The neon dial phone glowed pink, casting pink tinted shadows across the small room. There was a usual thickness in the air accompanied by the eager taps of long fingers extended over the phone.
The sun was almost down and Gerard knew that the calls were to start coming in soon.
Purple hues extended over the dull, industrial Jersey skyline. There was something about the contrast in how pure the sky looked and how truly ugly the city it sheltered was. Of course only few could see that, not many lived in the 10th story of a high end office building. With a glass of whiskey in hand slowly being stirred, streaks of bright red hair fell neatly over the man's face.
There was very few people in the business. You see, Gerard wouldn't be in it if it wasn't for the money. Over the few years he had made quite the fortune for himself. People knew who he was, and most importantly, what he did. The frequent invitations to penthouse parties and the uneasy look on the local officers' faces proved it. That was the way things worked in Jersey. Everything was one big Mafia. He was respected, and it was all thanks to the network. Usually the people who called the hotline meant business, and, Gerard thrived on this.
He however, did not enjoy the dirty work on his own. There was Frank. A tough little Italian man with the inked knuckles that could obliterate you from existence. Gerard had been introduced to Frank by Dewees, the mastermind behind the whole network. They became good friends as they started assisting calls together. Very, very good friends. Gerard was rich and Frank, well, Frank could very well survive by himself. You could tell by the glint in their eyes when they took someone's life that after all, they worked for other reasons.
Not even Dewees knew what was up with them, no one ever did. He just assumed they were some real morbid 'fuck buddies' due to previous unfortunate things he had walked into. In reality, it was much more than that. If cold blooded murderers were capable of experiencing 'love', then that's what you could call it. They were in love.
Gerard snapped out of his daily narcissistic trance as the phone trembled, alerting him. A wide grin spread across his face, making the wrinkles that Gerard called "dimples" stand out. He waited a bit, making the sweet sound of the chirpy tones last as much as he could before he finally answered.
"Good evening, who will I be assisting tonight?"
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Hey guys! Whew, oh dear that was the first chapter. I'm pretty excited about writing this, I just had this whole hypered 80s vibe going on in my head when I thought of this. Oh dear, sorry if my english makes me fuck words up or stuff since it's not really my main language. I'm expecting this to be a relatively small fic but with longish chapters so please let me know what you think. Anyway I really hope you enjoyed this and feel free to comment below.
-ya chum emo coffee
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Hotline New Jersey (Frerard)
Fanfiction{Based on a series of vines I made} Gerard, Frank and the team have orders. Those are keeping the streets of New Jersey, clean. One day they receive a very explicit call from one of the wealthiest men in the city and well, work is work.
