Frank Castle knelt in the crawlspace of an abandoned tenement on 43rd. His knees ached against the shattered concrete, but he didn’t move. Through a crack in the brickwork, he watched the back door of The Silver Rail —a dive bar that served as a unofficial clearinghouse for human filth.
"The police are three minutes out," he said, his voice softer than it had been all night. "When they get here, you tell them the truth. And you tell them you don't know who opened the door." o justiceiro serie
"You lied," Frank said quietly. "There's no ship. There's a container. Refrigerated. You were going to seal them inside." The intel from the previous week had told him that. He just needed confirmation. Frank Castle knelt in the crawlspace of an