r18novel Chapter 46 The Punisher Frank
Chapter 46 The Punisher Frank
Frank parked the car on the street corner across from Hudson Yards and turned off the engine.
The neon sign of the Kina Bar blinked in the night, blue and green lights alternately shining on the wet asphalt.
You could hear the low-pitched drumbeats coming from the bar even across the street.
Two burly men in suits stood at the entrance, their hands clasped in front of their crotches, their eyes scanning the street.
This bar is the Irish gang's most important stronghold in Manhattan, and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of goods flow out of this door every night.
Even a dog that goes in for a stroll will come out completely dizzy from the inhalation.
Frank looked down at the black beanie balaclava on the passenger seat.
Three crooked holes, two eyes, a mouth, and the loose threads at the edges haven't been trimmed clean.
He reached out, grasped the hood, then released it, pulled it back, and reached out again, repeating this several times.
That bandit headgear is so tasteless.
Putting aside the slight smell of sweat, the three holes that were cut open carelessly were bad enough.
It's asymmetrical, with the mouth opening crooked to one side, and only half of the nostrils are visible when worn.
He served in the Marine Corps for over a decade, and even his face mask was made of standard Kevlar fiber.
Now he's being asked to wear this thing on nighttime missions.
He crumpled the hood into a ball, stuffed it into his pocket, and pushed open the car door.
He had a KSG shotgun strapped to his back and an ammunition pouch hanging from his waistband. The 12-gauge shotgun shells clinked gently in the nylon pouch, making a soft metallic scraping sound with each step he took.
He crossed the street.
Both security guards noticed him at the same time.
The one on the left punched his companion on the shoulder, tilted his chin toward Frank, and moved his lips.
The two stared at the white skull on Frank's chest for a few seconds.
Under the flashing blue-green light of the neon lights, the pattern flickered between light and shadow.
"What gang's mark is this?" the security guard on the left asked in a low voice.
"I've never seen it before; Hell's Kitchen shouldn't have this kind of marking."
The security guard on the right shifted his gaze from the skull to Frank's face, and then back to the skull.
Both of them placed their hands on their waists at the same time.
They've been hanging around outside bars long enough that they can tell whether a man is there to cause trouble just by the way he walks.
The way this man crossed the street—broad shoulders, heavy body, and a low center of gravity—suggested he wasn't there to drink.
When Frank was about three meters away from them, the security guard on the left drew his gun and pointed it at Frank's chest.
"Hey, we're fully booked for today."
Frank raised his hands halfway, fingers spread, palms facing forward.
He didn't stop, but continued walking forward at a slow pace, each step placed just outside the other person's safe distance.
Do you have children?
The two security guards exchanged a glance.
"That's how it is."
Frank walked up to them, less than an arm's length away.
His hand was still raised, his face had a very faint expression, the corners of his mouth were downturned, and there were several deep wrinkles on his brow bone.
"I discovered my child is missing; he probably sneaked over to play."
"Can I go in and take a look? I'll leave as soon as I find the person, and I won't cause any trouble."
The security guard on the left lowered the muzzle of his gun a few degrees.
He had seen the man who came looking for his son in the middle of the night outside the bar.
When those fathers found their way here, they all had the same expression on their faces.
He lowered the muzzle of his gun a little further.
"Go back, you can't go in."
"I really won't cause any trouble, just let me in to take my son away."
Frank took another half step forward as he spoke.
He was now less than an arm's length away from the two security guards.
The security guard on the left reached out, palm open, intending to push Frank aside.
At that very moment, while his hand was still in mid-air, his weight had already shifted to his right shoulder.
Frank lowered his half-raised right hand, his five fingers gripping the wrist holding the gun, his thumb pressing on the radial styloid process, and twisting it inward.
The pistol fell from Frank's loosened fingers, and he caught it in mid-air with his left hand.
He turned sideways, his right shoulder ramming into the chest of the security guard on the left, pinning him against the wall. At the same time, he took the gun handed to him by his left hand with his right hand, pointing the muzzle at the security guard on the right.
boom.
Before the security guard on the right could even draw his gun from his waist, a bullet hole appeared in his forehead.
His body fell backward and landed on the sidewalk.
Frank turned the gun back and pressed it against the chin of the security guard on his left.
The gun barrel pressed down above the Adam's apple, creating a dent in the skin.
"So, is my son Nesbitt inside?"
The security guard's eyes widened.
Nesbitt is the boss's name!
Frank looked into his eyes, his lips parted to reveal his teeth, and his finger pulled the trigger.
boom.
Blood splattered on his face, warm.
He blinked.
In that instant, a picture flashed through my mind.
Lisa lay down next to the carousel, a small piece of wood still stuck to the spot on the back of her head where she had been hit by a shrapnel.
Mary ran out, her lips parted, about to call his name.
He wiped the blood from his face and pulled the woolen hat from his pocket.
He aligned the three crooked holes with the eyes and mouth, pulled them down, pressed the edge of the hood against the brow bone and chin, and then squatted down to search the two corpses.
Two pistols, two spare magazines, and a key to an iron gate.
He inserted the key to the iron gate into the lock and turned it open.
Deafening electronic music blasted from the end of the corridor.
The frequency of the bass drumbeats overlapped with the rhythm of his heartbeat, each beat sounding like someone was pounding his spine with drumsticks.
He held two pistols in his hands, muzzles pointing downwards, and walked into the corridor.
At the end of the corridor was a dance floor, where dazzling colored lights spun, cutting people's faces into fragments of red, blue, green, and purple.
The central dance floor was packed with about a hundred people, their bodies rubbing against each other, the smells of sweat, perfume, alcohol and some other pungent chemical mixed together.
In a confined space, these odors evaporate into a thick mist due to body heat.
There are sofa booths around, and the second floor has VIP rooms. Two armed security guards stand at the door of the VIP rooms.
At the entrance to the staircase leading to the second floor, two security personnel stood guard with guns.
Frank pushed his way through the crowd.
The person blocking his way was pushed aside by his hand, pressing their shoulder down, and bumped into someone else.
The person he pushed was still twisting on the ground, his waist and hips rubbing against the floor in rhythm with the music.
Someone stepped on him, but he didn't react; even the pain was diluted by the medication into a vague sensation.
Frank rampaged through the crowd.
He pushed harder and harder, and whoever's shoulder his palm pressed down on would sway to the side.
A gap appeared in the center of the dance floor, stretching forward. People on both sides of the gap were still twisting and turning, while several guys who had been pushed down simply refused to get up again.
The two security guards saw it.
They stood at the top of the stairs on the second floor, pulled out their guns, pointed them diagonally at the ground, and stared at the group of people who were constantly approaching.
The lighting on the first floor was too chaotic, and they couldn't see the faces of the people coming. They could only tell that there was a force pushing towards them from within the crowd.
A white skull emerged from the darkness.
bang bang.
The two felt a sharp pain on their foreheads and instantly lost consciousness, collapsing to the ground.
Frank glanced at the spiral staircase. The positions of the two security guards were hidden by the iron frame on the second floor, so the people upstairs couldn't see them.
However, the two gunshots just now seemed very abrupt, even in the noisy dance floor.
A sharp scream drowned out the music.
One scream after another echoed across the dance floor, and everyone stopped.
"ah!!"
The woman who saw the body screamed and ran towards the door.
Seeing this, the people in the dance floor also ran outside.
But the exit was small, and they were quickly squeezed into the passage, with many being trampled.
The DJ stopped playing music, pulled out a pistol, and scanned the area.
Just as his eyes fell upon the skeleton in the dimly lit ballroom, another sharp gunshot rang out.
boom!
The DJ had a wild idea and fell backward.
"Ah!" This time the gunshot was very loud.
No one living in New York is unaware of the sound of gunfire.
They ran outside even more frantically.
Fortunately, Frank didn't close the door when he came in, and the crowd finally managed to squeeze out.
Frank retreated to the bottom of the stairs, preparing to go upstairs.
The gangsters on the second floor had already heard the gunshots.
They rushed out of the private room with automatic rifles in hand and unleashed a barrage of fire towards the stairwell.
Da da da.
The muzzle flashes echoed continuously alongside the gunshots.
They didn't care if there was anyone at the stairwell; they just wanted to suppress the fire first.
Frank stood at the bottom of the stairs, his back against the wall, counting the gunshots.
Three men suppressed the stairwell on the first floor with firepower, while the others advanced into the stairwell, and the rest guarded the doors to the rooms on the second floor.
The four people who reached the top of the stairs on the second floor looked at each other.
The largest gangster gestured to the thinnest one, indicating that he should be the vanguard.
Although the skinny guy didn't want to clear the way either, he had no choice but to do so because he was the lowest in rank among them.
He suppressed his fear and stepped onto the stairs.
Click.
The sound of a bullet being chambered.
Suddenly, a pitch-black gun barrel appeared.
The skinny man instinctively wanted to pull the trigger and fire, but it was too late.
boom!
The close-range shotgun blast sent him flying backward, crashing into the three people behind him.
The bullet pierced his chest, passed through the shoulder of another man behind him, and embedded itself in the neck of a third man.
The four people huddled together on the stairs.
A hand emerged from behind the smoke.
Bang bang bang.
A hand reached out from the stairwell and shot at the heads of the three people.
All three fell down at the same time.
In that instant, the white skeleton rushed up to the second floor.
Rat-a-tat-tat, the gangsters at the other end of the corridor opened fire in this direction.
Frank lifted the skinny man up with his left hand and held him in front of him as a shield.
Finding that the guy's body was almost smashed to pieces, he squatted down and used his right hand to lift the big guy up.
He used his large body as cover and waited quietly.
The gangsters had heavy firepower; they all used automatic rifles.
But they didn't cooperate at all; they just kept firing bullets indiscriminately.
The bullets hit the meat shield with muffled thuds.
They emptied their magazines and frantically reloaded.
Some people simply threw their empty magazines on the ground and drew their pistols from their waistbands.
The corridor was quiet for a moment.
A white skull peeked out from behind the meat shield.
Bang bang bang.
Every shot hit a person between the eyebrows.
Frank stood up straight and threw the meat shield he was holding aside.
Seven or eight people lay dead in the corridor, all of them with bullet wounds to the forehead.
He threw his empty pistol on the ground, squatted down, picked up an automatic rifle from beside the body, checked the magazine, cocked the bolt, and continued walking.
Frank walked to the last closed door and heard the breathing of three people inside.
"Who the hell is that guy?!"
Nesbitt opened his desk drawer and took out a Desert Eagle.
His fingers were trembling, and the muzzle of the gun was swaying from side to side in the air.
The remaining two gang leaders squatted behind the door, their backs pressed against the cold metal sheet, beads of cold sweat dripping from their foreheads onto the floor.
More than twenty of his men, fully armed, were all killed within minutes.
"Get the hell out of here and call more people!"
As Nesbitt shouted, he pushed the safety lever on the Desert Eagle.
One of the managers quickly pulled out a satellite phone, as regular cell phones had no signal in the bar, only satellite phones could make calls.
He had just put the phone to his ear and opened his mouth.
A bullet entered from the outside of the door, passed through the metal sheet, went through the back of his neck, and exited in front of his mouth.
His eyes widened, and the satellite phone slipped from his fingers, bouncing once on the floor.
The line was connected, and a groggy voice came from the other end of the phone:
"Feed? Feed? Big brother?"
"Ah!!" Another manager frantically pulled the trigger towards the door.
An entire magazine was emptied within seconds, with all the bullets hitting the wall across the corridor.
boom.
A bullet pierced through the tin roof and struck him directly in the head.
"Die!" Nesbitt gripped the Desert Eagle tightly with both hands and fired wildly at the ceiling.
After five shots, the lights in the room were extinguished by the bullets, leaving only the dim light of the emergency lights.
He retreated to a corner, crouched behind a metal filing cabinet, his eyes constantly searching in the darkness, and his heart praying that reinforcements would arrive soon.
The Irish gang has several outposts nearby. If they can hold out until reinforcements arrive, they can corner this guy in the corridor.
Suddenly the door was pushed open.
Nesbitt aimed at the door and pulled the trigger.
Click click.
The magazine is empty.
He turned and lunged at the safe, unlocked it, and inside was a row of neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills and a spare Beretta.
As he reached out to grip the gun handle, he felt a cold, hard object press against the back of his head.
"There's a million in the safe. You can take it all."
Nesbitt's hand froze in mid-air, then slowly released the gun handle, spreading his fingers and raising it above his head.
He remained kneeling, his knees trembling on the metal floor.
"If that's not enough, there are two more boxes of white goods under the stage, worth three million."
"You can take it all, take it all."
He felt the gun barrel behind his head not pushing forward.
The person behind him remained silent.
The air was quiet, except for the fluorescent light tube above his head, which had been broken by a bullet, still crackling.
"Okay, I'll take all of these."
A deep, hoarse voice came from above.
Nesbitt breathed a sigh of relief.
survived.
He had seen this kind of person before.
Mercenaries, outlaws, who single-handedly intrude into someone else's territory for money.
Such people can be bribed with money.
He opened his mouth, the corners of his lips already turning up, ready to say the next sentence.
"you……"
boom.
As he fell, his lips were still in the shape of saying "yes," but that shape would never close again.
Frank crouched down, picked up the Desert Eagle from the ground, pulled out its holster, and hung it on his waist.
He swept the cash from the safe into a black cloth bag, tied the bag tightly, and pulled a lighter from a drawer.
When he reached the first floor, he stopped and used his thumb to pry open the metal cap of the lighter.
Ding.
It ignited by friction.
Throw the flame toward the stage.
The stage curtain ignited the moment it came into contact with the flames, and the flames climbed up the curtain and spread to the soundproofing foam on the ceiling within seconds.
Frank pushed open the bar door and walked into the street.
Behind me came the sound of flames licking the stage curtain, and smoke billowed out from above the door frame, turning into a column of orange-red smoke in the neon lights.
He slung the black cloth bag over his shoulder and walked toward the parking space.
He opened the car door, threw the bag into the back seat, got into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
……