Dying In LA ||Frerard/Ryden/Petekey||

Devil Town

A/N: hey guys! i hope u like this new chapter. the song is Devil Town by cavetown.

Mr. Brightsides P.O.V.

The roar of the coffee shop was hellish.
Children crying, couples talking.
The Killer Kafe was quiet a popular spot in LA. The whole thing was based around infamous killers. From Bonnie and Clyde themed chairs, to a jack the killer cake pop. We also themed some shit around horror movies. Scream latte art, even a goddamn Freddie Kruger wall mural. Obviously, all of this was courtesy of the owner of the iconic shop: Awesten Knight. The blue haired man in his mid-20s was about as energetic as they get.
He was like a puppy on cocaine.
"Next!" I yelled.
A younger looking brunette lady stepped up to the register, slipping me a piece of paper.
"It's from Wentz." she whispered discreetly.
"Good afternoon ma'am, may I take your order?" I said, sliding the folded yellow sticky note towards me.
"Yes, may I please have a scream latte, large, and a water??" she said with a smile.
"Of course! That'll be $7.25. Will you be paying with credit or cash?" I asked, punching the order in to the store tablet so I could print her receipt.
"Cash." she said, sliding me 20 $100 bills and a $10.
I discreetly grabbed the cash and slid it into my pocket and put the 10 in the money box, and grabbed out her change.
"$3.75 is your change, I hope your coffee is killer." I said, winking at her.

I told my boss I was using the bathroom and he covered my register.
I walked into the small bathrooms and locked the door.
I pulled out the wad of cash and began counting the bills.
Hey, at least he paid me the right amount this time.

I shoved the money back into my pocket and slid out the yellow sticky note from the other pocket.

Hey Frank,
it was a pleasure doing business with you, I hope everything went smoothly.
This should be enough to cover it.
Catch you later.
P.W.
You see, Wentz was a drug lord, he was only called by his last name during business, but during the day he runs a company called "Pete Scentz by Pete Wentz"
He also came up with the name when he was higher then the stars.
Classic Pete.
Pete was one of my closest friends, one of his little toys older brother worked in the FBI, who happened to be one of Berts little play things, small world right? They had known each other since middle school or some shit which is absolutely disgusting. Cute couples are honestly disgusting in general. Happiness is just some shit chemical our brain releases to give us comfort on our journey to inevitable death.
When I kill, I do it for a reason. Bert was not only cheating on Gerard, but was doing drugs behind his back. He wasn't even playing that game safely, he was short on cash every time he bought, which lead to Pete giving me a call and me ending his life when Gerard left for LA. I had caught a flight back the next morning, I decided not to risk another incident with what happened last time. I had paid this kid to drive me, Roscar or something. Ross? I don't remember, but the little shit tried to book it at a stop sign and I shot him and got the fuck out of there.
I think he may be dead but there's been nothing in the news lately.
But it turns out the punk that drove me was one of Berts dolls, so I guess everything comes full circle to bite you in the ass when you're unfaithful. Like my god awful father. Never went to church, always bringing other women back to the house, even when his wife was home.
That disgusting waste of air has been gone for a while now.

I exited the bathroom and headed back to work at the register.
This job was just a cover so no one would suspect anything.
"Oh, little old me? Murder? Drugs? Oh no, I'm just a barista at the local coffee shop, but if I see anything I'll let you know officer. Thank you for your service." Then I'd give them a free coffee and they'd leave.
Works every time to get me out of shit.

*back at the office*
Gerards P.O.V.

l sat in the passenger seat next to Phil on our way to Compton. The car was dead silent. I guess it wasn't exactly appropriate to have the radio on, given the circumstance.
I tapped my leg lightly.
Oh shit, I should probably text Ryan the address of the building so he can get out here.

Gerard: Hey! The address for the building we're renting to do work is 7339 Blackburn ave, Compton, CA. 90220. There was another murder, we don't know if it's the same guy or just something personal, it was someone I knew so it could just be some random yahoo.
Ryan is typing...
Ryan: I'm so so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sending me the address, I should be there soon. Again, my condolences.
Gerard is typing...
Gerard: No worries! I'll see you soon, drive safe!
Read.
I put my phone safely under my leg and began tapping again.
We turned into a shorter office building, probably in one of the nicer parts of Compton. Not that it gets nice around here.
Phil turned the keys and pulled them out of the ignition and climbed out of the car awkwardly. I guess being tall kinda sucks.
I opened up my door and left the car, following Phil up to the door. Phil swiped his key card, mine being left at my apartment when everything happened.
Yeah lets NOT think about that right now, it would be a shame for me to ruin my mascara.
We walked through a horrifically decorated lobby and into a small elevator.
"Did you see those ugly cushions on that gross couch" Phil said giggling like a girl, his tongue between his teeth.
He must have seen my horrified face.
"Oh my gosh we will definitely have to get rid of those, heck, throw out the whole thing. Gross gross GROSS." I exclaimed.
They were the ugliest black leather couches with yellow and red throw pillows and a gross beige coffee table.
Who the fuck thought "Oh yes, this will look absolutely marvelous in the lobby. Stunning" when they slid in that ugly ass couch.
"Do you think Danny boy would add a slight remodel to the budget?" Phil said as we stepped out of the elevator.
"Maybe if you sweet talk him like you did when I wanted a new Keurig in my office after my old one broke when someone tried to put a tea bag where the k-cup goes."
"Shut up!" Phil said, punching my arm playfully, a blush rising to his face.
I was the only one on the team that knew of the small crush Phil had developed on our director, Daniel James Howell.
Little did he know that Dan had a small crush on him too.
"small" as in he has liked him since he was an intern.
Daniel was amazing at what he does. He has always cracked the case and does it with charm and efficiency. Heck, he even worked along side our president, Mo Bamba.
Obama was truly a saint in my eyes.
I don't really care if they date or not as long as I get my new throw pillows.
We headed down a hallway and Phil showed me to my lab.
I was in forensics, which means I get fingerprints and shit and like DNA.
Fun.
Phil worked on digital forensics, license plates, ID, Registered sex offenders, you name it and he can find it in a hot second.
I could never work in digital because I type fucking slow and it's colder than elsas castle in there to keep all the computers shit from overheating.
Fun.