Gruff, old and sharp as a tack. Frank's a warhorse of the old guard. He walks into the room and he'll still garner attention though. He's just got that air of authority about him. He's defintely old school. His dress is an impecible suit, shined shoes and a trench coat. He's got the hard jawline and scars of a man that will not put up with any drek from the young ones that think they know it all.
Franks been on the other side of the blue line long enough that many of the old guard will still call him Detective. Being LoneStar for close to 30 years means the criminal element may remember him. He makes no effort to hide his past.
Short Vignettes
Frank sat at the bar, the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing all night still sat half-empty between his hands resting on the pinkslip he'd just gotten that afternoon. 29 years of service to LoneStar.
His old partner sat on the stool next to him. Old partner, yeah that was the joke. His partner of all of two years. The kid was just a damn rookie detective. And the boy still had his shield. Frank had to chuckle to himself at the irony. He'd trained his own damn replacement.
"You know kid, you may not realize it but this is the last lesson you're gonna get from me." Frank chuckled to himslef again, "Don't plan on the company taking care of you. Put aside a nest egg that isn't part of some damn pension they can keep when you haven't served your full time. And once you have the money, retire to someplace warm with plenty of pretty girls. Not some wet shithole like Seattle."
Frank then saluted the kid with his glass. Turned to the wall of photos that held two more partners he'd outlived, gave them a salute and finished the glass in their memory.
His young partner started to stand up when Frank did, but Frank just waved him back down as he walked out.
"What are you gonna to now Frank?" The kid asked.
Frank grunted as he headed out the door, "Fade away into the shadows I guess..."
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The spray pattern from the blood was what had caught Frank's eye at first. It didn't match with the witness accounts he had read in the police report he'd managed to get his hands on. He continued to look around the room. More and more descrepancies kept popping up the more time that Frank spent looking. Something wasn't setting right with him. This was suppose to have been a simple home invasion. The witnesses; a sister and her boyfriend that had been able to slip out the back door for help.
But the patterns in the blood and other key pieces of info left around suggested that this was more than just a simple home invasion gone wrong. There had been a gunfight in that room. And the invaders were not some group of street scum. They were real pros that were fast and efficient. And dad definitely knew what he was doing with the gun. He had managed to fire of 4 shots. 2 hit one of the assailants square on. The other two recovered from the wall. By the report, they had blood on them. For the assailants to walk away, they had to be wearing body armor.
Frank continued his way through the house reading the evidence as he went. He stopped when he entered the hallway. One picture in particular drawing his attention above the others. It was a unit picture. Memories came back to Frank when he saw the younger version of himself standing next to the father that had tried to protect his own family in this very house.
Frank's hand instinctively went to his back and began to trace the old scars that had been there for 20 years. 3 bullet holes lined up in an almost perfect triangle. If it hadn't been for his partner, Frank would never have made it to the ripe old age he was today. And now here he was staring at the picture of them together. That picture had been taken just a few days before Frank had been shot. Now it was a few days after his partner of 10 years had been killed.
