Frank snorts. "Don't generally cook for someone if I'm not expecting something in return, sweetheart." And that's what Red'll get. He's not an idiot. Those cops were in his goddamn backyard; he's got some sorting to do tomorrow. He doesn't want to relocate but the sunlit hours will tell.

For now he just wants to fucking sleep, hope his knee will stop giving him shit, and pray that he doesn't dream of Maria. "Now go the hell to sleep."