Once she was sitting in the back seat, Frankie closed the door and walked back round to the driver's door and back in to the seat behind the wheel. Now that she was in, he started up the engine and tapped the leather of the steering wheel a few times, shoving the stick in to gear and releasing the handbrake. "My name's Frankie Dupraz. I hope you don't mind a little classic music while we drive." He said, looking back as they approached the gate of the large house. Without even waiting for a reply, he tuned it in to an old 70s radio station, currently there was some advertisement on promoting hair gel. Apparently once you purchased this gel, you would never need to worry about your hair going flat again. All the world's problems would be solved thanks to this gel.

When the gate opened, the car joined the main road. Red lights stopped them plenty of times, so it lengthened the car journey slightly. The Pink Flamengo club wasn't too far away, but as he expected, the young darling in the back seat would never want to walk when she had men like Frankie answering her every call. "So are you meeting friends here, or are you gonna turn up expecting to meet a few handsome strangers tonight, Miss Peretti?"

There she was. The daughter of Giovanni Peretti. Already, he had heard stories about her. The spoiled brat of the Peretti clan, a woman who expected every man to bow to her every needs. And every man did. Who could resist the way she pranced around, with that gorgeous face of hers waiting for the words 'yes' or 'of course' to come from everyone's lips. There wasn't a man who had the guts to say no to Kristina. They knew that if they did, she'd have her father have a private word with them before the end of the night.

Frankie had noticed she stopped, wondering what she was waiting for. He looked to the watch on his wrist, and knitted his brows a little at the current situation. Sure, he was a little early, but why was she standing outside instead of sitting in the car? That's when the thought occured to him, and he released a soft sigh through almost sealed lips. The gossip was true. She really did behave like she were royalty.

Climbing out of the car, the French-Belgian-American slowly walked towards Kristina, standing in front of her as if unsure of what to do next. Giovanni had requested he be dressed for the occasion, and had co-operated with his dress code. A smart, black suit with a white shirt underneath. Frankie's tie dangled loosely around his neck, but otherwise he looked the part. "Good evening, Miss Peretti. I'm the guy that's gonna be looking after you tonight. Lucky me, huh?" He commented, a hint of sarcasm lacing the last sentence. Frankie escorted her to the car and opened the rear door for the boss' daughter. Already, he knew he would not like this. But what other alternatives did he have? Lift boxes for a living, struggle to make a decent life for himself then complain to himself that he turned down a driving job that brought in the big bucks?

[center](Thanks alot for joining. Your girl/post was absolutely perfect.)

Frankie Dupraz had only been in this city for two weeks, and already he was working for a man he did not wish to be associated with. The man's name was Giovanni Peretti, a criminal. But the man had offered him decent money, and only a fool would turn it down. Frankie was desperate for cash, after all. He had once tried his hand at making music, a skilled piano player he was. However, things got messy and the band split up after releasing an EP. It didn't hit anywhere near the American charts, but a few songs received considerable air time on the local radio stations. But as always, it was the internal fighting that brought an end to the partnership with his now ex-girlfriend.

The police have been on his back since he arrived. A detective named Greenwood has been pestering him for answers about his relationship with Peretti, but none are going the detective's way. Frankie managed to remain quiet for now, but how much longer could he hold his tongue? They'd find something, they'd dig a little too deep for his liking and come up with something they could drag him back to the station for. A speck of evidence, a piece of paper with both their names or a nice little photograph of both men discussing a ball game. Anything. Frankie had to watch out.

Right now, he was sitting in a car outside of Peretti's house. His first job was a simple task which made Frankie wonder why one of the man's bodyguards couldn't do it instead. So he was taxi-ing the daughter because she wanted to go somewhere, and Frankie was being paid to drive her there. What was he complaining about? Nothing could go wrong.
The vehicle itself was a nice, black sedan that belonged to Giovanni. It was two years old, and looked to have been taken care of very well. There were two deep scrapes on the front bumper, but Frankie had noticed they had been painted over. Only a close inspection would tell you that damage had been done.