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it, a red stream ran down a cement crack and underneath the dumpster. She was losing a lot of blood. Frankie pulled back the bags of trash and noticed a bullet wound in her shoulder and thigh. In addition, she had a bruise on her forehead. Her shirt and pants were soaked with blood around the wounds. She was too weak to stop him from touching her. Abigail knew she needed help and had to trust her instincts that this was her last chance to get it. She didn’t have one speck of energy to resist and she had no clue where she was or what was going on. 
    “Oh shit. You’ve been shot!” Frankie carried her inside and upstairs through a door where no one would see her. Above the bar was kind of an apartment consisting of an open space, two rooms and a bathroom with a toilet and shower. It was where Frankie stayed. Frankie carried Abigail to a small room with a twin sized bed and laid her down. He didn’t tell Roger or Larry what he was up to. He would tell them in the morning. He didn’t want to hear Roger’s jokes or Larry’s complaints.
    He asked, “Little girl, what are you into?”
    Abigail was too weak to respond. She tried to speak but her lips resorted to a rapid quiver. Everything she tried to say sounded muffled. Her heart was palpitating and her limbs were burning as the blood attempted to flow back into her extremities. Her arms and legs were completely cramped. Her feet were blistered and bruised. Frankie quickly stripped Abigail down to her underwear. He hadn’t seen a young woman’s body in a long time, but he was not thinking along those lines. Her skin was smooth and pale; her veins were visible under her skin. Frankie was nervous but he had to do something about the wounds. By this time, Abigail had passed out from exhaustion. 
    The wound in her shoulder wasn’t a big deal. The bullet had grazed her shoulder and was out of her body. Frankie cleaned the wound, took some floss and sewed it back together with a few stitches. He had some experience in dressing wounds from his participation in illegal activities in the past. Frankie had removed about 50 bullets from bodies in his lifetime, but it had been a while since he practiced his skill. The bullet in her thigh was a little deeper than he would have liked, but he removed it with ease. She had lost a lot of blood, but she was a good patient. She laid still and allowed Frankie to do what he needed to do without much movement or resistance. Frankie didn’t want to have a naked bloody girl anywhere near his establishment, but something made him feel like she would be ok. He had seen worse and felt bad about leaving her there.
    “I have to take the underwear off you, girly. I’m not a perv ok? But you need to get warm as fast as possible and all your clothes are soaked.” Abigail was out for the count. Her flesh was turning pink again, but not fast enough. Frankie covered her in a blanket before he pulled her underwear down. He reached behind her and unstrapped her bra. I can still do this without looking. He placed her underwear on rail of the bed. He ran into his room and grabbed a plaid comforter and a pair of clean socks. He placed the socks on her feet and covered Abigail and tucked her in for the night.
    Frankie was completely distraught. He was shaking and second guessed his decision to let this girl stay upstairs. This was sneaky and scary. He didn’t want any trouble and he felt like she would be just the reason to bring drama that he wanted to avoid. Frankie left her room and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He quickly downed it; then he took another. Anyone else would have called the police and reported the victim but the last thing Frankie needed was an investigation and cops snooping around his pub or the alleys that surrounded the place.
     
    The basement of Frankie’s pub was the site of an underground fight club. Frankie started the club as a means to settle occasional bar fights that would ensue after the guys had a few drinks too