Stockholm Syndrome

The phone line was silent, except for the shallow breaths Bert could hear on the other line. "Hello?" He repeated a little louder, but still careful to be quiet as he looked over his shoulder into the empty room, just in case. "What do you want?" A raspy voice echoed back. It seemed restrained, damaged, a voice that could only create such a rasp by being burnt out by many years of smoking and drinking. "Is this... Is this Zero?" Bert asked, nervous but he did a good job of hiding it in his voice. "What's it to ya?" The voice mocked, teasing. It was no doubt the voice of the killer. "I uh... I have a request." He breathed, not sure of himself. Bert got f****d over bad, he needed to get his revenge. He was nervous, to say the least, to be talking to someone who was capable of killing him at any moment if he wanted to, but he was careful not to give him a reason to. "Yeah?" The killer coughed. "Which is?" Everyone in the drug business knew Franklin. Dealers, runners, distributors, smugglers, buyers... He's been around forever. Supplying most of Greenwich Village with whatever crutch the people of New York and even the surrounding states relied on. "Well... I'm sure you know who Frank Bosco is..." Bert said slowly, carefully. "Oh, that old dude? You want him dead?" Bert's question was answered. It was, in fact, Zero. The very best hitman in New Jersey. Nobody knew his real name, what his face looked like, or anything about him, really. "Not exactly..." Bert sighed, rubbing his temple with his sweaty palm. "He has a daughter. She's all he has left." "Oh," The hitman paused, sounding more interested. "So you want him to suffer.." Zero said darkly. "Exactly. I'd be willing to pay up to $5000." Bert stated boldly, switching his phone to his other ear and crossing his foot over his knee. He'd kill the kid himself, but he couldn't afford to go to prison. He'd much rather have someone skilled do the work for him. "Good, good... You got any information about this kid?" He asked, before continuing. "How old is she? Where's she live? What's her name?" The hitman asked, and then Bert heard a click which indicated that he was now on speakerphone. Zero was probably gonna write this stuff down. "I uh, I don't know her age... She's definitely young, like a teenager maybe. 17? 18?" Bert guessed, chewing his lip, raking his brain for any knowledge on the girl. "I know she's named after her father. Francis? Francesca? He calls her Frankie. She lives with her dad in their apartment." He told him the address and sighed. It's happening. "Franklin's never there, in fact I know for sure he's doing a drug trade tonight on the other side of town... Tonight would probably be your best bet." Bert informed him, and the killer hummed in content. "Okay, kid. To you, Frankie Bosco is dead." And then he hung up.