Their conversation is short, but it isn't Karen who reaches out first.
It's hard to get ahold of anyone who knows of the Port Mafia and it's inner workings, she'd tried, either no one knew what she was talking about, or someone would step in and shut down the thread. They were actively suppressing the topic, and no matter what message board or site she went to, little was said of them. Her bringing up the topic alone killed threads and chats.
It had been two days of fruitless searching, and she could find nothing to show for it, and by the end, she was beginning to realize that she might have to return to Frank with nothing to say. It had seemed urgent, the info he needed, but she had nothing to give him in such a timely manner.
That was, however, until a Futaba Channel thread.
Someone had brought up an entirely unrelated subject on the site, completely in Japanese and thus difficult to navigate, but after downloading a browser extention to translate (though not perfectly) she was able to look through the site without worry she was missing anything.
Untitled Name No Name:
Has anyone noticed strange activity at Shiogama, Sendai area ? Things are usually quieter... but now strange things are happening here.
Untitled Name No Name:
Sendai is near Yokohama, so maybe trouble is coming through ?? Sometimes here in Kyoto Yokohama problems leak through and cause damage to us too
Untitled Name No Name:
Yes it's usually Yokohama
Untitled Name No Name:
A cousin, she goes to a University in Yokohama, and she says that there's always bad crime there, so it makes sense that it might be going outside of it too to surrounding cities.
Untitled Name No Name:
Blah, No one wants for their city to become like Yokohama /
Untitled Name No Name:
What happens in Yokohama?
It's hard to tell who, if any, are repeat messagers in this conversation, but it catches her eye immediately upon finding it. This Yokohama, if there is trouble that is affecting other cities in Japan, could it possibly be where their own trouble here in New York is stemming from?
Untitled Name No Name:
You guys shouldn't talk it, it never ends well
Untitled Name No Name:
But why can't we talk about it?
Untitled Name No Name:
Because it's a city run by criminals, and criminals can find you easily... you shouldn't poke the bear.
Karen wets her lips and sits a little straighter. Run by criminals? That sounds somewhat familiar to her, similar to something Frank had mentioned he'd heard someone say, and she feels like she's finally closing in on something, like she's no longer running in frantic circles.
She readies herself and types out her own response through a shitty English to Japanese translator and sends it through.
Untitled Name No Name:
What criminals run the city? Are they expanding or something?
Untitled Name No Name:
YOU'RE GOING TO GET THE THREAD DELETED GUYS!!!
Untitled Name No Name:
That would make sense, that maybe they're setting up in different cities to become more widespread. Maybe they want more than Yokohama?
Untitled Name No Name:
STOP IDIOTS
Untitled Name No Name:
Do you think they'd go outside of Japan? To places like America? New York?
Karen's fingers freeze, because those words were what she herself had intended to type, and yet it is not her who sent that reply. Someone else is in the thread, asking about New York? She really wasn't the only one asking... unless this was something to draw her and any others looking to deep out? Her heart races. She debates dropping out of the thread, to leave the site now and get rid of the extension, but she just can't.
She needs to know, she can't let this situation go. She has put herself in pretty dire situations before in her work, held hostage by a bomber or kidnapped by Fisk's men, but in each situation, she has come out on top, if not a little roughed up. Call it naivety or childish arrogance, but she isn't afraid, because she's never been in a situation that she's never crawled out of, with or without outside intervention.
Untitled Name No Name:
The warehouse that was burned down in Queens?
She holds her breath, anxiously, but the reply is surprisingly quick to come.
Untitled Name No Name:
Yeah, that one that happened like a week ago! I live in the area and a friend walking around saw it.
Untitled Name No Name:
WEEWOO THE MODS ARE GOING TO COME
The thread stagnates briefly, but one last message is posted before the entire conversation is four'o'foured.
It's a burner number, and it's there just long enough for her to copy it down.
Frank has done a lot of truly bullheaded things in his life time. He's aware of it, even though he wouldn't admit that to most, but Maria had certainly been aware. He'd been chastise more than once about his impulsiveness, and Jr had inherited the trait from him.
That had definitely shown him just how frustrating his stubbornness was.
David's kid was also stubborn as all hell, and he liked to make that stubbornness known to everyone. Even after David himself had returned home, it seemed the damage had already been done. The boy knew and understood why his father had to disappear, but that doesn't make the damage from him being gone from his life for so long any less prominent in him, especially in the way he had latched onto Frank while he was spending time around the house with his mother.
The situation felt strange to him, and so Frank had stepped out of the picture entirely, traveling around America, no particular goal in mind, just going where he wanted.
That had led him to Amy, and then back to tracking Russo down once more.
Returning to New York had been inevitable and pointless to attempt to avoid, and so, these days, he spent his time dealing with the odd gang or group that tried to crop up.
That was the ultimate catalyst to his newest, most impulsive, stupid decision.
Kidnapping a mafioso.
Now, don't get him wrong, he's kidnapped many before, but the difference is that he didn't intend to kill this one. Or even torture him, for that matter.
He didn't want to, at least, because he knows how kids like him get into criminal organizations like the Mafia, and usually it isn't a personal career choice, but more an expectation by others such as family or even forced initiation.
But what he can do is try to get some information and see if there's somewhere to ship the kid off to, to at least try to give him a fair-ish chance in life. Or something.
He's sure Red would know some place that'd take the kid in despite his previous association with a crime syndicate, because Red is nice and soft that way.
A lot different than him.
Standing in the shitty hotel room, the kid doesn't seem to be interested in talking, he's just sitting along the edge of the bed, feet to the floor and leaning his shoulder against the headboard, looking thoughtful in a sharp way. Looking at the expression, he gets the feeling that whatever plans or ideas that are swirling around the kids head wouldn't be to his own liking.
Still, silence eats through the room as Frank cleans and checks the guns, trying to think of what he's meant to ask him.
This boy is about Amy's age, fifteen to sixteen, though he's not sure which, but definitely no older, and he's entirely unlike Amy.
The moment he'd dragged her ass out of that bad she was kicking and bitching, never running out of words to say until he was forced to literally ductape her mouth shut so he could get some shut eye.
This kid hadn't even spoken since they'd gotten into the car, he just sat quietly, sometimes observing him while at other times he remained lost in thought.
At this point, he just may have preferred Amy's snappish behaviour over this kid thoughtful silence.
It's creepy for a teenager to be so quiet.
"You gonna just keep starin'?" Frank asks with a sigh, placing the semi-automatic he's cleaning down on the bed.
"You didn't even use most of these. There's no point in cleaning them." He points out, loosely gesturing at the weapons.
"Sure, but you should always keep 'em clean and in shape. To make sure nothing is wrong with them, so they don't jam in a fire fight. That's how you get killed quick as all hell." The mafioso hummed noncommittally, like he was never actually interested in Frank's gun-cleaning habits to begin with.
With made a lot of sense, really.
The quiet returned as he began picking at the knee of his dress pants.
Frank checked his phone for any new calls or messages from Karen, but found nothing but missed calls from Madani. She'd caught on quick-- only about twelve hours since, well into the afternoon of the next day, and she was already getting the spam calls.
He gave it only twenty-four more hours before his face is plastered on every news outlet with a notice to call the cops if seen.
He wondered what they would say about letting him out previously-- their blame job for his murders on Billy were flimsy at best, everyone still knew it was him rather than his old war buddy, but it would still be interesting to watch them flounder to try to explain themselves.
Frank sighed and spoke, "What's your name, kid?"
The teenager regarded him with a blank stare. If it weren't so bland, he could almost say it was an incredulous look.
"My name doesn't matter." He repeated, and gave him a narrow eyed look.
"If you don't tell me your name, I'll be forced to just call you... Fred." The kids brows shot upwards at that, a true look of near bewilderment at Frank's proclamation.
"Pardon?" Frank stood and shrugged, crossing the room to desk, a pistol still in hand and at the ready if need be, rifling through his bag.
"Well, since you aren't gonna tell me your name, I have to give you one." All he had were beef jerky and energy bars, definitely not sufficient, but he had nothing else at the moment. He didn't trust the kid not to be an ass and do something dangerous. The Port Mafia is known for its underhandedness, and he knows not to rule this kid out on that just because he's a... well, kid.
"So your going to call me Fred?" He confirmed.
"Until you tell me your actual name, yes, I will call you Fred." The brown haired boy stared at him hard, as of trying to figure out if he's being serious or not.
"... Right." To Franks surprise, though, he did not stop at that, "What's the point of me being here?"
"Maybe I want someone to Motel hop with." Frank tossed an energy bar to the kid, who loosely caught it, staring at the bar like it had personally been the cause of all this.
"... No thank you." He tossed it back at Frank, who pocketed it in his bag again with a shrug.
"I want information on the pissheads trying to move in here." A particularly loud honk sounds outside, and cautiously, he looks out the window.
The motel lot is fairly empty, leaving an open view of the busy highway, filled with cars of people going on lunch break.
When Frank turns, the kids not yet at his back, still on the other side of the bed, but grabbed one of the guns and has it pointed at him. Frank points his own gun forward, and they're in at a stalemate, guns forward but with not opportunity for either to escape the line of fire of the other.
"Put the gun down." His voice is much less friendly, but he does not faulter. The kid remains in place with his gun in hand, held properly, even-- the kid has used the type of gun before, he's familiar, though the kid just may be all around familiar with weapons as a whole. That would make sense given his current career.
"Put. It. Down." Frank's prepared to take a non-fatal shot at him, to get him down to the ground and the weapon away from him.
The vets eyes flick up and down him, looking for somewhere to shoot, to aim to incapacitate. He could go for the knee, he'd surely be down on the floor, if not fully down, limping away on a fucked up leg, but he wouldn't necessarily lose the weapon-- or he could for the arm that's holding the gun, he'd let go of the weapon on instinct, and Frank would most likely get the gun away from him before he could get it back--
His phone rings.
"I'm going to pick that up." Slowly, Frank puts the gun down and raises his arms, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the desk where his phone is.
With the gun still trained on him, he grabs the phone and flicks it open.
"Put it on speaker phone." The mafiosi demands coolly. He does so and picks up, now on the fourth ring. He catches a peak of the caller ID and isn't surprised.
"Hey Red." His eyes narrow at the nickname, and he's a little surprised he would be able to a identify the vigilante by it, considering it wasn't used in any official capacity.
"I'm honestly surprised you picked up."
"Yeah, well I'm full of surprises these days. You're on speaker." Frank shifted and slowly lowered his other hand, keeping still within clear view of the rooms other occupant. The young gun man makes no move to declare his distaste for him announcing he was on speaker, he seemed like he expected it. Quietly, the kid waits and listens.
"Speaker phone? Why? Is there someone else with you?" The confusion is clear, and there's noise on his end, the sounds of talking, a concerned feminine voice, Karen, and Nelson is speaking somewhere in there, but he can't make out either of their words.
"It's fine, I'm just taking care of some things."
"Castle, what's going on on your end?" The mafioso doesn't react to Matt's words, doesn't make any move to fire nor does his expression portray any stress at the fact that the man on the other end knows somethings wrong.
"I'm peachy fucking keen over here, Murdock." He bites out. Frank doesn't particularly care if the lawyer finds out what's going on, he just doesn't want him to attempt to intervene. While Frank is still in Queens, thus outside of the Devil's territory, the bastard is nothing if not sneaky and nosy. He doesn't trust him not to make a stupid decision. Plus... if he is able to catch the kid off guard, restraining him and getting the weapon away from should be relatively safe. That and he's not very tall, gangly and thin, but fairly average height for someone in their mid teens.
"Yeah, well I can smell the bullshit all the way over here," Matt remarks snappishly before continuing on, "Where even are you? Karen says there's a new warrant out for your arrest, and you've decided to make yourself scarce."
"Well, I'm figuring some shit out. It's more important than some damn warrant." Matt sighs on the other end, but doesn't sound at all surprised.
"They aren't going to keep giving you chances to start over. I'm pretty sure that was a one time deal, Castle." It's almost pleading, in a way. It's very similar to the times they fought, with Matthew attempting to get him to stop hurting people, to tell him he had no right to be an executioner.
He still thought that if he wasn't meant to be an executioner, the fucking government shouldn't have killed his family. So he's pretty keen on doing things his own way, because clearly they are working.
"I never asked for no fucking second chance." They both know its true, that Frank didn't care about existing outside of killing those who had killed his family. He was willing to die doing it, but over the time he'd spent without his goal, protecting Amy and dealing with criminals, he had realized that even now, he wasn't ready to lay down and die like a dog. He was going to live and continue his work until he was killed, even if the shit he was doing made she he was never getting through those pearly gates.
"Does this have to do with those--"
"Yeah, it does. Now I need to go." Frank interrupts sharply.
"Castle, you can't just deal with this on your own, there's others who can help disband this group--" He doesn't bother to hear the rest, just hangs up and tosses the phone onto the bed.
The kids eyes dart away from him and to the phone. It's a clear opening for him to strike.
Frank grabs the kids hand with the pistol and shoves it downwards, ears ringing as a shot fires off into the hard wood, he snatches the weapon away and chucks it across the room, grabbing his arm and twisting it hard behind his back, bearing his weight down into the teen as he takes him to the ground in front of the desk.
Sitting his knee on the kids back, pinning him to the ground, one arm pinned behind him as the other reaches behind himself awkwardly to try to claw at him, Frank drags the back don't beside him, not feeling very sympathetic when it lands hard beside the kids head, making him jerk.
"Get off--!" One hand rummaging, Frank finds the cuffs and puts it around one wrist, the one pinned behind his back before bodily hauling him towards the radiator, though the kid certainly doesn't make it easy. He's going to have scratches and bruises from all the hitting and clawing the kid is doing.
Just as he reaches the radiator, the kids foot catches his stomach and kicks, hard, surprisingly so for someone as gangly as him, but aside from the momentary breathlessness, he continues, looping the cuff through the radiators bars and wrestling the other hand into submission, coffins it too.
Frank steps back a few before observing a moment, watching as the kid yanks and pulls, bracing both feet other radiator and yanking like he'd be able to pull the bar itself off. Clearly, it isn't working, and all the kids going to do is fuck up his wrist even more.
"I'll scream." He snaps, and it's a threat, but not a very worrying one considering the kid fired off a shot in the building and no one ses to have called the authorities over it.
"Yeah, have fun with that." He grunts, picking the back up and walking closer, getting out the ductape.
The kid tries to bite him as he tapes his mouth closed, but he doesn't quite do it, though he does get fairly close.
Frank spends twenty minutes quietly tidying the room, getting his guns all together and into their rightful duffle bag, he deposits both bags beside his bed and out of sight of the pissed off kid.
He can tell he's still pissed even if his face has relaxed into something more neutral, there's still a slight pinch in his brow.
"Christ, it's only three in the afternoon..." Frank sighs, lamenting aloud to himself. He contemplates for a moment, but decides that the kid indeed won't be going anywhere cuffed to a radiator, so he shut the motels lights off, leaving the room mostly dark, only a thin stream of light escaping the curtains and into the room, and climbs into the bed, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, sighing deeply.
He'd barely slept since this all started, so even with the kid routinely kicking the radiator to try to keep him awake, Frank finds that he drifts to sleep easily.