Domino Effect (2019 Edition)

Frank, breaking and entering?”
“FBI!” Skull released his grip, his arms flying over his head. “Shit, holy shit, I don’t need any trouble with the feds.”
“Relax, Skull,” she smirked. “You did what any good, tax-paying citizen should have done. Trust me, the feds won’t cause you any trouble. Isn’t that right, Frank?”
Frank nodded. “If this other bastard will let go of me.”
“Bastad?” Shea said in a heavy Boston accent. “Who you callin’ a bastad, douchebag?”
Sin carefully folded the paper and turned toward the men. “Good question. Who are you calling a bastad, Frank?”
“Goddamn it, Sin, enough fun and games. You think I would have come all the way up here if this wasn’t an emergency?”
“Let him go, Shea. I’ll take it from here.”
Shea pushed Frank up against the bar and began untying his hands that had been wrenched behind his back. She eyed the muscles in Shea’s forearm dance and contract as he worked the knots in the rope. While doing so, she admired the red and black ink on his skin. Brotherhood is Blood. Every full-fledged member of the club had the same tattoo inked somewhere on his or her body. “Christ,” Shea eyed Skull, “how tight did ya tie this rope?”
“That’s why I like working with twine. It stays tied. Here, use this.” Skull slapped a switchblade in to Shea’s palm and kept talking. “Most people don’t know that if you wet it, I mean soak it, you can actually stretch it some, but dry, that shit is like steel. It’ll rub your wrists raw if you try to break free.”
“No one wants to hear your twine theories, Skull,” Shea said, eyeing the knife. With the touch of a button, a six-inch, double-sided blade snapped open, and he made quick work of the twine.
Frank rubbed his wrists, jerked his head to the side cracking his neck and sat on the stool next to Sin.
She eyed Frank and reached over the bar to grab a mug. Her position accentuated her ample curves. She nodded in the direction of the bartender. “Suzy, my friend here looks like he could use a cup of coffee.”
A buxom blonde, wearing a leather vest and painted on jeans, with more holes than fabric, winked in their direction. “Sure, besides, he’s kinda cute.”
“She’s a little under dressed for March,” Frank mumbled as Suzy went to fill a mug.
“You shittin’ me,” Shea said, sitting on the next stool. “It’s fouty-five degrees in the middle of Mach. Fuckin’ spring has sprung.”
Frank nodded a thank you towards Suzy and wrapped his hands around the mug. “This is a private conversation, Shea.”
“Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of him,” Sin said.
“This is Bureau business, Sin. Confidential.”
“Then you better take it elsewhere, Director. I turned in my creds and resignation.”
“These?” Frank said, pulling an envelope and a badge out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and sliding them in front of her. “I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to file the paperwork.” Sin watched him eye the photo on her creds as he stared at her. “But to be honest,” he continued, “I don’t know if I would have recognized you.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
Frank closed the cred wallet, slid it in front of her, and leaned on one elbow. Sin could tell he was looking at her physique. Like Suzy, she wasn’t particularly dressed for March in New Hampshire. She wore a body-hugging white tee shirt with cropped sleeves which wrapped her delts, leaving her defined arms visible. Her bottom half was more her norm, low-cut black jeans and black riding boots adorned with a three-inch heel.
Answering her inquiry, Frank said, “Let’s see. You’re leaner than the last time I saw you. You’ve put on a bit of muscle. Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you.” She nodded. “Then there’s the bright red hair. What’s up with that?”
“She looks like Jessica Rabbit, don’t ya think,” Skull laughed.
“One more rabbit joke and I’ll drop you where you stand,” Sin retorted.
“And she can do it,” Shea replied.
She ignored Shea’s remarks and addressed Frank. “You can thank Shea for the added muscle. He’s been training me in the martial art of Fu Que.”
Shea slid a business card in front of Frank and winked. “You eva want me to help train the Bureau, give me a ring.”
Frank studied the card. “Fu Que.” He looked at the black card with silver, oriental script, repeating the words numerous times, using a variety of pronunciations. Sin glanced at Shea, conspiratorially shaking her head. Frank’s brows rose, and his eyes opened wide as if a light bulb went on in his brain; putting the card down, he looked at Shea, then her. “Fuck You?” he said, pausing between the fu and ck. “The martial art you’ve been studying,” he threw up air quotes, “is called Fuck You?”
Shea busted out in a raspy laugh. “The douchebag is smata than he looks.”
Sin just smirked. “It’s all a matter of semantics. All I know is I’m quicker, better in a fight, and you wouldn’t want to face me in a duel.”
“That’s for damn sua,” Shea said. “I swea, Sin could shoot the balls off a field mouse at fifty yads.”
Frank just shook his head, ignoring the comments. “And the hair?”
“A woman’s prerogative. Isn’t that right, Suzy?”
The bartender high-fived her. “Amen, sister.”
Frank slid his mug forward on the bar, asking for a refill.
Suzy sashayed over and slowly filled his mug while twirling her hair. “Anything for our government,” she winked.
Sin watched the interchange and burst out laughing. “Don’t get all sweaty, Frank. Suze is happily married—to Shea.”
Frank slammed his mug down, coffee spilling over the top. “This has all been a hoot, and I’m sure one day you’ll remind me of every detail, but I didn’t come up from D.C. to be the brunt of your jokes. We need to talk in private.”
“Cut the bullshit, Frank. You know I’m not coming back, so say what you came to say. Then you can go back to Washington,