The night was young as the new moon, but the tradition was old as the ancient blazing son. Tonight was the night the gangs went around to collect their clients' dues, and Frank's gang was taking the west end.
Frank was the leader of the Red Flag, a gang known for taking up contracts for revenge killings and beatings, and sadly not in the kinky way. He was a short man, about five feet and six inches tall, but he was a killer shot. Especially when you're at the other end of the his revolver's barrel.
He was notorious for his team, and his team was notorious in Jersey. What were they notorious for? Well if I were to say they'd tie me to a cinderblock and drop me in a river, if that gives you an idea of what they're capable of.
This was it, the first small business they were going to reap of money and good times, the local comic book store just on the end of the street where the rich kids went to school.
"Open up!" Frank yelled while banging on the door. He continued the rain of abusing fists onto the door until it was opened by a scared teenage boy, who was wearing a David Bowie shirt, baggy jeans and had probably just turned nineteen.
"H-Hello." He said with a cracking voice, and it wasn't from the horrid curse that was the diabolical puberty and body change, this was purely of nervousness and fear; fear of what could come if he said or did the wrong thing and with every vowel he spoke he felt the imaginative rope tighten around his neck like a lonely summer's noose.
"You know why we're here." The shorter man spoke in a calm yet intimidating voice to the teen. "Move." He ordered and pushed the kid out of his way without giving him a chance to step aside.
Frank and his team walked through the store and to the cash register. "Hey, kid!" Frank called out to the shaky teen. "Gimme the key." He demanded like a spoiled child.
The kid obediently did as he was told and walked over to the gangster with the key in hand. The floor felt like quicksand and the air felt still and hot, and with each step it was a struggle to move.
"H-Here." He mumbled quickly and quietly, the way Frank liked it.
"Thanks." Frank said without sincerity like a bullet from a now widow's gun and opened the register. Frank turned to the boy as two of his team scooped out the money like a children with a big sweet tooth scooping out their favorite ice cream, but greed was the flavor, and power was what hungered them.
"What's 'ur name, kid?" He asked the teen with his head cocked slightly to the side and his hazel eyes locked on the boy's hazel eyes.
They were magnificently hypnotic. With one glance and a few honeyed words Frank could bring the strongest men to their knees, and then some.
"I'm Gerard, sir." He said shyly whilst looking down at his feet; another second of locked eyes he would melt. Who wouldn't?
"You gotta last name, kid?" Frank sneered at the kid and chuckled jerkishly. "Or are you just a poor 'lil orphan boy?"
"Way, sir. Gerard Way." He corrected himself in a tone of fear and teenage self consciousness.
Frank nodded in response. "Gerard Way." He said and let the words role around his tongue as if tasting a meal worth more than your parents' grave.
"Boss, we got everything." One of the men who came with Frank said to him. "We better clear out and get to the next place." He told Frank.
"Alright, Toro." He said to the curly haired man. "It was a pleasure, Gerard." He said and took the teen's hand and kissed it with a gentleness that was not to be expected from such a notorious man.
All the teen could do was blush and nodded before finally saying, "You too, Mr. Iero, sir." in his so far normal shaky tone.
The gangsters filed out one by one and onto their next victims whom were under their protection and control. Since the police had become so corrupt, business owners turned to the local gangs for protection, even if it wasn't by their choice.
The next day seemed to go by in a blur for Gerard. All he could think about was the man who treated him like dirt, but then at the same damn time like the specialist guy in the world.
Maybe he was over romanticizing everything. All he did was kiss his hand, but the way he did it was something straight out of a fairytale.
The gentleness of his lips, the way they felt so soft yet so rough. It was like nothing he had felt before.
Snap out of it.
He thought to himself. He couldn't let this bother him too much. He did have a job, even if the store was almost always empty.
The little bells on the door shook as a delivery man opened the door they were draped against.
"Delivery for a," He paused to look down at his clipboard, "Gerard Way." He said to the boy.
"That's me." He said and scanned the delivery man with a puppy like curiosity. "Though I don't remember ordering anything." He said under his breath as the man gave him the package and then a clipboard to sign for it.
G
xo
He signed on the paper then handed the clipboard back to the man whom promptly left.
Gerard shook the small box childishly then quickly looked along the cardboard to make sure it wasn't fragile. To his relief it wasn't. He grabbed the scissors from under the counter and opened the box up with them.
"What?" He gasped in a gobsmacked tone as he took out a comic book, still fresh in the plastic it wore as a shield to protect itself from scratches and other indecencies that might bother collectors.
It was a first edition limited cover variant of Morison's volume two Doom Patrol.
"This must've cost a fortune." Gerard said under his breath and looked at the spine carefully.
"Who got this?" He asked himself and looked through the box to fine a note which read.
'I hope you like it, I had to cut a man for it, but you seem to be worth far more than just one man's life. Meet me outside of Uncle Tim's diner at 7:30pm, dress nicely.
F.I.'
"F.I." He said aloud and bit his lip. He didn't know anyone with those initials, nor someone who would cut a man for him. Unless it was the man who raided the store last night.
During the few agonizing hours that were left in his shift he let his mind wander and wander as he read his new comic. 'Why?', was one of many question that lingered through his mind.
Why would a gang leader want to give him something so rare? Does he expect anything in return? Why did he kiss his hand? Does like him romantically? Why did it bother him? What was it about this strange man who could have easily taken his life?
Everything that had happened in such a short period of time confused him and slowly consumed him like a dark, cold, yet beautiful abyss.
"Way, your shift's over." The manager of the store said in his monotone voice. He was never impressed, nor did he even like comic books. Gerard had no idea why he would work here, but he did and there was no way in hell he'd ever ask the big blonde guy why.
"Thanks, Bryar." Gerard said and took the comic and note out of the store after throwing out the box.
He made his way back home and was surprisingly greeted by his mother. "Hello, Gee." She said with an uncomfortable smile.
"Hey, mum." He said cautiously. "What happened? Is something wrong with Mikey?" He asked worriedly then looked behind her to see if he could spot his kid-brother.
"No, nothing like that. I just think it's time you uh," She paused, "Never mind, I'll tell you later." She said and stepped aside to let Gerard through.
"Er, okay?" He uttered with a voice of slight confusion. He shook his head and dismissed what she said to then run down to his room. He lived in the basement, it wasn't that bad. He had a bed, a TV, a record player, and a bookshelf full of vinyls and comics. It was a nice place.
He walked to his dresser which was adjacent to his bed, which had a batman bed spread and pillows, to then pull out a dress shirt and some black slacks.
It was weird that he had to dress up for a diner, but he wasn't going to question a gang leader.
He gathered up a red tie and black dress shoes as well as a nice jacket. He did specifically say how dressy so the worst thing he could do is dress down and that wasn't going to happen. Only a god would know what Frank might do if he doesn't dress up.
He got everything on, except for the tie. That was going to be the trivial part. Gerard stood in front of his mirror staring back at himself as he tried to tie his blood red tie.
Knot, unknot, knot, unknot. It was a viciously boring cycle. He glanced over at his clock and gasped at the time. It was 7:20! He was going to be late if he didn't hurry up.
He quickly tied an unprofessional knot then made his way through the house.
"Bye, mom!" He called out as he ran to the door. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner!" He yelled before running out of the door.
He made his way down a few blocks with a speedy pace to the diner he had so many childhood memories in then saw the man he saw last night.
Frank Iero, the leader of Red Flag. He was dressed in similar attire, black suit, white dress shirt, red tie, and black slacks.
"Hello, Gerard." He said to the teen with a devilishly handsome smirk. More than devilishly handsome, it was so indescribably handsome that the devil himself would be ashamed to bare his teeth in the presence of Frank.
(Thank you so much for your support and encouragement! It truly means a lot to me. I think this might be my first actual multi-chapter story, which is really exciting. I hope you guys stick around for it and help me improve my writing along the way! xoxo, Ashton)
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