Frank Castle

Frank Castle

Amid the cheerful atmosphere, a down-and-out middle-aged man seemed completely out of place with the entire restaurant.

While Alvin held Ginny and played with her to make her laugh, the middle-aged man approached. He leaned an elbow against the bar, standing sideways to Alvin as he watched the lively crowd with a lonely look.

"Whiskey."

Alvin recognized the look in the man's eyes. JJ had worn the same expression when he first arrived. It was not quite murderous intent—just numbness. He looked at everyone as if they were corpses, more like a machine than a living person. And he was injured; the strong scents of disinfectant and blood clung to him.

Alvin looked at him. Not wanting to spoil the cheerful mood, he did not mention that only beer was free today. He took out a glass, poured him a whiskey, and slid it over with a smile. "Hope you have a pleasant evening."

The man gave a bitter smile and shook his head. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" Alvin asked curiously.

The man sighed. After hesitating for a moment, he said, "About that child." His gaze shifted upward, indicating the ceiling.

Alvin was a little confused. Guarded, he said coldly, "Who? Nick? Who are you?"

The man downed the whiskey in one gulp, covered his face in pain, and said, "Who am I? I'm a terrible husband, an irresponsible father, a fool who never knew what mattered most in life."

Alvin studied the man thoughtfully, then called Jessica over to look after Ginny. "Ginny, go play with Sister Jessica for a while, okay? Daddy has something to take care of."

Jessica ran over, excitement flushing her cheeks. But she soon noticed that something seemed off. Seeing the disheveled man, she said, "It's you. You came again."

Then Jessica turned to Alvin. "He's been coming here for several days. I wanted to tell you this afternoon. It seemed like he had something on his mind."

Alvin nodded to show he understood and handed Ginny to Jessica. "Jessica, take my princess upstairs and play with her for a while. I have something to handle here."

He kissed Ginny's little cheek and watched Jessica take her upstairs.

"Let me guess. You're Nick's father, the one who only ever existed on the phone?" Alvin asked sharply, ignoring the man's pain.

The man did not mind Alvin's tone. In a low voice, he said, "Yes. I'm that irresponsible father."

He pushed his glass toward Alvin. "Please give me another."

Alvin filled the glass with whiskey again. He watched the man drain it in one gulp without saying anything. Alvin knew the man had a great deal to say, and all he needed to do was be a good listener.

"I used to be the commander of the finest special forces unit in this country! I risked my life for this country! I even gave up my family life for it!

"I didn't even go see Nick with my own eyes when he was born!" The man pushed the glass toward Alvin again.

Alvin could hear the anger in the man's voice—anger at himself, and anger at this country. He needed some alcohol and someone who could listen. Alvin slid an entire bottle of whiskey toward him, signaling that he was listening.

The man picked up the bottle and took a savage swig. "While I was risking my life for this country, my wife and son were caught in a bombing. My wife died, and my son lost his left leg.

"Those damned politicians hid the bad news from me and sent me on a year-long mission. Those sons of bitches treated me like a machine. They thought our lives and our family were beneath notice!

"Those murderers, those sons of bitches from the Italian mafia, were still running free until I found them and fed them into a meat grinder."

Alvin swallowed. He knew about that incident. The Italian mafia's Cesare family in the harbor district—more than forty members, young and old—had all been killed, stuffed into a meat grinder, and minced into paste. In the end, the entire family had been hastily buried in two coffins.

And now this guy was telling him, I did it! That was a little too intense.

Everyone agreed that no one in the Cesare family was a good person. But damn it, he had even slaughtered every last cat and dog. This was a living King Yama!

The man ignored the slight change in Alvin's expression and took another vicious swig. "What hurt me most was that my former best comrade-in-arms also tried to hide the truth from me and stop me from taking revenge. He only told me Nick was alive and gave me the address here."

Alvin grumbled inwardly, With your King Yama temperament, I wouldn't have dared tell you either! Forty-six direct members of the Cesare family, their bodyguards, subordinates, and even sixteen damned guests who had come to visit—all killed. A small-scale war would not have claimed that many lives!

"I've been here for several days. Thank you! Thank you! Not just because you saved Nick's life, but because Nick is doing so well now. I never imagined Nick could be like this." Light shone in the man's eyes.

"Even with one leg missing, he's cheerful and sunny, without the slightest hint of inferiority. I don't know how you did it, but thank you, buddy!"

Alvin waved a hand, poured himself a whiskey, took a sip, and said, "Have you dealt with your troubles? I mean, troubles beyond the Cesare family.

"You know I consider Nick family, while you were only ever his father on the phone. You existed only in Nick's imagination.

"If you still have trouble hanging over you, I think I'll stop you from getting close to Nick. You must have looked into me. You should know I have that ability."

The man looked at Alvin. Rather than getting angry at the threatening tone, he gave him a solemn military salute. "I won't thank you on Nick's behalf. I can tell you live like a family. I thank you for myself. You spared me the pain of sinking into hell. You allowed the last trace of light to remain in my life."

With that, he raised the bottle and clinked it against Alvin's, then took another huge swallow. "There's no more trouble. Remember that former comrade I mentioned? I made a deal with him. I won't go after those politician sons of bitches anymore, and he'll resolve all my current troubles for me."

Alvin let out a sigh of relief. He was conflicted about this, too. Even if this man were nothing but trouble, could Alvin really stop him if he wanted to see Nick?

He knew how desperately Nick longed for his father to appear. In Nick's heart, his father was a heroic figure.

Alvin had largely taken on the role of a father, but he was not Nick's real father.

If this man had never appeared, perhaps Nick would gradually have forgotten over time. But only a year had passed.

Though Alvin did not want to admit it, this man really was remarkable.

If this were China, he would be the model soldier, the kind of man named one of the Ten Model Workers. Though Alvin could not entirely agree with sacrificing one's family to serve the country, when someone like that stood before you, you had to give him a thumbs-up and say, "You've worked hard!"

Alvin raised his glass. "May I boldly ask who your comrade is? He must have enormous influence. So many people died—this is a serious matter."

The man picked up the bottle and clinked it against Alvin's. "Nick Fury, the current director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

An image of an ugly, ugly one-eyed Black man instantly appeared in Alvin's mind. Alvin took a drink and asked, "Then your name is...?"

The man looked at Alvin. "Frank." He reached out and shook Alvin's hand, formally introducing himself. "I am Frank Castle."