The winter of Frankie Machine

46

Dave Hansen walks into the room at the EZ Rest Motel.

The local cops are all over the place, going nuts, because this is athrill. The run-of-the-mill shootings in this part of the country usually involve drunkmojados on a Saturday night or white-trash tweekers any old time of the week, so a shoot-out in a motel is a big deal.

Dave examines the bullet mark on the door frame.

Unlike Frank to miss a shot.

He turns around and looks at the Agricorp sign. That’s pure Frank. Good shooting angle down, no shooting angle back up. Dave walks into the bathroom and sees the “Did you think you were playing with children?” note.

No, Frank, I didn’t. I should have known you’d suss out the GPS. I should have known you were smarter than that. Tired, worn down, on the run, you’d still keep your head.

Young Troy asks, “What happened?”

“What happened,” Dave says irritably, “is that he’s Frankie Machine.”

But, to be honest, it’s a good goddamn question.

What the hell did happen here?

Who came to hit Frank before we got here?

And how did they know where he was?