Sabotka

"It's a life for a life," was what The Greek said with malicious glee in his voice before hanging up the phone on Frank Sabotka.

    This left Frank with two choices; he could get the police involved, but he would risk having to fish the body of his precious nine-year-old daughter out of the river. His second option was to go and meet The Greek, but the encounter would undoubtedly lead to his end. He would die, unable to see his little girl grow up, but she would at least still be able to live. He gulps down his bottle of Jack Daniels and then grabs the keys to his Chevy pick-up truck.

    Frank sits there staring at the steering wheel, cursing The Greek, cursing himself for having brought this mess upon himself. Twenty years he worked the shipping docks and in those twenty years he was crooked, helping drug dealers who in returned paid him three times his salary and he used all that money to keep all the men he worked with. Their jobs and The Union matter to him more than himself. In a world where machines were taking the jobs of honest descent working men, Frank swore that as long as his lungs drew breath he wouldn't let a single man fall to that kind of catastrophe.

    He was a man with honorable ideals, but because of his situation and the ways of the world, he couldn't make them reality through honorable methods. He had always done what he had to do to achieve his goals, not forgetting the fine line between right and wrong, but also not adhering to it closely. Now faced with his life of lies, the deceit and money laundering had finally caught up with him. It was either die or see his daughter dead and then go to prison. The alcohol helped in easing what rage consumed him.      

    "Fuck it," he swore as he started the engine.

    The radio turned on and "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash was playing. Frank sang to the song making his way to the port bridge. As the lyrics ran through his head, he knew he would soon be burning in a ring of fire in the pits of hell soon as The Greek was done with him, but that was the least of his worries.

    He arrived and killed the engine immediately. Looking outside the front window, Frank saw his little daughter, her mouth duck tapped and with blindfold covering her eyes. She stood beside three burly and ominous looking men. Two were goons and the man in the middle was The Greek. Ironically, he isn't even Greek, he was actually born in Bobrov, Russia. Though no one know his real name, he preferred to use the alias 'The Greek' because he loves the culture, food and music of the Greeks.

            Frank could feel his heart begin to beat quickly as he stepped out of the truck. There was huge difference when you know when you're going to die and not knowing when you're going to die. When you know you're experiencing your last moments, you take in everything around you, you appreciate what your last smell will be, what you hear, what your last thoughts are or what you're looking at. It was hard to comprehend just how ephemeral life could be; part of him still couldn't believe that his life was going to be over very shortly.

    For Frank, all he could smell was whisky and gas exhaust from his truck. All he could see was starry night sky and moon full and beautiful tonight. He could hear traffic in the distance and the cries of sea gulls flying around scavenging for a late night meal. His thoughts were the current images of his little girl's mouth duck taped and blindfolded. The terrible images were engraved in his memory, too deeply to ever be washed away. They would transcend death. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then turned to walk to his executioner.

            "You came alone?" asked The Greek.

    "Yeah," yelled Frank in response.

    The Greek had his men search Frank for any wires in case of any chance that this was a sting.

    "I have to admit, my Polack friend, I didn't expect you to show up. In fact, I am so honored that I'm going to give return your daughter to you in exchange for a wound," said The Greek.

    One of goons pulled off the blind fold from Frank's daughter and peeled of the duck tape. As soon as Susie Sabotka saw her father she screamed for him and started running as if her life depended on it. Frank kneeled down and clung to her, the feel of her small arms around his neck, the smell of her and the sound of her tiny sobs made him feel the utmost satisfaction for making the choice of coming here himself.

    "You okay, sweetie?" he asked gently and she nodded.

    "It was dark, daddy," replied Susie with a distraught voice.

    Frank cupped her face in his hand wiping what tears came streaming down with his thumbs. He checked her for any bruises or cuts but she appeared to be unharmed physically.

    "Everything's gonna be okay, I promise. Honey, daddy wants you to be his big brave girl right now…can you do that?" asked Frank.

    Susie nodded, though the tears kept overflowing.

    "I need you to hold those tears right now and go in the truck and lay down. Then covers your ears. Daddy's gonna be with you in few minutes, he just needs to talk to these men, okay?" Frank explained reassuringly.

    "Don't leave daddy, please!" yelled Susie as she hung on to him tightly.

    "I won't be long sweetheart, I promise," he said smothering her in kisses.

    Susie did as her father said and waited for him in the truck, the terror that had consumed her when she was long starting to return.

    "So, what's this wound?" asked Frank coldly.

    The smirk on The Greek's face enraged Frank so greatly, he wanted to place shove the evil man's face into the ground and kick the back of his head. But such notions were fantasies he couldn't turn into reality. The Greek gestured to his goons and in the next minute, Frank was subdued and shoved on his knees. The Greek removed a blade form his back pocket and plunged it into Frank's side; Frank flinched as his expression contorted into one of agony and he collapsed upon the ground. The agony was more than just physical; there was something more to the wound that made it far more painful.

          "I would suggest getting that wound get checked, the blade I just used was laced with poison," said The Greek.

    They had left him there dazed and light headed. Frank forced himself up; the pain to his side was almost unbearable since the wound was still fresh. He dragged himself back to the truck, placing on hand to his side to try to lessen the bleeding. The blood was making his garments damp and now he wondered if he would die from the poison first, or if blood loss would lead to his end. His daughter has thankfully fallen asleep, and that would spare him from explaining the bleeding and panicking her further.

    Frank drove as quickly as he could to the hospital. Fortunately for him, there were no police to catch his speeding frenzy. He tried to be as carefully as he could while driving but it was impossible, from the pain to his side and his vision going blurry. He knew it was only matter of time before he would die, and the nearest hospital was more then twenty minuets away. Time was running out, and listening to Susie's gentle breathing made the decision of what he would do for him. Instead of going to the hospital, Frank took a different turn in the road. He took his daughter to his ex-wife's home which was much closer, and it was Susie's safety and well being that was of the utmost importance.

        As he pulled into the driveway, he killed the engine and reached to pick up his daughter. He could feel the dry blood making his fingers sticky but paid it no attention to it. Luckily, he was able to get his daughter out of his truck without waking her up. He cradled her in his arms as he tired to walk to the house. He could feel himself sweating and carrying his daughter felt like he was carrying a dozen bricks. He staggered as he walked but kept a focus on each step. When he reached the door step of the house everything went black for Frank.

    The darkness consumed all his senses and the poison won, but he succeeded in bringing his daughter to safety. Rigamortis had kicked in, stiffening every muscle in his body. Frank Sabotka, the former Port Union Supervisor and small-time Crock, had finally done the right thing and took a stand. Frank's life slipped away on the front of his ex-wife's doorstep. He died cradling his daughter in his arms, who would someday continue his lineage and right the wrongs he brought to the Sabotka name.