AB Sea

"AB Frames? There's a half-dozen companies with that name," Sydney said, over voice chat.

"That's about what I got too," responded Joe. "We can start pressuring the six to narrow down how many have done business with Dollar Tree. Has Dollar Tree responded yet?"

"Yeah, but just with apologies. It seems the warehouses tend to franchise out local frameworks."

Joe sighed as he drove down the road. It had been two hours, and they usually worked at a quicker pace. "I'm outside an old outlet now," he said, pulling into the driveway of local woodworker Arnold Balthazar.

An old man opens the door, carrying a shotgun with his left hand, his right hand being severely disfigured. He pumps it expertly with one hand. "Can I help you?" he seethes under a right beard as Joe ducks back towards his car.

"I'm sorry! Just looking for information!" Balthazar's home was out near the desert, and Joe felt that he could be shot dead and have his body and hybrid buried in the dunes for no one to ever find again.

"You're not the first..." says Balthazar with a steely ton, as he inches towards the car door. Joe makes a frantic look for a quick exit, but lacked the faith in this rental car's capabilities. A gun barrel to his back stopped any possible recourse on his part.

"Who sent ya?" Balthazar asked, with the certainty that only one answer could be correct.

"T-t- " Joe stuttered to get out the only answered he was sure would get him killed. His life flashed before his eyes. His wife, imprisoned in a sex dungeon, his youngest daughter, constantly being molested by a certain three-hourer. And his eldest... she did not survive her only encounter with that type. Joe was certain to follow her to the Great Unknown. "Take-a-Bitch," he said, steeling himself for his last breath.

"Fuck," said Balthazar, lowering his weapon. "Holder sent you?"

Joe turned and nodded.

"I already told his goons two weeks ago... come inside."

Balthazar's home was turned upside down. Some cleanup had entailed, but not much, and it was apparent he was the only one living here, despite the immaculately framed portraits of his family all over the walls. He offered Joe a drink that was quickly turned down.

"It's like I told Holder's Goon. I make wood frames. I don't take the pictures. And I don't make fucking wood frames for a dollar store. I'm high quality," he attempted to drink from a cup with his right hand, but it slipped and he cursed himself. "Still getting used to the injury you guys gave me in that torture session. You take my wife and you take my livelihood."

Joe understood that old routine, and poured himself some coffee. "So you had nothing to do with this frame?" he showed the picture of the frame with the girl.

Balthazar didn't even look at it, just staying in eye contact with Joe. "My