Electric Blue Eyes Where Do You Come From?
With the capture of Finn Cooley's nephew, Peter, Frank and his comrades had the chance to get a leg up in the war. There was little doubt that Peter Cooley knew what Finn was planning, and why the bomb went off in the middle of the day, in New York. As ideas go, it wasn't the best idea to blow up a building in New York, now more than ever.
Frank and his fellows, Yorkkie and Andy, discussed the best way to take care of their Prisoner of War, because with the bombing on New York soil, they certainly turned it into a war in Castle's eyes, and the British agents were used to fighting wars against the Irish.
After a lengthy discussion it was decided that Frank would be the one in charge of getting information out of him, which of course, was the best idea. After all, of all three men, Frank had the most experience in the field of inflicting pain. However, the job wasn't handed over easily. Andy had wanted the chance to beat the Mick that had shot his father, and though he was promised a chance in the end, it was obviously not a satisfactory decision in the mind of the young Black man.
With that decision made, Frank left the warehouse, knowing that his techniques will work better on Peter the longer he sits in that closet by himself. Putting on his leather coat, Frank walked down the street, passing several run down tenements.
He remembered the time, a few years ago, when he had first come back to New York. Joan the Mouse, Spacer Dave and Mr. Bumpo; and of course, the Russian. How could he forget the giant man who nearly killed him, and then came back again, as an even more giant woman, to kill him for the second time. Frank still had to cringe every time he saw a pair of painfully large breasts on an equally large woman. The tenement dwellers their selves, however, had become dear to Frank, sort of, when they had saved his life; twice in Joan's case. Frank was well aware of Joan's feelings for him, and she was well aware of the fact that he couldn't be what she wanted him to be.
In his day dreaming state, Frank didn't notice a young woman, possibly 27, maybe a little younger. He bumped right into her, his larger frame toppling the young woman and sending her armful of books to the ground as well as her purse.
The pink purse spilt open and a student card fell to the ground, as Frank, always the polite man around innocent people, especially when he was in the wrong, bent to help her collect the large stack of books, he got a better look at the student ID.
Along with a signature, a year number and her picture, her name was printed on the small, plastic card. It read, in large, black letters: "Barbara M. Castle"
Frank's eyes widened and he looked at the girl, who was fumbling with the contents of her purse, scooping them back into the small bag and taking her books quite gratefully. Her cheeks were tinted just a little pink with embarrassment and her eyes were the clearest shade of blue. Chestnut brown hair fell past her shoulders, cascading down her back and in front of her. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a snug fitting pink sweater.
Looping the handle of her purse through her left wrist and balancing the stack of books, which Frank could read from the spines involved Criminal Psychology, she thanked him and tucked some errand strands of chestnut hair behind her ears. A little pink crystal stud sparkled in each earlobe.
"Thanks, most people would have just flipped me off and kept walking," she said and then headed back on her way, entering one of the tenement buildings that neighboured Frank's warehouse.
"No...problem..." He was stunned. The Punisher, stunned? Didn't happen often, if ever, but when someone who he thought had been dead for more than fifteen years was out, walking, down the street, he had more than enough reason to be stunned. Of course, it could all just be one large coincidence... Or it could be real.
What if she really is the Barbara M. Castle who was his daughter? What if she really hadn't been shot all those years ago? Frank's head swam with the plethora of thoughts and counter thoughts. It could just be one big coincidence. Could it really?
Realistically, he thought to himself after he purchased a hotdog from a street vendor. How many families are named Castle in New York, or the surrounding area. Maybe a couple hundred. Maybe half of the people bearing the last name Castle were female, and another half were in the right age bracket. So far that's 1/4 of all the people named Castle. Now, how many are brunettes, with blue eyes, named Barbara? With the initial M.?
The "M" was an important question. Frank's daughter bore the middle initial "M" for her mother, Maria. Since their son had been named after Frank, he promised that their daughter would be named for her. How would any one else know that? It was a matter of public record, yes, but Barbara had been dead for so long...
By the time he had realized that he had been walking while thinking, he had finished his foot-long and walked three city blocks. The tall man in black turned around and headed back to the warehouse, it was about time that Peter needed a talking to...
The blood on his bandages would be dried now, stuck to his skin, leg hair and the fresh scabs. Pulling them off would not only be a hygienic necessity, it would also be incredibly painful for the young Irish lad.
By the time Frank had pulled off the bandages from both legs, the boy past out twice. Frank could just imagine what would happen when he had to pull the bullets that were lodged in his knee caps out...