"Rule two: You don't cringe, you don't flinch and you don't fucking walk away, Frank." They were in Gerard's room. Frank wouldn't be leaving Gerard's side. Pretty much ever. Gerard, as he had explained to Frank, was the head of the city's biggest and most notorious mafia. New Jersey was famous in that sense.
'Okay.' Frank mouths, his head hanging. Gerard jerks his head back up, ice in his gaze.
"Rule three: You keep eye contact. I don't want to see you looking anywhere else unless we're doing a deal, got it?" Frank nods quickly, fearing for his safety of what would happen if he looked away, or tore his gaze away for a seconds.
"You're really getting the hang of it, Frank." He pats Frank's head like a dog. Frank tenses, but no longer flinches. At first Frank had thought that the touches were harsh and brutal, but he quickly realized that Gerard was quite gentle. For being a mafia boss, at least.
Frank nods numbly and can't believe he's actually being obedient. Then again, he could be killed at any moment-hello, it was the mafia-so why try to fight? He valued his life more than his freedom. Freedom was just a state of mind, anyways. It wasn't as if he had really been free when he wasn't here. He had been restricted to rules and regulations. He had had no say in anything that happened to him. This may be better for him, Frank realizes. He points to the notebook and pen in Gerard's arms. Gerard hands them to him without second thought.
'WHAT DO I NEED TO DO, EXACTLY?' Gerard thinks for a moment and then shrugs.
"I don't know. Come with me to get coffee, alright?" His voice is harsh. But then, it wasn't exactly soft before. The hostility was just magnified, Frank supposed, because he didn't have any good answer to give him. Gerard puts a hand on Frank's shoulder and leads him out the door, down a few hallways and into an open room.
The room wasn't really open, but had a few couches and chairs. The room was just as poorly lit as the rest of the place-save that room that Frank never wanted to pass again- and had a door leading who knows where on the far wall. Gerard goes to the only empty couch and his nails dig into Frank's shoulder. But Frank doesn't flinch in pain as he knows he should, because he knows if he does he'll be scolded.
He forces Frank down on one end of the couch and sits relatively close to him, propping his feet up on the small coffee table and looking at the other people in there. The three men who had brought Frank here were standing in a corner, smoking cigarettes, and talking quietly amongst themselves. There were a few other people on the other couch and in an arm chair, who were casting nervous glances at Frank and Gerard every so often.
"Hey!" Gerard barks harshly. Frank mentally cringes. He'd been sensitive to loud noises all his life, but Gerard's voice was taking the cake for sure.
"Sir!" The three guys walked over and looked at Gerard expectantly. Gerard looked at them and shook his head, turning to a man who was sitting in an armchair.
"Dewees!" The man looks up and stands, stretching slightly.
"Sir?" Gerard jerks his head to the door on the far wall. "Coffee." The man, Dewees, nods and makes his way to the door, disappearing behind it. Frank gets a glimpse of fluorescent lights and then turns back to Gerard.
"Anything else, man?" The tallest man of the three that had walked over steps forward. Gerard ponders his question for a moment before standing up. Frank stands as well, not sure of what else to do.
"Yeah, tell me again what the game plan for tonight is, Pedicone." The man nods once and takes a breath.
"We go there, exchange the cases, watch them open it once to make sure the 'money' is in there. They accept, walk away. We wait for them to realize it's fake, realize it's too late, they get blown up, we get the lot and we get away scot free." Gerard nods and dismisses him before turning to the second man-the one that had twisted Frank shoulder, Frank remembers, feeling his shoulder throb at the memory- and watching as he steps forward.
"What happens if they don't accept, Bryar?" He chews his black lip ring.
"We have a stand off and get as far away as we can. Since it's taking place in a vacant warehouse, the other end of the warehouse should be far enough-not a powerful enough bomb in there to reach more than twenty feet at most. Though, with the debris that'll be flying..." He trails off, realizing he's off-topic, before continuing. "Well, worse comes to worse-which it hopefully won't-we shoot the head guy, grab the lot and try not to get too banged up." Gerard nods and dismisses him as well, before looking at the third man.
"And you, Schecter. What do we do if one of them opens fire?" He smirks, the ring in the middle of his bottom lip glinting dully off the overhead light.
"We detonate and hope for the best." Gerard smiles coldly and sends him away before turning to Frank, who had been listening the whole time.
"Frank, your job is to stay by me at all times. Got it?" Frank nods hastily. "And I mean this. You leave my side, for any reason, and you're done for." Frank swallows and nods once more. Gerard pats his head again. "Good. Dewees!"
The man comes back out with a mug of coffee in his hands. Frank watches as he shuffles over, obviously too tired to care where he's walking, and Frank can only watch as his foot catches on an upturned corner of a rug and his hands fly forward. Frank shoves Gerard back, out of the way and cringes as the hot liquid hits his arm, face and leg. His eyes slam shut and he wishes he could talk so he could swear and cuss and let the pain out in anger instead of silence.
"Dewees." Gerard's voice is tight and hostile. "Clean this up. Frank." Frank can't do anything wipe some of the hot liquid off his cheek and onto his shirt before opening his eyes. Gerard's mouth is drawn in a tight line and grabs Frank by the arm, steering him back towards the place they had just come from.
"Come on, you need to get cleaned up." For once Gerard's voice is a normal tone, but Frank can hear the venom running beneath the words.
