From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Denial. Anger. Bargaining.

"You, how could you!"

"You said I could talk to him, you said so."

The anger didn't last long. Little Frank's eyes showed pleading, grabbing at a straw, trying again and again to get confirmation from Carl.

Carl took a deep breath and finally turned his head, looking into Little Frank's eyes, "He fell, broke his neck. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

After speaking, Carl returned to his aisle seat, silently turning his head, not daring to continue looking directly at Little Frank.

Little Frank looked at Carl in disbelief, as if his whole body had stopped functioning, staring at Carl for a long time, his eyes filled with despair.

He even forgot his sadness, only despair remained.

Suddenly.

He gasped for breath, as if lacking oxygen. Little Frank kept rubbing his chest, trying to feel the oxygen again, but it was too difficult.

"No."

"No… …"

Little Frank began to gag, grabbing his hair and banging it against the small table. The whole person convulsed uncontrollably, his whole body trembling.

"Carl, I want to throw up."

"Carl."

"I need to go to the bathroom, I'm going to throw up."

A living person had disappeared just like that.

It turned out that Little Frank had unscrewed the screws of the bathroom drain and climbed down along the plane's landing wheels. When the plane was still taxiing on landing, he had already jumped down one step ahead of time, escaping from the FBI again.

So, where did Little Frank go?

His mother's house.

Little Frank fled all the way to his mother's door. The Christmas tree was full of colorful lights. Looking inside through the window, he could see his mother sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine, peaceful, serene, and smiling at her husband, looking happy.

His mother didn't notice him.

However, a two- or three-year-old girl appeared at the window, playing a harmonica, obediently looking at him.

Little Frank, "What's your name?"

The little girl just smiled shyly.

Little Frank, "Where's your mother?"

The little girl turned her head and pointed, it was Paula.

Little Frank was stunned, staring blankly at the little girl in front of him, the panic, fear, and helplessness in his eyes gradually shattering the azure blue, and finally completely losing focus.

Behind him, alarms blared, police cars surged, surrounding him from all directions.

Little Frank looked back, looking at the chaos in front of him, his thoughts surging, and then looked back at the window again, looking at the little girl and then at his mother, a tear escaped the restraint of his eye socket and slid down.

One step, then another step.

Little Frank stepped back to create distance, and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, quietly looking at the little girl, tears streaming down his face.

Then, he turned around.

"Carl, take me away from here."

"I want to leave here, as soon as possible. Carl, take me away from here."

Caught off guard, Melvin felt a wetness on his cheeks, hurriedly raising his hand to wipe it clean, only then realizing that his face was full of tears.

Melvin was a little embarrassed, fearing that others would notice.

But the corner of his eye noticed that other people around him were also secretly wiping their tears and silently sniffing, and for a moment he couldn't tell whether it was sadness or emotion.

At least, Melvin was safe, because his eyes were once again filled with tears—

When the FBI took Little Frank away, the people inside the house finally noticed the abnormality. Paula appeared with her daughter and husband, standing at the door. The appearance of their family of three was deeply imprinted in Little Frank's eyes.

The camera focus shifted, from the family of three at the door to the rearview mirror of the police car. The broken azure blue in Little Frank's eyes was clearer than ever before.

"Given the seriousness of the crime, given the history of recklessness and escape, and the contempt for American law, I have no choice but to reject the request to treat you as a juvenile offender, and sentence you to twelve years in the most heavily guarded prison in Atlanta, and strongly recommend that you be kept in solitary confinement throughout your sentence."

Little Frank went to jail, after all, he failed to escape successfully.

The movie should end here.

However, it didn't.

Carl came to visit the prison, "Merry Christmas, Frank."

It was Christmas Eve again, and Carl was still accompanying Frank.

Unknowingly, Little Frank and Carl had established a wonderful relationship, not friends nor enemies, but possessing a kind of bond in the invisible.

Carl not only came to visit Little Frank, but also brought a gift—

A comic book, "The Flash."

"How's your daughter? What's her name?"

"Grace. Uh, I don't know, she and her mother live in Chicago, I don't see her often."

"What's in the box?"

Little Frank probed absentmindedly, but Carl didn't mind, saying generously, "I'm on my way to the airport, it's a check forger operating in Minnesota."

"Oh, God, he's driving us crazy."

Little Frank, who had been uninterested, became interested, "Did you bring the check?"

Carl nodded, "I brought a fake check he filled out at Great Lakes Savings \u0026 Loan."

And showed it to Little Frank through the glass partition, "He used a template machine and a 'Kinoshita' typewriter."

Little Frank looked very carefully and immediately saw the key, "The forger is a bank teller."

Carl was stunned, "What?"

Little Frank, "It must be a bank teller, Carl. Banks always manually stamp the date, using it over and over again, so there's always wear and tear, the numbers always have breakpoints, 6 and 9, look, they wear out first."

Carl was stunned, frozen in place, "Thank you."

The scene changes.

Carl appeared again, this time not to visit, but to enter the prison with the FBI Assistant Director, officially meeting Little Frank as an FBI agent.

The FBI Assistant Director handed Little Frank an envelope, "Tell me what you see."

Little Frank squeezed the envelope, and had the answer as soon as his fingertips touched the check, "This is a forgery."

Carl, "You haven't even looked at it yet."

Little Frank, "The edges aren't cut open, I mean, this check was cut by hand, not cut from a large sheet. The paper is double-layered, too heavy for a bank check. This magnetic ink, I can feel its bulge with my hand, but it should be flat, and it doesn't smell like check-specific ink, it should be a drawing ink, an ink that can be bought in a stationery store."

Even though Little Frank was talking, the camera focused on Carl.

Zoom in, zoom in again.

From a medium shot to a close-up, Carl didn't hide his smugness, raising his eyebrows at his superior, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.

Pfft.

Melvin couldn't help but hold back, but quickly restrained himself, adjusting his sitting posture properly.

In Carl's expression, you could see a father's pride and confidence, although humor shouldn't appear, it naturally made people's lips curl up, and in the dark, you could feel that this kind of bond was the correct direction of the story.

Sure enough—

"Frank, are you interested in working in the FBI's Economic Crimes Unit?"

The FBI Assistant Director offered Little Frank a job, guaranteed and supervised by the FBI. Little Frank left prison early to work for the Economic Crimes Unit, serving his "sentence" in this way, but the difference was that he would become a government employee.

Little Frank, "Under whose supervision?"

Carl silently raised his right hand.