Falling In Love Will Kill You (Frerard)

The Hit

It's not often that Frank is employed on a job that is within walking distance, so he relishes the fresh air he feels hitting his face, helping him to relax as he strolls through the streets of New York. Often, the jobs that he takes are at least a twenty minute drive away, since not that many people request a public death - New York streets aren't exactly private places.

He always feels a bit on edge in public with a gun in his backpack. It's pretty lightweight, as far as snipers go, but it still makes his shoulders ache. Frank doesn't know what he would say if, for some reason, he was searched, or his bag broke. Carrying a concealed weapon is bad enough, but carrying a concealed sniper rifle would land him a pretty hefty sentence.

A bell sounds as he pushes open the door to the coffee shop. It's a small place, small enough that there's no one behind the counter when he enters. Small coffee shops are always his go to place; the fewer people he comes into contact with, the better.

A man in the back, just within Frank's view, gestures towards a stack of plates in his hands, indicating that he'll be out to serve him after he puts them away. Frank nods at him, flashing a polite smile. The man is tall, taller than Frank, but that doesn't say much. The waiter has shaggy brown hair and a strong jaw line, which Frank has always found appealing. He kneels down in front of a cabinet and begins stacking the plates inside. As Frank looks him over, he thinks about how if this was any other day, he'd flirt with him. He would probably ask for his number if he wasn't about to blow some guys brains out.

He smiles when he returns, offering Frank a gleeful, "So, what will it be?" and leaning against the counter. Frank considers asking the guy for his number anyway, but in turn, decides not to. Instead, he places his order and pays quickly, then reaches into his pocket to check his phone.

Oliver is stationed within view of Amari Scibelli's window, and will send a text to Frank as soon as he notices a sign that he's awake. Based on previous patterns, Amari should leave the hotel about fifteen minutes after waking up. Frank guesses being the son of a mobster means you don't really have the need to spend time on how you look in the morning. Fifteen minutes is longer than Frank needs to head to the office building across from St. Regis, find a way to the roof, and set up.

You'd also think that a top notch hotel like that would have windows that you can't see into that easily, so either Oliver was able to find some sort of amazing vantage point, or that hotel isn't all it's cracked up to be. Frank takes the latter, as while Oliver is his fucking life saver five times a day, he's neither incredibly intelligent nor incredibly athletic.

Taking the cardboard cup that's handed to him, he offers one more small nod to the server, before turning to a table in the far corner. This is when he notices the only other person in the shop, Kevin Whatshisname. Frank has met Kevin on several occasions, but is still unaware of how he actually knows him. The first time they ever met, to Frank at least, he had been walking down a street when he was approached by a man in some kind of convenience store uniform.

"Frank!" He had called, Frank looked behind him, just to check if he was shouting for another Frank.

Of course, he wasn't.

Not having the faintest idea who the man was, he opened his mouth, but nothing intelligible came out.

"Oh come on, you remember. I'm-" And that's when he noticed the name tag on the man's chest.

"Kevin! Of course, Kevin... How are you, man?" Frank had cut in, now mentally scanning his brain for anything that might tell him where he knows this strange man from, but he came up short.

"Ah man, you know," He said, gesturing with his hands. No, Frank didn't know. He had no fucking idea.

He had managed to get away pretty quickly after that first encounter, making up some lie about somewhere he had to be. There had been 3 more encounters after that, all of which had been equally as confusing. There was one time in the toilets of a bar, one in a subway, and the most recent - in a dark alleyway at 2 AM, when Frank was on the way back from a job. That had been the worst time.