Chapter Text
A cold wind blew through the streets of New York City, the city that never sleeps truly lives up to its name, even at 2 am cars were plotting along music could be heard falling out of bars as the doors would swing open as drunken patrons released themselves onto the sidewalks. Even in January city goers still walked along, ignoring the billowing winds and chill that nipped at them through their coats, this city was alive in every way. The lights gleamed and the streets sang with their own chorus that was truly unique to New York.
But even in the most beautiful, most lively of places, there still existed deep, dark, and disastrous thoughts. New York existed in a secret hierarchy that few knew they had stumbled into, and if you did realize it, you had better know your place and stay there. The criminal underworld ruled this city, the ivory towers everyone's favorite people lived in were only standing because they were allowed to be there. One word, one wrong move and they would collapse, taking down every precious reputation and carefully hidden secret with them.
Tucked away in a back room of a smoke shop that had long since closed up for the day stood a man, tattoos lacing their way over his arms and up his neck he was leaning against the desk in the room looking rather bored. Before him sat another man, hands tightly bound behind him and weaved through the slats of a wooden chair he was affixed to. The knots were expertly tied, the tattooed man smiled at his handy work, he had really out done himself this time. They looked fucking phenomenal.
Frank Iero was young, barely 25, but his eyes held a much older cruelty, one that could normally only be developed with time. His tattooed hand ran along his sharp jaw line as his cold hazel eyes stared unwavering from the man ahead of him. Emerging victorious as the king of lowlifes and parasites that had a chokehold on the world above was the Italian Mafia, which Frankie in particular prided his spot in. He was a hard worker, he had shown his loyalty time and time again, and his hard work did not go unpunished. But here he stood, in this run down shit hole of a smoke shop wasting his whole Saturday night, that was because, above all else, Frank prided himself on being a great friend. And he just so happened to owe one a favor which landed him here.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Frankie smirked as the man in front of him began to rouse and immediately started to tug at the ropes binding his arms behind him. “You’re not gonna work your way out of those, I’m a real boy scout, sugar.”
“Where the fuck am I? You’re gonna fucking get it once I get out of-” The man finally looked up and the color drained from his face. “You’re Iero.”
“Ahh so you know my name, must mean you know my game.” He smiled as he pulled another wooden chair in front of the man, straddling it as he sat backwards in it to face him. “You’ve really fucked up, Hurley.”
“You’re not even in the drug business! We don’t mess with your shit!” He was panicking, trying to pull at the ropes again, now realizing that as he tried to pull more it tightened the loops wrapped around his ankles fully securing him to the chair.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m what you might call a friend to the drug business.” Frank sighed propping his elbow up on the back of the chair so he could lean his head against his fist. “And I owed some pain in the ass a favor so here I am.”
“Man this is fucking bullshit, I swear I didn’t know I was fucking with anything! Just let me go and I’ll cut the shit and leave! You won’t ever fucking see me around here again.” Hurley’s heart had picked up, he was shaking. The sight made Frankie smile, his reputation really had preceded him.
“It’s too late for that one Hurley. Ya see, you were dead the second you got put in that chair, we’re just waiting for the coroner to get here to call it.” Frank smiled a little more as he shrugged. “But I’m not fucking heartless, I know you aren’t to blame for all of this. You gotta get the drugs from someone, who's bringing them in somewhere. And that’s all I wanna know. You tell me that, then it will be one shot in ya, you won’t even feel it, dead before you even hit the floor. I’ll even put it through your heart instead of the skull, your mom will be able to have an open casket.” Frankie pulled his glock out from the holster that sat at the small of his back, drawing a gasp out of the other man as he played with it, enjoying the weight in his hand.
“I’ll even stage it up real nice, robbery gone wrong. I’ll take your wallet, pull out all that drug money, clear out the cash register. People will raise glasses to ya at the bar, ‘the good die young’ they’ll say as they have a drink in your name.” Frank finally looked back at him as he held his gun lazily in his hand. “Put your Ma at ease. She wouldn’t have to know what you were up to. She gets to live thinking her son was still the sweet kid who she always took for ice cream after he’d strike out at little league. Hell I’ll even set up a scholarship fund in your fucking name through an anonymous account, make you're life actually worth fucking something to someone.”
“I-I can’t… I-I don’t know the guy’s name BUT- but I can take you where I get my shit! You just have to untie me. I'll take you right there! I fucking swear man! I fucking swear.” Hurley was sweating, he really still thought he had a chance. Apparently Frank hadn’t been quite clear enough.
“Oh no, that’s not an option, sugar. You didn’t get it the first time? You’re not walking out of here alive. But if you wanna start playing games, oh baby let’s play.” Frank hummed as he put his gun away, then reached down and pulled a hunting knife out of a little scheith strapped to his ankle, letting the blade glint and catch the light as the man's breathing became more ragged. “Usually I start with the little stuff, fingers and toes, ya know the things a funeral director can cover up pretty easily. I like giving people a chance to have a good last good bye, funerals are for the living, ya know, not the dead... But then I start having fun, and that’s when it gets interesting. Cut off ears, slicing tendons then giving em a chance to run just to watch their limbs not know how to work anymore, I had a real thing for hooking people up to car batteries for a while, you have no idea how long a body will twitch after no one's home anymore, it’s crazy.
“Then I get personal, I like to do my research first. It’s called being thorough and I feel like it’s a real lost art with all of you new blood coming into the game here. You’re all shoot first, ask questions later. Where’s the fun? The wonder? The game? No, I think I’d carve that little sister of your’s name into your chest; first, middle, last. Haley Nicole Williams, she just got married a year ago right? Did you know she’s expecting? She just found out last month. I have some friends who can get me the medical records I need.” He smirked again. “But there’s some real sick freaks out in this world, especially in your business. I bet I could post up some pictures of your body, leak her address. I wonder how long it would take them to make a trip down to meet her. Her husband works nights, ya know?”
“Not my sister, don’t you fucking TOUCH her!” He screamed, now the tears came. “She’s not a fucking part of this! She moved to get away from the city! She wanted something safe!”
“I don’t want her to be a part of this.” Frank held up his hands in feign surrender. “I won’t lay a hand on her. I’m just saying. You know, the kind of people you deal with. My type has a code, we’ve got respect. Which you just so happened to lack.” Frankie sighed as he stood up, nudging his chair away. “You’d still be alive after I did all of that though. The missing fingers. Carving your skin up. Maybe a cattle prod to shock you awake if you pass out on me. No, you’d still be alive. I think the real kicker would be when I take that load of dirty heroin you’re bringing into my city and I pump you full of it. I hear an OD isn’t really all that peaceful, feels like your veins are on fire, can’t control your body, choking on your vomit and spit. Ugly shit.
“But I think the best part would be, your family has to deal with reality. Their son, their brother was just a washed up junkie who blew his whole stash on himself and couldn’t pay back his distributor. They probably wouldn’t even have a funeral for you. Just have you thrown in the furnace straight from the morgue, then just throw your ashes in the Hudson to be rid of you. Your mom would get late night calls for months after. Sometimes littered with threats, sometimes just heavy breathing on the other end. And she’d live everyday, having to think about how her fuck up son ruined all of their lives.” Frankie had circled around him, like a wolf waiting to rip its prey apart. “So what will it be, sugar? Trigger happy crook? Family gets to grieve in blissful ignorance, never knowing how you really fell so hard? Or washed up junkie that haunts them till all their lives fall apart?”
The man in the chair shook as his body racked with silent sobs. Frankie felt his chest swell. He had already won.
“I-I really don’t know the guy's name… I-I just get told to make the pick ups! I go to pier 14 every Thursday at 3 am! I take a cab, they give me a car full and I drive it back! That’s all!” He was sobbing, spilling his guts like Frankie had split him open. Pathetic. Frank would be dead before he gave anyone anything.
“Don’t forget about that little one your sister has on the way. I can keep tabs for a long time, Hurley, I’ve got a lot of connections. You’re sure you don’t remember anything else, before I pull this trigger?” Frankie smirked as he rounded back to the front of him, pulling his glock back out with a smile. The man slumped against his bonds, utter and complete defeat.
“I… I take the shipments to 43rd and Broad. They repackage it and distribute it from there… I-If you go asking for Brendan… He’s the one that sets it all up… I’m just the mule…” Hurley shook and Frankie broke into a smile.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you Andy, I’ll send orchids to the funeral home, peace lilies are over done. And I don’t think you’re getting peace where you're going.” And with that Frankie aimed and fired, putting one bullet through the man’s heart, watching him seize up as blood poured out and he immediately slumped in the chair.
Frankie simply hummed as he made his way behind him, skillfully untying the knots he had secured so well before and wrapping up the rope before too much blood could spill over it. He let the body slump out of the chair and onto the floor before reaching around him with a gloved hand and pulling out the guy's wallet, pulling out all of the cash and credit cards before throwing it back unceremoniously on top of the body.
He made his way to the cash register which was easy enough to break into by simply smashing the whole thing on the ground, he scooped up the pathetic mix of bills that spilled out and threw it all haphazardly into a duffel he had taken from Andy made his way outside. The cold biting at his arms as he stepped out, he hadn't wanted to get any blood on his jacket.
He took out Andy’s cellphone which he had pulled off of the guy right when he had gotten there, dialing a private phone of a police sergeant he knew too well. He didn’t even wait for him to say anything he just started speaking as the line picked up.
“Eleven hundred block of Lincoln and Atwater, armed robbery, give it 20 minutes.” Frankie said in a monotone voice before hanging up, setting the phone to factory reset, and letting the screen go white before tossing it in a nearby dumpster. Frank simply strode his way down the back alley, not a care in the world as he rounded a corner back to his beautiful, black as night ‘69 Shelby Mustang.
He was a sucker for the classics and for American muscle. He threw the duffel bag in the trnk without giving it a second thought and sighed as he got in the driver's seat, letting the engine roar to life. Pulling out without a care in the world he snagged a burner phone from the glove box and dialed up Pete. It rang for a minute before he heard some background noise. A bar? A casino? Something like that, Pete just had to be somewhere very visible tonight, with security cameras and all to prove his time and place.
“.... Hold up I gotta take this!” Frankie heard him talking to someone. “Fuck you! So what if it is? Can’t a man have his guilty pleasures! Play my hand for me and don’t lose all my fucking money!” Pete sighed saying nothing and Frankie could hear him working through whatever crowd he was in.
“Did you just tell everyone I was a fucking booty call?” Frank tried to hide his chuckle.
“Well yeah, what was I supposed to say, it’s my friend who I just had to take care of some business for me.” Pete said quietly, he must not be away from the crowd yet.
“I just can’t help myself Petey-Weety. I just need ya so bad it huuuurts.” Frank faked his most egregious, valley girl accent, adding a breathy moan at the end before breaking into an infectious laugh.
“Ay go get fucked man, how’d it go?” Pete laughed back as he seemed to step somewhere at least a little less populated.
“He was quite agreeable, we talked about family and stuff, did ya know his sister is expecting?” Frank smiled to himself again, he really did pride himself on how much research he could get done before having to conduct ‘business’.
“You scare me sometimes, ya know that right?” He could hear the amusement in Pete’s voice, Frankie had his reputation for a reason and everyone knew it.
“You love it. I’ll meet you at your place tomorrow. We can go over details, we have a meeting Thursday morning that we need to go over.” He smiled as he heard Pete sigh again. “Stick where you are for a while. Drink, be merry, make sure the cameras see ya, don’t head out for at least an hour. And don't take Lincoln to get on the highway.”
“You’ve got it, I appreciate ya. See you tomorrow.” Pete said and quickly hung up. Frank just smiled as he turned up the volume as he drove, steering his way onto the highway to head back to Jersey. New York was fun, bustling, full of shit to do, but nothing could beat the blissful retreat of his home state.
He drove for a little over an hour, opting to take a more scenic route as he had nothing better to do with himself that night and it was mostly a relief to let the music slam through his mind as his body came down from the adrenaline from the night. Finally he turned off to his private road which wound its way back into woods till he came upon his little hidden retreat.
Well you wouldn’t call it little, dark wood and stone towering in the clearing of the forest to provide some perfect solitude. It had been his grandfather's private estate when he was still alive. Sure he had houses and apartments in the city that Frank could have taken when he found himself taking over the responsibilities of the business, but he preferred the seclusion of being out here. He spent what felt like everyday of his life in the bustle of the city, making deals or being in ‘business meetings’, sometimes he would stay in an apartment he had downtown but most of the time he would opt for the drive to get out here. It had become his primary residence after he had taken up his position. Very few knew where it was, and that’s the way he liked it. Private and to himself.
He strode through the large house, it was quiet. The kind of quiet which sat somewhere smack in the middle of peaceful and lonely. The house was large, four bedrooms each with an attached bathroom, a den, a living room, a basement, dining room, and a kitchen. More house than any one man could really need, and yet it was all his. Frank didn’t spend much of his time enjoying his home or basking in the glow of the things he had acquired over the last few years, instead he made his way to his office, which just so happened to be the most worn down room of the house.
Books that went untouched lined one of the walls in a built-in book case, the curtains were always drawn closed, and along the whole back of the room was a long ornate counter with drawers and cabinets under it, it was very much his grandfather's office that Frank had acquired. All along that back counter set stacks of files and papers. Piles of information, photographs, things that would never need to see the light of day, unless someone paid the right price, of course.
It was late, far too late for any normal person to work. Most people probably would have gone home, gotten in the shower, and promptly vomited at the realization that they had just shot a man dead, for Frank though this was a very regular Saturday night. In fact, just one dead body with one bullet through it was better than usual.
He ran a hand over his face and through his hair as he pulled out his own, personal cell phone, smiling as he fell into his chair, logging into his computer and he dialed. The phone rang a few times as he pulled up his Tor browser and slipped his way into the dark web. Some of the older guys he worked with didn’t know shit about operating on the internet, and that’s why Frankie was so damn good at his job.
“What’s up, Frank?” The voice came through the line, significantly too cheerful for who he knew he was talking to.
“Toro, how ya doing? Business good for ya?” Frankie smiled a little hearing the man on the other end, it was hard to find good people in his line of business. But Toro really was the definition of a good guy, at least in Frank’s book.
“Well that depends, what are you calling me about?” Ray laughed. “Do ya need something fixed, or do you need something new? I can do both.”
“Neither tonight, Ray. I actually got a question for ya, if ya don’t mind.” Frank sighed a little.
“Sorry I don’t have that in stock right now, I can call around to some other local stores and see if they have one, should get back to you in about a week.” Ray’s voice didn’t waver or hesitate one bit, but Frank knew exactly what he was saying.
“Got it. Yeah, sounds good.” Frank said as he heard Ray put the phone down. One week meant he had a customer in, but they would be out soon and Frank could stay on the line. He heard bits and pieces of the conversation going back and forth for a few minutes before Ray’s voice came again.
“Alright, all clear what’s up?” Ray asked with a slight hum.
“First, who the fuck are you selling to at 2 in the fucking morning?” Frank asked, honestly a little more concerned than curious. Ray was one of the few people Frank considered a real friend, and sure Ray didn’t quite do what Frank did, but that didn’t mean dangerous people weren't still around.
“If I’m gonna front as a pawn shop, I gotta stay open for the night and I gotta deal with actual people who gotta pawn shit.” He laughed. “Some dude swears he will be back for this set of golf clubs that belong to his brother. Probably just stole em out of some dipshit’s trunk. On a totally unrelated note, do ya need some golf clubs?” Frank couldn’t contain his giggle through the phone.
“The last set I had I broke on some motherfucker’s shins, I just don’t think I’m cut out for golf, Toro. I always swing too high!” Frank ran a hand through his hair. “Na I got a question about if you’ve heard a name floating around, some guy named Brendan? I don’t have a last name.”
“Brendan?” Ray hummed a little, seeming to mull it over. “I haven’t had anyone come to me with that name, but if I’m right Matt said something about a new guy setting up shop at the auction house. Said he saw em getting a private room last Tuesday, I think he’s in the drug game though. He hasn’t reached out to me about anything but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t gone somewhere else. Especially if he’s new in town, he wouldn’t know he’s missing out on the best.”
“We’ll hey I’m okay with that, sometimes it’s good to keep the best to yourself.” Frank laughed a little. “But alright, auction house on Tuesday. Sounds good Toro, I appreciate it. Also do you still have that beretta down there?”
“The little one? Or the one with the extended mag and silencer?”
“The little one. Need something that can fit better in a suit pocket.”
“Yeah I still got it, I can also look around a little, see if I can get my hands on anything else I think will work, if you can make it down in the next week or so you can come try them out.” Ray said with a smile. “Just let me know what day you’re swinging by.”
“Can do, thanks Ray I owe ya one.” Frank said, jotting down some notes as he clicked around on his computer. “Keep your head on out there, I don’t wanna have to find a new gun guy. It's hard to downgrade when ya already got the best.”
“You’re talking to the one guy who can outshoot you, Frankie.” Ray laughed. “Trust me, my customers are in more danger here with me than I am with them. I’ll keep an eye out if I hear anything about this Brendan guy though. Don’t die on me. It’s hard finding customers who can pay the way you do.” Ray teased with a sigh. “Take care, Frank.”
“You too, Toro.” Frank hummed as he hung up, delving further into the dark web to pull up a page on the auction house. The affectionate name everyone had for the damn near underground club that served as your one stop shop for anything you couldn’t get on Amazon. The online listings were mostly hit men or sex workers, no Brendan listed anywhere, so it seemed he had just added another fucking trip to the city to his schedule.
This favor for Pete was really becoming a pain in his fucking ass.
Frank had to drag himself out of bed by 9 that morning to get himself ready and drive back towards the city to get to Pete’s place. It was almost a hour fucking drive, getting back on the highway and getting more north of the city. Pete loved the feel of New York. Loved everything happening all at once. But he couldn’t fucking stand living in an apartment, even if it was a top floor pent house, so he moved north, and settled for just having to drive into the city for his shits and giggles.
Frank parked his car in the driveway and went to the trunk where he retrieved Andy’s duffel bag from the night before, crinkling his nose in disgust as he picked up and closed his trunk. Pete's house was modern, and Frankie was the only other person that had both a key and had the pincode to get in, which he punched in and unlocked without even knocking.
“Pete! I’m here! You better not be fucking!” Frank yelled as he walked in and locked the front door of the fucking mansion behind him. Fuck he didn’t know how Pete kept this place looking the way it did everything was white and chrome. Like a fucking futuristic alien nightmare house. It was too bright and too modern for Frank’s taste, but what did he care it wasn’t his fucking house.
“One sec! We’re in the kitchen!” Pete called back.
“Please tell me you’re clothed or I’m never eating here again!” Frank sighed as he made his way into the kitchen, praying he didn’t get an eyeful of ass.
“Don’t you know it’s not even fucking noon yet.” Mikey half hummed, as he took a drink of his coffee with his eyes closed. Mikey and Pete had been together for a few years now and they had an… interesting dynamic. Mikey didn’t leave the house on his own. Ever. He wore a chain around his neck clasped with a padlock that had been there as long as Frank had known him. Frankie wasn’t one to judge, hell he’d be a fucking hypocrite if he did. He didn’t ask for details and they didn’t give them. All he did know was Mikey had been trafficked and through absolute hell before Pete, and now he seemed quite pleased with life, sipping on the most expensive coffee that could be shipped into New York.
“Yeah, yeah Mikes, I know it’s early. So sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but I was also out late last night, I’m not all that happy about it either.” Frank rolled his eyes a little.
“You could have meetings at your own fucking house next time.” Mikey grumbled.
“Mikey! Manners!” Pete playfully scolded, as he finished off his own mug. “You could at least offer him a cup.”
“He knows where it is, he can get it himself.” Mikey quipped back, biting his lip a little trying to contain a smirk. He knew exactly what game he was playing as he watched Pete intently.
“Mikey. I’ve already had to warn you about your manners once.” Pete's voice got low and he was having trouble containing his smile as his eyes trailed over the man in front of him.
“OKAY! I’m right here!” Frank interrupted. “It’s fine I had coffee before I left my place! Just… No more of this while I’m here.”
“Oh c’mon Frankie, you've done so much worse, and you know it.” Pete laughed, his eyes finally breaking away from Mikey.
“Not in front of you, I sure as fuck haven’t. And I won’t.” Frank sighed. As he shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder a bit, giving Pete a look.
“Alright, alright fine.” He sighed as he went around the island to give Mikey a quick kiss. “We’ve got some business to do, we’ll be done in a bit. I expect you upstairs when I’m finished.”
“We’ll see.” Mikey smirked again, as he took another drink of coffee.
“STILL HERE!” Frank yelled again, turning to make his way to the basement. There was another pin pad that he punched another code into, the door clicked open and he quickly made his way down, Pete close behind not even attempting to hold back a laugh. The basement was cold and sterile, chrome tables that were bolted down to the floor, blazing LEDs that would sear your eyes if you stared up into them. Frank didn’t even give any of it a second glance as he threw the bag on one of the open tables while trying to stifle a yawn
Pete made his way over to a counter where there were drawers full of scales and utensils and everything else you could imagine. Before coming over and unzipping the bag to pull out packages and bags wrapped in layers of tape mixed with the petty cash he had stolen that Pete let fall to the floor, not even giving it a second glance. Frankie tamped down the look of disgust that was about to cross his face as Pete sliced into the bags. Methodically taking just enough to slip on some test strips, humming and nodding his head a bit as if he were looking over a spreadsheet, not staring down probably a few hundred thousand dollars worth of drugs.
“Yeah, the heroin’s laced to shit. But the coke seems clean. I’ll test the rest of it and call up a guy who can get it out of the city. Even if it’s clean I wouldn’t give this shit to my clients.” Pete sighed. “Pat can fucking chuck the heroin in the river for all I care, this shit’s fucked to hell.”
“Yeah but you knew that, fuck isn’t Vic still in the fucking hospital after trying that shit?” Frank sighed as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over seemingly trying to block out any chance of him touching any of it.
“Yeah, he’s pulling through but his systems fucking wrecked. Got off with the judge just to go to rehab for a month once he's out of the hospital. I’ll owe him a fucking nasty pay off for that.” Pete shook his head a little as he reached in duffle back pulling out three more tightly wrapped bags of cocaine. “I can probably get these out to Philly, get at least something out of it, maybe a 100k.” He sighed as he moved back towards a door in the back of the basement that required yet another code to be typed in, as well as a key to unlock.
That was the ‘pantry’ where Pete kept a stock of every drug imaginable on hand for when any notable clients needed a quick fix or had a party pop up that they wanted to impress at. Frank never walked in there, he didn’t care to. Drugs weren’t his business, and frankly he'd keep as far away from them as he could, but Pete was his friend and he owed him a favor.
“You know anytime you want cut in on it, all ya gotta do is say the word, Frankie. You’re the one who did the leg work.” Pete called from the pantry before stepping back up and locking the door with a smile and a knowing look.
“Na, you know I like class in my business.” Frank rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna touch that shit with a ten foot pole.”
“Hey! I got class! Look around you! This is classy shit! I have imported silk fucking sheets on every bed!” Pete’s voice was amused but twinged with an edge of defensiveness. He knew Frank would say that shit, it was a running bit between them. “Yeah yeah, you're too good for the drug game, you just sell what guns? Stolen jewelry? Extort people for favors?”
“You know I’m no good with the numbers side of things, Pete, I’m just such a people person.” Frank chuckled as he leaned forward. “Which you should be fucking thankful for, no one goes to work like I do. Just like my meeting with good old Andy, I just know how to talk to people.”
“Speaking of which, tell me what's going on? How the fuck did this shit get moved into my city and how did someone get around to trying to poach my fucking dealers?” He settled in to lean against the counter by Frankie.
“He was just the mule. But apparently there’s some new guy in town, names Brendan. He’s the one who set up the deliveries and pick ups. Pier 14 every Thursday at 3 am. Hurley would go there in a cab, they’d give him the car loaded up. He’d go back to Broad and 41st, that's where they divided it up. That’s all the shit he had on him when I caught up to him.” Frank yawned again before continuing. “Made a call and did some looking around. Apparently there’s a new character setting up shop at the auction house. According to Matt he was in a private section last Tuesday.”
“You got all of that last night?” Pete looked at him in amazement, he really didn’t know how Frankie did it. He had tried to interrogate guys plenty of times, he could never get anything worthwhile.
“Well yeah, who do you think I am?” Frank laughed. “I told ya, I’m a people person. I know just where to apply the right pressure.”
“How much did you have to do to him to get all of that?” Pete was almost scared to ask. He had seen Frankie really go to work only once. It was a fucking blood bath. Pete wasn’t a stranger to dead bodies, but Frank was on a whole different level of fucked up. Even for him.
“Nothin, just one bullet through the heart. Made a call and staged it up as a nice little robbery. Told him I’d make sure his mom would get to have an open casket.” Frank got a bit of a far away look in his eye as the corner of his lip almost curled into a smile. “And also I told him I’d carve his pregnant sister's name in his body and let her address leak on the dark web with photos and all. Sometimes the best work you can do is to sit back and let others do it for ya.”
“Fuck Frankie.” Pete whispered.
“What? You asked me to get the information, so I did.” He shrugged. “I’ll let you know when the family picks a funeral home so you can send flowers.”
“Flowers? Fuck that I’m not sending shit. That motherfucker had it coming, he was stepping in on my territory, he’s lucky you were feeling nice and just gave him a bullet.” Pete said, almost exasperated. “Flowers, my ass.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Class Pete! You kill someone, you send fuckin’ flowers!” Frank said with an eye roll. “And not fucking peace lilys those are fucking tacky, at least send something nice, ya got the money for it.”
“What and have everyone question why there’s flowers from some random fuck? Yeah that won't be suspicious at all.” Pete shook his head.
“Use a different account, run it as a donation through a church for fucks sake, it’s what I do. I use Our Lady of Pompeii.”
“Yeah using the church to spend your fuckin blood money, I’m sure Our Lady really appreciates that.”
“Hey that was my grandfather’s church, they sure as shit didn’t turn down any of his charitable donations.” Frank smiled a little at the memories that ran through him, remembering his grandfather taking him to mass on Sunday mornings and always dropping a wad of cash in the collection plate like it was nothing. “Besides I’m going to hell anyway, may as well get a favor or two out of em while I’m here. Class Pete. You kill someone, you send flowers.”
“Yeah fuck it, fine I’ll send fucking flowers.” Pete huffed as he pushed away from the counter.
“There ya go, we can make a mobster of you yet.” Frank joked as he also took a step towards the stairs. “Ya know you just need to be more… Italian… and less of a filthy rich drug lord.”
“I’ll take my chances right where I am. The filthy rich I could take or leave, but Italian? My mom didn’t own enough fur coats and leopard skin shirts for me to ever fit in there.” Pete teased.
“Hey! Don’t go talkin’ about my Ma like that! She was a fucking saint… a saint that just really loved fur coats but she could cook better than any fuck in Staten Island.” Frankie smiled a little as he led the way up the stairs, happy to be rid of the drugs he had dragged in here. “Alright, we’ll go to the auction house Tuesday, see what we can find out there. If we get nothing we can check out the pier and all that shit. Let me know if anything changes. Or if you get a hold of this Brendan fucker. I’ll see if I can dig anything up.”
“Thanks Frankie. Always know I can count on you.”
“Oh don’t think I’m doing all this shit for free, you’re buying me fucking dinner. You’re just damn lucky you’re my best friend.”
“I’m your only friend, you fucker.” Pete laughed
“Ay that’s not true! I hang out with Toro downtown all the time!” Frank said matter-of-factly.
“Your gun guy? You mean when you’re getting a new piece or you fucked your shit up and he’s fixing it?”
“I'm still spending time talking to him! He’s a good guy!”
“Yeah whatever, get the fuck out of here. I’ve got shit to do upstairs.” Pete smirked and Frank at this point noticed a significant lack of Mikey in the kitchen now.
“Yeah yeah I’m going. I’ll let you know if I dig anything up.” Frank called as he quickly got out of the house, and made his way to the car, half scared he was going to start hearing moans before he even got out of the fucking driveway.