2300 HOURS
Franklin couldn't sleep.
He kept seeing them. The victims of the bombings.
The nightmares were getting worse. The victims were wearing his father's face. Calling him a joke. A failure.
A disappointment.
What could he do?
He'd planned on hitting the Russian bars and tea houses. Shake them down. See what fell out.
What would it solve? Did he actually expect to have a lead towards Rastovilich, Tatamovich and Castle?
It was better than doing nothing.
Franklin was rubbing his eyes. He was tired and cranked up. Haunted by nightmares. Maybe his judgement was off.
What could he do?
What could he do?
What could he do?
What could he do?
He was going stir crazy. He had to get out. Franklin got dressed-jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket- and stepped out. He went to his car. The 1980s Trans-Am came to life.
A tank full of gas. A trunk full of guns. A head full of nightmares. Bad combo.
Ok. Think. Think.
What happened since the bombings? Nothing came on the wire. Things would mellow out for a while on the gangster front.
And Castle and his allies? What would happen with those guys? And the Interpol guys, Danko and Niemans?
Something…Shit was gonna hit the fan. The body count wouldn't stop there.
The Russian mob was gonna get hit soon. That guy Danko and his crew were torturing had to have talked. And Franklin could put torture past Castle.
So, Franklin was speculating: both vigilante crews may know where Rastovilich and Tatamovich were. How could Franklin-
At that moment, his cel phone rang.
"Franklin." He said.
"Deputy Marshal Cleveland Franklin? This is Agent Chris Burns, FBI. We need to speak as soon as possible."
"Yeah. We do. Where are you?"
"City Hall. We set up a temporary HQ here."
"I'm on my way."
NEW YORK CITY HALL
There were rows and rows of reporters in front of the building. Some uniformed cops came to meet him. One of them spoke out to him.
"Marshal Franklin? The FBI, ATF and Commissioner and Mayor want to see you."
Franklin was escorted through the rows of reporters.
Soon he was in the mayor's office. The Mayor, The Commissioner, several men in suits. Feds.
A tall, balding man white man went to him with an extended hand:" Special Agent Chris Burns. Wish we would have met in other circumstances."
Franklin nodded curtly. There were men and woman in suits. ATF and FBI IDs.
They all sat down at a conference table. Burns spoke up:
"Marshal Franklin, you're the only surviving principal on this case. Tell us what you got. Everything."
Franklin took a deep breath and talked. Punisher. His possible allies. The Russians. Danko and Niemans. The gunfights. The close calls. The blast at One Police Plaza. Everything.
It took a few minutes. He also offered his hypothesis. His speculation.
Burns nodded:" Good. These fake INTERPOL guys, that was an… unexpected twist. But, we reached some of the same conclusions. At this time, you have no idea where any of these people could be? Castle, The Russians…"
"No." Franklin admitted. "I just have the feeling everything is gonna end soon. We should be on the look out for any major outbursts of violence. The Punisher and whoever is helping him are gonna hit the Russians."
"And we can't forget the fake INTERPOL agents." Burns said. "A lot of unknowns. Too many unknowns."
"Look." Franklin said. "This is the way I see it: put as many choppers as you can in the sky, cars on the street, maintain SWAT teams on stand by. ATF, FBI, DEA, NYPD… We're gonna need some serious manpower if we wanna catch ANY of those guys. Gangster or vigilante. This…"
Maybe it was fatigue ambushing him, but images of burning victims assaulted him at once. He was afraid he might be losing his mind. For the first time in his life, Franklin doubted his own sanity.
"This has to stop." Franklin finished. "This violence, this fuckin' gang war…it has to stop."
"Yes." The Mayor said. "Inter-agency cooperation is important. Time is of the essence."
The commissioner nodded.
Burns ignore the politically opportunistic response and looked at Franklin closely, but said nothing.
Soon everybody was on cellular phones. Burns went over to Franklin.
"Steven Daniels. Raymond Jenkins. Blake Leonard." Burns said.
Franklin looked at Burns, puzzled.
"Just a couple of the buddies I've lost over the years on the job. I've watched them die. Survivor's guilt. Trust me, I know what it feels like. Blaming yourself for even being alive. Then, you start having nightmares, you see the faces of lost loved ones along with those dead buddies. Next thing you know, you're Jesus Christ, carrying the sins of the entire fucking world. Drive yourself wacko. Trust me. I've been in Waco type situations…It gets to ya. You saw something horrible at One Police Plaza. Mourn those people. Remember those people. Feel bad. Cry. Puke. Get drunk. Take a year off. Go on psych leave. But you can't let it mess with your head. Recognize your limitations. Try your best to see that justice is done. In the end, there isn't much more you can do."
Franklin nodded silently. Burns went on:
"I also know that saying the following is a waste of time: Go home, Marshal. You did more than enough, on your own. Rest. You had some good insight. We'll take over from here."
"I have to see this through, Burns." Franklin said. "If I don't finish this thing, all the shit I've been through will have been for nothing. I'll put Castle away. Then, I don't know…I need to rethink things…But one way or another, this has to end."
Burns nodded and then said.: "All right, then. Let's get to work."