bronx...Ok, got it. Thank you Mr. Kramer, I’ll make sure the information gets to the right person...Thanks again. There will be a little more in the tips next time around for you.”

I made another quick call after hanging up with the Undertaker, passing word along as I said I would. Lifting my bag up again, I stepped out of the front door, locking it behind myself before heading off to the airport.

I made my way back from Josie’s later than I had intended but that was usually how it went. It was an easy place to lose track of time in. 

Unlocking the front door, I let out a sigh as the phone started ringing as soon as I stepped inside. I tiredly rubbed at the bridge of my nose as I lifted up the receiver, “Hello?...Yea, I’ll take it. Not in the right state for it at the moment but I’ll spread the word around...Sure, no problem...susansmejkal in the Bronx. Alright I got it...Thanks boss, I appreciate the work...Dont worry, I’ll make sure it is taken care of...I’ll check back in when it’s taken care of.”

Collapsing onto the couch, I flicked the radio on, trying my best to relax now. The days had been longer than I cared for lately but sometimes that’s how the work went. There really wasn’t much of a way around it. When it needed to be taken care of, it needed to be taken care of. After a few moments of thinking, I picked the phone back up and dialed a familiar number, “Hello, It’s Frank...Not bad, managing...I got one if you’re interested, susansmejkal in the Bronx. It’s all yours if you want it.”

It had been some time since I was last in Pioneer Square. I’m pretty sure it was raining then too, though. I usually didn’t mind the rain but this one felt particularly cold, sending a chill to my bones. Granted, New York rain wasn’t any better. I should be used to this by now. 

I suppose it was my fault for deciding to skip the cab ride but, in my defense, it wasn’t raining then. About fifteen steps into my walk back to the apartment, the skies opened up, turning a dark, gloomy grey, thunder claps echoing off of the shop windows lining the streets. I took off at a slight jog at first but the rain was cold enough that that turned into a dead on sprint. 

Making record time, I huddled under the over hang of the roof as I opened the door, almost immediately collapsing onto my back with an uncomfortable bounce on the couch cushions.

Damn, it had been quite the day. Of course the three whiskeys or so down at the Owl N Thistle surely didn’t help things but that was really only on top of things. I spent the majority of the day trying to figure out a place not overrun with civilian and cop eyes alike to make a certain transaction. It was far more trouble than it should have been really. As soon as I figured that out, I hit the pub, than finally headed home.

Naturally, I opened the door to a ringing phone, “Yea...speaking...Uhm, yea I’ll pass it on. I’m probably not going to take care of this one myself...Thanks, I really appreciate it...What’s the name again?...Lajuana_Luna in Pioneer Square, got it.”

With the hectic nature of the last few days, everyone seemed on edge now. Looking over their shoulders and carefully peaking into darkened alleyways before hurrying past them. It didn’t seem to matter what part of the country I was in, it all felt a bit strange, a bit off.

I had been holed up in Brooklyn for most of the time, only leaving the apartment when it was absolutely necessary. It was actually rather boring unfortunately. That also didn’t lead to much work getting done even if the phone kept ringing every so often.

Zoning out a bit as I listened to the radio, the phone rang loudly beside me again, “Hello?...Yea, I can pass it along. I’m sure there is someone out there wandering about...Hey, twenty grand kept in the pocket isn’t anything to scoff at...Thanks, I really appreciate it...What’s the name again?...Benge in Brooklyn, got it...I’ll send the cash over as soon as I can...Alright, I’ll catch you later. Thanks again.”