The Emo Mafia

•Caught•

Also during that same month, Pete catches up with the Way's. Mikey has been fixed up, his broken ribs and face entirely healed but leaving behind a few scars. Gerard is with him this time and they're chatting away as if they didn't have a care in the world. Pete was done giving them second and third chances to pay up. If Joe thought the last shakedown was messy, then this one was going to be downright filthy. And Pete didn't give a shit anymore.

He's dressed down in all black; black long sleeve shirt, matching pants and boots. He doesn't bother covering his face because the Way's coffee shop is closed, empty, and un-surveillanced. It's also the middle of the night, so the chances of anyone recognizing him was slim to none.

Pete didn't bring his slugger this time around, instead bringing a pistol with the numbers wiped clean so the weapon couldn't be traced. This needed to be quick, he didn't have time to batter people with giant wooden sticks.

He approaches the building and tries the front door. Locked. Taking the gun from the waist of his pants, he aims it at the glass and fires a single bullet. The glass shatters into a million pieces and Pete steps through, spotting the redhead attempting to flee into the kitchen. But Pete snags him with a bullet to the back. Gerard drops to the floor, shouting painfully.

"See what happens when you fuck me over?" Pete speaks as he walks toward Gerard, gun still aimed. "I'm not my dad, Gee, I don't forgive and forget so easily." Then he steps over him and continues on to the kitchen. It's not like Gerard can go anywhere, he'll come back for him.

Without hesitation he guns Mikey down in the kitchen, several shots to his chest. He collapses like dead weight to the tile floor, struggling to breathe and choking on his own blood. Pete knows a dead man when he sees one, he won't last an hour.

Gerard's strangled breaths draw Pete back into the area behind the counter where his body lies. Pete kneels down beside him.

"Shame to waste such a decent business," He means it, honestly, the place had great coffee. But he's  unsympathetic, finishing off the other Way with a bullet to the head. Some of the blood splatters on his face and hands.

Pete gets to his feet then walks out of the store (he cleans out the register before he leaves, at least he got some kind of payout. Now it's a double homicide and a robbery), glass crunching beneath his feet for a moment before his heavy soles land on the pavement outside. He looks both ways seeing if anyone is around. It's quiet. No sirens, screams, chatter, nothing. The streets are empty except for... except for...shit, where the hell did he come from?

"Nice night, huh?" Pete smiles like there isn't another man's blood on his face and tucks his gun away. Then he swipes his arm down his face, cleaning said blood off his skin.

"Wentz?" Patrick glances between the broken glass of the blood spattered coffee shop and Pete, putting two and two together. "Did you-"

Pete shushes him. "Not a word of this to your fed friends, alright."

"You think I'm going to do what you say? I could take you in right now." The agent scoffs.

"No you couldn't, or else you would've done it by now. You're off duty, princess, and unarmed. I bet you don't even have cuffs on you." He smiles smugly.

"I don't need cuffs or a gun to take you in." Patrick takes a big step toward Pete who immediately steps back and pulls his gun out.

"C'mon, you know better than that," He aims the barrel at Patrick's adam's apple, stepping closer to cradle the back of his neck with his free hand so he won't back away. Or maybe just because Pete wanted to hold him closer. "Never bring a knife to a gun fight, Red. Or in this case, don't show up empty handed."

"You really going to shoot a federal agent out in the open?" Patrick doesn't look too bothered about having a gun pressed to his throat.

Pete shrugs. "Why not, no one's lookin'. There'd be one less fed for me to worry about."

He stares at the pale man, analyzing his face in the dimness of the street lights. Even in bad lighting, this man was still too stunning for words. Pete would never shoot him, no matter what, he was just trying to scare him. Although it obviously wasn't working.

"But I won't." He puts the gun away, back into the waist of his pants, but keeps his other hand on the nape of Patrick's neck.

Patrick actually looks a little surprised by this, ignoring how close their faces are.

"There are many feds that I've made disappear." The older man says seriously. "But you...I don't wanna hurt you, Patty."

Patrick's cheeks flush pink, it's dark but Pete can still see it. Doesn't say anything about it though. He's wondering why Patrick hasn't pushed him away yet, but Pete's not complaining.

"You... you killed two men tonight." Patrick's voice is weak when he speaks, sounding more like a slow, drawn out whisper.

"Say a word about it and it'll be three."

"You wouldn't kill me."

Pete grins and releases the other man, moving his hand to his chin and pressing his thumb down directly below Patrick's bottom lip.

"Smart man. Now you're gettin' it." He leans down toward Patrick's mouth like he's going to kiss him but presses his lips to his forehead instead, then whispers, "Not a word, doll." With his index finger hovering in front of his lips.

Then he steps to the side and walks past Patrick, down the sidewalk and not even glancing back.

Patrick watches his retreating back as he continues on. He should really report what he's seen, add it to the file for his investigation. He really should, this is so wrong an exactly what he needs to bring down the crime syndicate and excel in his job. Make the city safer for everyone. His head is saying 'report everything you saw, do the right thing'. Report him. Report him. Report him.

But he doesn't.