What are the odds?

The bell rings as I push open the hardwood door to Frank’s little hole in the wall bar. It’s a crap bar, but it’s my favorite spot to come when things aren’t adding up. I take a seat at the end of the heavily lacquered bar.
“Hey, Danny.” A heavy set man with silver hair greets from behind the bar. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
“Didn’t go home last night, Frank?” I prod.
“No, I got pissed and didn’t feel like listening to Alley, so I slept here.” He admits, waddling down to the end of the bar to greet me. “What can I get you?”
“How about a light?” I ask, reaching for my cigarettes. Frank shakes his head as throws me a pack of matches.
“Always the cheapskate.” He complains. “So you guys catch this dockside killer?”
“Oh, you heard about that one, eh?”
“It’s all over the newspaper.”
“Not yet. An eye witness came forward. Said she saw some kid with a shoulder tattoo kill the dock master.”
The crashing of dishes at the back end of the bar grabs our attention. A young man frantically begins to pick up the pieces of shattered coffee cups off the floor.
“Kid, if you keep breaking my dishes I’m going to make you start paying for them!” Frank threatens.
“I’m sorry Mr. Vee.” The boy apologizes. I notice him pulling at his collar as he cleans up the mess. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Hey, kid.” I address. Without hesitation he darts out the back door. What are the odds?
“Ain’t you going to go after him?” Frank asks, shocked that I haven’t moved.
“I’m too old to go chasing kids around, Frank.” I admit lighting my cigarette. “You got his address?”
I love this bar.