A harsh knock at the door draws Frank Burns from his restless slumber. Opening up his dry eyes, he lets out a sigh and checks his pocket watch. 2am. Standing up he walks through his dilapidated apartment, the fog of recent sleep making his eyelids heavy. Opening the mouldy wooden door to the third story landing he gazes into the hallway. Flickering lights and a familiar musty odour greet him. A flash of white paper near his feet draws attention downwards. Picking up the odd note he opens it and reads, Frank, meet me down the south alley behind The Last Round, there has been another, Arthur. Bemused, Frank reaches for his long leather coat and heads out into the dank, poorly lit hallway.

 

Following the hallway to the dark stair well, Frank descends towards the lobby, the echo of his footfalls on the stone stairs and the faint luminescent buzz of the ceiling lights his only company at this early hour. Reaching the lobby, he opens the front door to a cold gust of autumn wind from the faintly lit streets outside. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a cigarette tin and flint lighter. Opening it he retrieves what he seeks and a few tries later, it sparks to life. Turning westward he walks down the cobblestone streets, contemplating the strange note. It was not unusual for Arthur to contact him in this way, just something about the whole thing seemed off. Taking a lungful of smoke, he shivers, drawing his coat tighter around him in a vain attempt to keep out the wind.

 

A short while later, Frank sees the faint glow of the street lamp flickering at the corner of the alley leading behind The Last Round. Another thing hit him as he approached. Where were the constables? The flashing lights? Something was not adding up. Frank cautiously eased his way down the dark alley, intermittent light from the street lamp doing little to pierce the gloom. The air grew colder the further he ventured, as did his sense that something wasn’t quiet right. Where was Arthur? An ajar doorway of rusted steel resolved itself in the gloom as his eyes adjusted to the twilight. Taking a deep breath, his hand reached for his pistol and a sudden realisation hit him. He had left it back home. Cursing his stupidity, he took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness.

 

His eyes scanned the area, illuminated by a single lamp sitting in the corner of what appeared to be a storeroom. Moving closer to the lamp light Frank looked down his blood turning to ice. Lying on the floor, in a pool of blood and broken bones was a mangled but familiar body. Arthur. Throwing caution to the wind Frank ran to the side of his partner, holding back bile, he knelt down to examine the gruesome scene. His once partner had been stabbed multiple times, his arms covered in defensive wounds, his head caved in at the temple. Turning his partner fully over, Frank reveals a note covered in still warm blood. With shaky hands he opens the note and reads.

 

I warned you what would happen if you continued chasing me, Frank. Let it go, or she will be next.