The chains rattled with each step, rubbing at the skin on his wrists. Frank's overcoat, which generally seemed to be glued to his person, was gone, and a bloody and sweaty dirty-white button down shirt and suspenders latched onto his skinny frame instead. It was a slow procession from the barn out into the open air and onwards, but the weather was nice for it, if you could get past the thought of what 'it' was exactly. Frank led, followed by two knockaround guys and not too far behind them was Albino.

Frank didn't really know the man other than that he'd owned a place Frank's fingers got a little too sticky in and a little too often it seemed, leading to his current predicament. That, and he somehow just suddenly lost his shirt at some point. It wasn't for long, but long enough for Frank to notice he had that look of being scared shirtless. He'd seen it once before on a homeless guy. It was another oddity in a sea full of what-the-fuck's Frank had been sinking in since their first encounter.

Albino didn't act like other people he'd come across before. People seemed to part as he moved through the world, and men, paid or not, followed him and his orders wherever they went. But it all seemed, unspoken, like him and his people lived a different code, a different life, with different rules even compared to most and this seemed to put them at an advantage. Frank was young and impressionable and he'd already decided that as soon as he'd squirm his way out of this situation, he was going to be the best damn version of whatever the good-hell this was.

Frank's feet dragged as they shuffled along the gravel path. They'd walked through a maze of trees, or at least that's what it felt like to Frank. He even thought that some, with their spindly spines, were reaching out to get him. The odd rose could be seen, but never more than a couple per bush. The winding trail led the small group out the back of a property, down by and over a stream and eventually past a treeline that ran roughly alongside the shallow and gently flowing creek. The trees had gotten a little denser the further they walked and the wildlife seemed to get a little quieter too.

Eventually, after what felt like a struggle and about fifteen minutes, someone finally spoke. It was Albino. Frank stopped as ordered. They were in a decent sized clearing surrounded by tall trees and shrubbery and looking dead ahead he noticed a shovel was standing upright, dug into and poking out of the ground. A butterfly was perched on the handle, it flapped its wings and fluttered up and away on a breeze that gently wafted through the clearing. Frank kept his eyes on it best he could before losing it in the light of the midday sky. Albino's voice calmly directed traffic over his shoulder again, bringing Frank back to his dire, gulping reality...

"Dig."

3 weeks prior...

Eyes on the prize. Calm. Stay calm. Natural. Act, natural. He doesn't see me. This is it. Steady. Steaaaadyyyyy. Got it. Go!

Frank's legs went into overdrive as he sensed an arm reaching out for his, instinctively yet narrowly dodging it and speeding off through the crowd. 

Close call. Now keep going. Create some space. He's gaining. I can feel his breath on my neck. Faster. There!

Frank slid feet first towards the truck, flicking up grass and dirt as he disappeared under the trailer, flipping and rolling out the other side. The Federal Agent was forced to stop, slapping the side of the trailer in disgust before stomping around the back, giving Frank some time to dart around to the front parallel to his pursuer, and as intended, he timed his next sprint to start just as the suit checked the far side of the trailer. By the time the dodgy officer clued into what had happened, Frank was nowhere to be seen.
 
+++

The building was desolate. A relic of a prior time, kind of captured in its current state like a living fossil. Soon it would be renovated and partly demolished to make way for a more modern shopping hub. Frank edged in further. As he passed through the halls he noticed how high the ceilings were. He always felt like an ant in a forrest in here and tried to imagine what the mighty building might've looked like in its heydey. He was pretty sure it was a library due to the books still present but it had the architecture and feel of a church. Either way it gave a majestic and mystical aura if you stopped to take it in and let your spirit and imagination wander.

Once Frank felt like he was completely clear of anyone and everyone, he took a seat on a bunch of newspapers with the newly stolen wallet presented in the palm of his hands. He eyed over the leather pouch-like accessory. It was a muted-black tan and stitch that had no clips and it was double sided when opened with fabric card slots on either side of the middle fold.

Sitting there, still catching his breath, Frank began flicking through some of the cards. Library card. Strip club card. Lawyers card. Gun license. A card that had the words Professional, Intelligent. Secretive and Secure in gold embossed lettering. And tucked into another card slot was a federal bureau of investigations badge.

"Shit."

Frank took another look at the gun license. Last name Allman. First name Clive. He checked the folds for any money. Nothing. Cheap prick. The newspaper pile that Frank was sitting on had its top removed. Frank then placed the wallet inside, which had its middle hollowed out and was made to look like just a normal pile of newspapers. Lastly, he slid the license into his overcoat pocket and started moving again. What a shame, thought Frank as he glanced around at the large marble pillars that seemed to hold up the dome roof, like a God of old holding up the heavens. Why'd it have to get destroyed? Did everything have to get destroyed at some point?

Frank kicked at a rock, sending it under the bottom railing and over the side. Frank leaned slightly against the railing, his hands lightly touching the metal piping and looked solemnly out into the view of the basement floor below. More rubble and a graffitied mural of Santa Muerte. Also impermanent. Yeah, looks like nothing ever really lasts. That mural. This building. Even that agent will be gone soon. Even me.

Frank spat over the side and watched as the blob of saliva vanished into the abyss below.

Well shit.

2 weeks ago...

The shot wasn't all that difficult. He just needed to put enough right hand side on the cue ball and it should pop off the rail and bank into the middle pocket on the opposite side. Frank tapped the middle pocket, signalling he would be attempting to pocket the ball here, then sunk down into the shot. In the blink of an eye the ten ball hit the back of the pocket with a loud thwack. Game.

"Thought you couldn't play?" Jabbed his opponent as they slapped the money down onto the cleared pool table. He'd been hustled and although it wasn't uncommon, being on the receiving end still stung and he couldn't help but feel duped.

"Beginner's luck?" Quipped Frank as he swiped his hand over the cash snatching it up. As he lifted his gaze he noticed his opponent hadn't stuck around. He also noticed this side of the pool hall had become empty. 

The usually lively joint was a little bare in general and besides Frank there were only 2 others here, seated across from one another in a booth near the bar. Frank stuffed the money into his pocket and upon a second take he quickly ducked out of sight behind the nine-foot pool table. It was the guy from last week. Clive fuckn Allman.

Sneaking another peak, Frank tried to eye up the federal agent and what he might be up to. The pair were casually talking but seemed a little tense for a place like this. After a little bit of chatter Allman got up and excused himself. He looked to be headed towards the toilet. Frank glanced back at the table and noticed there was a briefcase on the floor, near where the fed was seated. 

Seriously? Frank's 'what if' mode flicked on and his thought train began picking up steam. For me?

The other guy pulled an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and looked to be checking the contents, his head down towards it, now held in his lap under the table.

Frank didn't know what was in the case or what they were doing exactly but he wasn't one to deny a gift from the Gods. He already had the guys wallet, might as well add his briefcase to the collection, and with that Frank lept up and over the pool table and sprung into action.

+++

Frank was seated on a newspaper pile, the briefcase on his lap, which was a little bent out of shape, and his sleeves rolled back. On the ground at his feet was a crowbar on-top of his overcoat. The jolly teen was surprised he'd actually got away with it, Clive returning from the bathroom just as he five-finger-discounted yet another item from the now furious and vengeful agent and who'd definitely seen Frank's deer-in-headlights mug this time.

Frank placed his hands on the case. The moment of truth... 

Frank's vision narrowed. His head slumped forward. Darkness.

THUD.