<div class="floatleft">(https://external-preview.redd.it/g1EgKT8nI0V8TfaOP_wca2Z9TvJBAnb5HTzcNciXxxs.jpg?auto=webp&amp;s=cba7b509b693df32faba6c20163acd64a630781e)</div>Frank arrived at Blaine's in an old, beat-up pick-up truck. It wasn't much, but it was cheap and someone with less mechanical knowledge than Frank wouldn't have been able to keep it running. Still, every time he drove the thing, he longed for his old chopper, to feel the wind rushing against his skin, to hear the roar of its engine. But if he was going to stay retired from the life, it was best to look the part.<br/><br/>Frank had finished his shift at the shop before he had the chance to drive over. He had traded in his dirty mechanics overalls for a clean black tee, and simple navy blue jeans. Even then, his jeans were washed out and fraying at the knees. They didn't sport the kind of rips that he saw in various pants hanging up in stores nowadays, they had the kind of rips that came only after months or years of hard wear.<br/><br/>He had promised his callers earlier in the day that he was still out of the game, and that they would need to handle this business on their own. But as he strode up the driveway, he couldn't help but wonder how long that lie might remain true.