Chapter Thirty-Three
Same evening…
Bobbie looked up as a light knock sounded at the front door. She placed her cup of coffee on the table in front of her and walked toward the door.
"Johnny!" she exclaimed. "I was starting to worry about you. You said you’d be back in the evening, but it’s almost eleven."
Johnny’s face creased into a broad smile. "Business took longer than I’d anticipated, but I thought about you all the way back to Port Charles. Does that count?" His green eyes met Bobbie’s and danced merrily.
"Oh, you’re a charmer," Bobbie tittered. "I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, buster."
"I hope so," Johnny responded lightly as he drew her into a bear hug. He kissed Bobbie’s lips for a long minute, as if he had all the time in the world. "I don’t want you looking at any other man, you know," he said, stroking her long, auburn curls. The two kissed again, and Johnny turned serious. "We need to talk privately," he said. "There are some business arrangements that I need to finalize, and they affect you."
"The boys are in bed," Bobbie stated, "but let’s move our discussion into the kitchen anyway. Can I fix you a cup of coffee? Do you want anything to eat?"
"Both sound good," Johnny replied wearily. He sighed as he followed Bobbie into the kitchen. "It’s been a very long day." Johnny pulled out a wooden chair from the circular oak table that was nestled into a bump out bay at the end of the kitchen. He looked around the room and admired Bobbie’s tasteful, cheery decorating. He watched her as she sliced a piece of cake and placed it on a plate. She’s one special lady, he thought to himself. I was real lucky to meet her. Rick and Sally will fall in love with Bobbie. When Bobbie handed him the slice of cake, she frowned lightly and then smiled. "What are you thinking about?" she teased. "You have this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes." Johnny smiled as he took Bobbie’s hand into his own. "Thinking about you," he said happily.
~*~*~*~
Nikolas grumbled, "Who is it?" as he reached for his bedroom door to open it in response to the insistent knock. "Oh, father. It’s you," he said unenthusiastically.
"We need to talk, young man," Stefan stated firmly as he entered his son’s room and fixed his intense gaze on the boy.
"There’s not much to say," Nikolas retorted, shrugging and holding up his hands.
"Then sit down and listen," Stefan ordered as he pointed at a chair. Nikolas sat down and scowled.
"What specifically is bothering you about the fact that Luke Spencer’s son is alive?" Stefan questioned. "That is an indisputable fact. If you air your concerns, then we can address them." Stefan leaned back into his chair, crossed his leg and stared his son in the eye.
Nikolas grew uncomfortable, looked away and shifted in his chair. Several emotions ran across his face – anger, fear and sadness. He settled for anger. "Why won’t anyone admit that this Frankie or Lucky or whatever his name is a criminal? He’s not this innocent, kidnapped baby!"
"But that in fact is precisely what he was," Stefan insisted. "It is wrong to deny that. No one is glossing over his activities or those of his adoptive father. We are concerned for his safety and want to introduce ourselves to him. That is all."
"Maybe he doesn’t want to know us, maybe he doesn’t care at all," Nikolas protested. "Have you thought of that?"
"Yes," Stefan agreed. "We have thought of this. However, your mother had a good conversation with him today, and she is very encouraged. The boy was raised without a mother. He needs one now."
Nikolas’ eyebrows raised. "Join the club," he declared angrily as his dark eyes flashed. "How do you think it felt to receive photos of my mother holding onto her beloved baby son who was in every photo without exception? This baby had the perfect family – mother, father. Excuse me for not feeling pity."
"So you’re feeling angry about not having your mother with us for the first years of your life?" Stefan questioned. "This situation brings up the issue again?"
"Sort of," Nikolas admitted as his face turned red.
"I’m sorry for your loss, Nikolas," replied Stefan. "I take responsibility for the circumstances of your birth. I was very much in love with your mother and wanted to marry her, but my mother made many threats, some of them against your life, if I did not send Laura away. Your grandmother was a very evil woman. I do not doubt that she would have taken action. I sent your mother away out of love for you. Perhaps I was wrong, but it was all I could think to do. Again, I’m sorry that I hurt you."
"But I don’t like him," Nikolas protested, skirting the real issue. "I’ve met him. He’s a jerk. I can’t stand him. I don’t want to be related to him."
"Regardless, he is your half brother – you share a mother," Stefan declared. "Why don’t you wipe the slate clean and start over again? Try to find something nice in your brother."
"He doesn’t like me either," Nikolas retorted hotly. "He threatened to kill me. He waved a gun in my face."
"I am dealing with you and your actions," Stefan said firmly. "Luke Spencer will deal with his son and his actions. Both of you boys need to cool down and reconsider your opinions." Stefan cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. "Besides, I am concerned that the boy may not live. He experienced another medical emergency this evening. Your mother deserves some good memories of her son – both of her sons. You should probably come with me to the hospital tomorrow so that you can meet with the boy again and make your peace with him. Make your mother happy and clear your own conscience."
Nikolas didn’t reply, but set his face to a stony expression. There was no talking his father out of his decisions. He would have to find a way to make the best of it. But he still didn’t like it.
~*~*~*~
Johnny took a sip from his coffee and laid his mug back down. "Frankie and I talked earlier today," he explained. "I’ve been busy running errands – buying laptop computers, and items like that." His face turned serious, and his tone of voice was tense. "The business, Frank Smith’s organization, it’s every bit as real as any other legitimate corporation. It’s not over, Bobbie. There are some matters that Frankie needs to cover, and I’m his front man while he’s in the hospital. I’ve been in this business for over fifteen years. Frankie trusts me, and well, he should. I aim to do right by him."
"I don’t understand," Bobbie’s soft voice replied.
"Frankie doesn’t want to let the business die," Johnny exclaimed. "He’s going to reactivate it this week so that no employees miss a paycheck. It’s business as usual as if Frank had never died, only it’s temporary. Frankie doesn’t intend to keep the illegal aspects of the organization. He’s going to sell it off to another mob. The reason I’m telling you this is because as soon as we reactivate, we’re bound to call attention to ourselves. There’s a price out on Frankie’s head. There’s a rival faction within the organization that’s jockeying for control, and they’ve tried to kill him numerous times. That can’t happen. It’s my job to protect him. Ordinarily, I’d be right by his side at all times. But, I can’t do that with the current situation. Frankie’s in the hospital, and he has a family now. But Luke needs to know that Frankie needs bodyguards 24/7. I’d like to check out the backgrounds of anyone that he chooses. It’s that important."
Johnny’s worried green eyes met Bobbie’s. "It’s my fault that he was shot." Johnny’s eyes misted briefly as his emotions got the better of him. "That chest wound. It was at the night of the convention party. He was separated from me. All it took was a few seconds. He wanted to request a song from the pianist. The bastard shot him five times before I could take him out. Frankie was lying there, unconscious, covered with blood." Johnny gripped his coffee cup, flinching at the memory. "And that Frank, he wasn’t even human. Not hardly. He forced the kid back into the party and made him act like everything was okay. Then he dragged him back out and threw him to the floor, berating him and demeaning him with a stream of foul words." Johnny shook his head. "Bobbie, there’s a lot you don’t know about Frankie. I want to tell you some things so you’ll know. I’m not sure when I’ll be around to talk to Luke. I’m going to find an obscure motel room somewhere to hole up in after we finish talking. I don’t want to bring any potential violence near your home or your family. Do you understand what I’m telling you?"
Bobbie nodded sadly. "I’ve been around the mob before," she whispered. "I don’t like it, but I understand." Bobbie hesitated as Johnny looked at her earnestly. "Johnny, you might be on your own with this reactivating the organization. Frankie had another setback this evening. He was in surgery with a serious nosebleed. He lost a lot of blood and is on a respirator again."
Johnny’s face colored. "Dammit!" he said loudly as he smacked the table. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "What’s his prognosis?" he asked plainly.
"They’ve started him on treatment for his blood disorder," Bobbie explained. "That may help him. But he’s a long way from recovery. He sustained some serious wounds."
"Okay," said Johnny. "I know what I’m dealing with. Now it’s my turn to tell you what you’re dealing with," he added seriously. "I’ve known Frankie for about twelve years." Bobbie blinked in surprise, and her mouth hung open. "Wow," she said. "Come on, give me the details."
"My ex-wife, Maria, her father was in the business. In fact, he used to be one of Frank’s personal bodyguards. Joseph, he was golden, a real old-timer, very loyal with a high code of honor. I was young when I started in the business, and he took me under his wing, which of course, meant lots of family dinners with the DeMarco’s. Mrs. DeMarco, she’s a real matchmaker, and she decided that she’d fix up Maria and me. It worked." Johnny looked at Bobbie and laughed. "You haven’t met Mrs. DeMarco," he explained. "She’s a force of nature." Bobbie’s mind drifted toward Ruby, and she nodded. "I think I understand," she stated.
"Anyway," Johnny continued. "We were pretty happy – way too young to be married – but happy. After a few years, we had Rick, our son." Johnny’s eyes shone brightly as he talked about his son, and Bobbie smiled at his reaction. "Things were good. I was mostly working at the mansion as a guard, so the work was regular, no long hours, no traveling. During this time Frankie started staying with the DeMarco’s. I’d heard about Frankie, and I actually saw him when Frank first brought him to the mansion." Johnny’s face colored. "I’m sorry, Bobbie. I didn’t know. No one suspected." Bobbie’s eyes filled with tears. "I know."
Johnny continued. "Frank was traveling very heavily in those days. He wasn’t home much, so Frankie was often at the DeMarco’s. Joseph was one of Frank’s most trusted employees, so it made sense to leave Frankie there. But, still, the kid was thrown around like a beach ball. He’d show up at 2AM and stay for a week, then disappear for a month only to be brought back to stay for three months straight." Johnny shifted in his seat uneasily. "We were all concerned about him. He didn’t seem to thrive under Frank’s care, so Mrs. DeMarco would pay him lots of attention, feed him well. He’d be fine while he was there, but then he’d leave. Next time we’d see him, he’d seem to have lost weight or be listless and sad. But we tried to help him. Everyone liked Frankie. He stood out with a fun personality, his blond hair and blue eyes, and he became kind of a little brother to the household. Mrs. DeMarco had a steady stream of kids in the house – her own children, friends of the children, cousins, and nephews. But Frankie was too little to play with many of the DeMarco boys, and he felt left out sometimes. That’s why he used to follow around my mother-in-law. She’d put him to work washing dishes or helping her bake. It was so cute. Frankie would be standing there in an apron that was wrapped around him four times. He was always cute."
Johnny stood up and stretched. "One thing that always bothered me was the drinking." When Bobbie looked quizzical, Johnny laughed and leaned on the chair in front of him. "Yeah, the drinking. The men used to drink a fair amount. There would be family parties and plenty of booze. Good old Frankie used to clean up. I mean, this four-year-old would be walking around with someone’s half empty beer, guzzling away. You never left a can of beer sitting or you’d come back and find this drunken little munchkin sipping away. Obviously, someone was giving that child alcohol on a regular basis. It was disgusting. I felt so sorry for him, but there was nothing you could do except try to watch him and take it away. And then there was the mother issue. The child had absolutely no normal upbringing or family life. He’d never had his own mother, and I think that left a hole in him. Imagine how you’d feel if you saw this scene. A new woman, someone’s wife or girlfriend would show up at the DeMarco’s. Frankie would be there like a flash. He’d try to charm her, bat his eyes at her, and act real sweet. ‘Are you my mama?’ he’d ask. ‘You look like her picture.’ Talk about breaking your heart. The women would be in tears. He stopped doing that by the time he was eight or nine, but by then it was too late."
"What do you mean?" Bobbie asked worriedly.
"He’d changed," Johnny explained. "You can’t have constant negative experiences and not change. He’d become harder, almost like a hood you might say. By that age, Frankie had already witnessed countless scenes of violence – killings, beatings, shootings, doublecrosses. He’d say things like, ‘Frank didn’t like what Ernie said so POW!’ Frankie also started carrying weapons at this young age. It made me nervous because the kid had a hair-trigger temper, and he was so moody. In the same breath, you could be his best friend or his hated enemy. His emotions were all over the board. He’s still like that to some degree."
"Did he ever hurt anyone?" Bobbie questioned.
Johnny laughed and looked at her incredulously. "Sure. What do you think? He’s Frank’s son."
Bobbie gulped and her mouth turned dry as she considered the implications of those words. She took a careful sip of her coffee.
"I don’t mean to scare you," Johnny said. "It’s just that you need to know what you’re facing. Frankie is not a normal teenaged boy."
"I’m starting to understand that," Bobbie said, nodding. "But through no fault of his own."
"Exactly," Johnny agreed. "Frank Smith took that boy and ruined him. He played with him, abused him, and never gave him anything concrete or permanent as a foundation to grow on. The kid raised himself. Plain and simple. There were some, like the DeMarco’s, that tried to help, but to what effect? I don’t think Frankie even ate regularly when he was growing up. I’ve heard stories that someone would find the kid crying in the kitchen because he couldn’t reach the counter to get himself a piece of bread, or that one of the staff would make him a peanut butter sandwich and be amazed when the kid basically shoveled the whole thing into his mouth out of sheer hunger. It’s sick."
"Yes, it is," Bobbie replied softly, folding her hands and looking down at the table with sad eyes.
"I didn’t see Frankie for a whole year after the kidnapping incident," Johnny continued. "After that, he was with a series of bodyguards and never allowed out of the mansion. I came to work for him when he was thirteen. Did you know that intellectually, he’s very brilliant?" Johnny asked. "He was tutored privately and received his GED when he was thirteen. He studied under Frank for two years after that, learning all of the details of the business. Frank saw the goldmine in the kid. He’s one of the best strategists out there. Very brilliant and capable – as well as deadly. The FBI would love to get their hands on him. But, it’s my job to keep us one step ahead of them. And, that’s what I wanted you to know."
"And, there is some more information that you should know. Be sure to tell Luke this. Frank had been losing his grip over the last two years. Unfortunately, Frankie bore the brunt of much of it. I think I understand the dynamic now that I have the full picture. As Frankie matured, he physically resembled his father more, and perhaps his personality was similar as well. It drove Frank nuts. I don’t know if it was guilt, hatred for Luke or a combination of the two, but he severely abused Frankie for at least two years – the entire time I was the kid’s bodyguard."
"What do you mean by abuse?" Bobbie asked seriously.
"Physical and emotional abuse," Johnny quickly replied. "He was always hitting this child – night and day. Smacking him on the face, pushing him down, punching, kicking, and belittling him, criticizing his appearance and personality – you name it. It was the worst aspect of my job, having to see this take place and be powerless to stop it. Frank would call him a pretty boy but then beat him so badly that there’s no way you could describe him that way. I don’t know. It made me sick. I did the best that I could. I’d console the boy, try to buck him up, give him compliments, act as a father figure when he’d allow it. But it wasn’t enough. I know that. Sometimes I think I should have outright killed Frank – shot him dead. But someone else beat me to it."
"I have a lot I need to tell Luke," Bobbie commented sadly.
"Yes, you do," stated Johnny. "Frankie is a wonderful child – bright, smart, funny. He can be very kind and deserves all of the love that you have to give. But at the same time he can be manipulative, vengeful, impulsive, and deadly. Watch yourselves and be aware whom you are dealing with. If you know Frank Smith, then to some extent you know Frankie Smith. Don’t turn your back on him."
~*~*~*~
"So what’s your news, Felicia? You go first," Mac stated as he headed for the kitchen. "I need a cup of coffee."
"Decaf," Felicia reminded. "It’s past eleven. You know how you hate to be kept awake by caffeine."
Mac waved his hand at his wife. "Yeah, yeah, now what’s your story?"
"Well," Felicia began excitedly as her eyes twinkled. "Maxie’s little boyfriend, Frankie DeMarco, you remember him?"
"How could I forget?" Mac replied with distaste. He made a face as he searched the cabinets for a mug.
"He’s really Luke Spencer’s son," Felicia declared. "Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior!"
"What?!" Mac whipped around and almost dropped his mug. "What did you say?"
Felicia smiled proudly. "I did some snooping around the hospital and discovered that there were no Frankies admitted. But I did find that there was a Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior in ICU 5. I knew that Luke didn’t have a son, so I was suspicious. I saw a boy being wheeled out from that room, and guess who it was? Our Frankie!" Felicia spread her arms wide to show her surprise. "Oh my gosh, Mac, he looked so ill. They were taking him to surgery. I went back to the ICU room and Luke was just leaving. Can you believe that? I have NO idea what’s going on, but it’s intriguing. What’s your news?"
Mac took a sip out of his instant decaf coffee and made a face. "Well, there was a flyer distributed to police departments all along the East Coast. It wasn’t a formal wanted sign, but a wanted for questioning by the FBI flyer. Very irregular. Guess whose handsome mug is littering the page?" Felicia frowned and sighed. "I don’t know," she admitted. "Who?"
"Frank Smith, Junior," Mac intoned. "AKA Frankie DeMarco."
"What?!" Felicia nearly shouted, reacting very similarly to her husband only a minute ago. "This boy can’t be two people at the same time, can he?"
"Maybe," Mac conceded. "There’s something you don’t know, Felicia. Luke had a son when he was married to Laura Cassadine fifteen years ago. His name was Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior and he supposedly died in a fire set by Frank Smith. The Florida police were never able to prove it, though."
Felicia’s jaw dropped down. "Frank Smith, Junior," she whispered. "So he’s not dead after all."
"Apparently not," Mac stated. "But I have an even more important question. What the hell is that low life doing dating Maxie? And why hasn’t the FBI arrested him?"
"You can’t arrest a corpse," Felicia stated sadly. "He is in the ICU. Maybe they’re just waiting to see what happens."
~*~*~*~
"Bobbie, I’m going to need to talk to Frankie soon," Johnny said as he walked toward the door. "I’ll need to give him a report. We’re going to extricate him out of this situation with the illegalities as soon as possible. I promise you that." Johnny drew Bobbie into a hug and groaned.
"Do you know how much I want to stay here, to hold you all night and never let you go?"
"If we hit the bedroom, I’d never want to come out," sighed Bobbie. "You’re a very special man, Mr. Callahan." Her eyes danced with amusement. "In many ways."
Johnny kissed Bobbie before she could say anything else. "I’ll call you tomorrow for an update on Frankie," he said as his hand reached for the doorknob.
~*~*~*~
Hi Athena.
It’s Nik. Where are you? I’ve been emailing you all day. My father just left my room. He lectured for only about fifteen minutes, which is a record for brevity.
Remember that horrible kid that I was telling you about – the one that busted my car and waved a gun in my face? Guess what? He’s my half brother. No, this is not a nightmare, although it feels like one. Apparently "Baby Lucky" is alive. It’s a long story, but my father insists that I visit him in the hospital and "make my peace" with him since he might not survive.
You know my father. When he makes a decision, that’s it. So I have to see this horrible kid tomorrow morning. Wish me luck. Write me back soon, buttercup. <ducking>.
Nik
~*~*~*~
Next day…
"I don’t like hospitals," Nikolas protested weakly as he walked with his father to ICU 5. "Get over it," Stefan ordered lightly as he placed a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. Nikolas hesitated at the doorway, and Stefan ushered him in. Nikolas walked slowly into the middle of the room and stopped as he looked around him. There were a lot of strange sounds in the small room, the hissing of a respirator and the beeping of a cardiac monitor caught his attention. He watched his father go over to the very still boy lying in the bed. Stefan lightly stroked the boy’s freshly washed hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He whispered several things to the boy, but Nikolas couldn’t make out what he said. He watched his father take the boy’s hand and pick it up, patting it and placing it into his own hand. Nikolas was puzzled to watch his father behave that tenderly toward a virtual stranger.
"Nikolas," Stefan said in a low voice. "Come here."
Nikolas reluctantly approached the bed and swallowed hard when he saw Frankie. He didn’t know what he’d expected upon seeing him, but he knew it wasn’t this. Somehow he hadn’t connected his father’s words about the boy dying with his hated enemy. In his mind’s eye, all he could see was Frankie’s smirk or jeering face.
Nikolas felt a lump rise in his throat, and he glanced around nervously. Nothing about Frankie moved except for the automatic pumping of his chest by grace of machinery. His eyes weren’t closed, he wasn’t asleep, but they were barely open and seemingly glazed over. They stared out vacantly, not recognizing the objects that came into their line of vision. Stefan’s hand brushed more of the boy’s hair away from his face, and Nikolas noticed that Frankie’s hair was two colors. It’s dyed dark. I wonder why. Frankie’s one arm was held away from his body and connected to two IV’s and a pulsimeter. Nikolas watched as one of Frankie’s fingers twitched slightly. It was the only movement that he made in the several minutes that Nikolas had been staring at him. There was a cookie monster toy lying under the boy’s left arm, and Nikolas blinked at it in surprise. Frankie looked like a little kid.
Stefan stroked Frankie’s arm. "I’m going to sit next to you," he said quietly. "Visit with your brother. He wants to talk to you." Stefan motioned to Nikolas who moved in closer and sat down in a chair inches away from his brother. Stefan knew that Frankie could likely hear him and feel his touch even if he couldn’t react, so he was careful to try to communicate with the silent boy.
Nikolas found it unnerving the way that Frankie’s eyes never moved or reacted to anything. He cleared his throat. "Hi Frankie," he said tensely. "They keep telling me that you’re my brother. I bet you don’t want it either, do you?" Nikolas shifted uneasily in his seat when Stefan glared at him. "I’m sorry that I pushed you down and rubbed your face in the grass," Nikolas confessed. Stefan’s right eyebrow rose, as this was the first time that he’d heard this. "I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It was only a car, right? Um," said Nikolas, at a loss for words. "I guess we have the same mother so that makes us half brothers? It’s weird, isn’t it?" Nikolas felt spooked talking to someone who never reacted or talked back. The corners of his eyes saw the wavy lines on the monitor and the movement of the respirator. Why are his eyes open? Nikolas thought with some fear. They blink, but they don’t focus on anything. It’s creepy.
Nikolas started from his chair when Frankie’s foot kicked slightly. "What’s he doing?" Nikolas whispered fiercely to his father.
"Moving?" Stefan guessed with a dry tone of voice and a bemused expression on his face.
The nurse came in, and Nikolas moved away from the bed. He watched as she took the boy’s vitals. Nikolas bit hard on his lower lip when he heard Frankie make a low noise and kick again. The boy’s hand curled up weakly and then released. "Okay, hon," the nurse said. "We’ll give you some more pain medication. It’s time." Tears pooled in Frankie’s eyes and ran across his cheeks. The nurse injected something into his IV, and Nikolas watched as his brother’s eyelids flickered and then closed. He felt the shame well up inside himself – shame for all the terrible things that he’d thought and said about Frankie. He saw the tears running wetly down his brother’s face, and his stomach clenched tightly. He felt a few tears in his own eyes and sniffed hard to clear them away.
When the nurse left, Nikolas walked up again to his brother and sat down in the chair. "I’m sorry, Frankie," he said. The boy’s eyes remained closed, but Nikolas continued to talk for ten minutes, telling his brother about his horse, the latest escapades at PCHS and how pretty their newest baby sister was.
Stefan stood almost unobserved in a corner of the room and smiled.
~*~*~*~
Luke and Laura sat in the physician’s office, numb with fear and trying desperately to understand what was wrong with their son. Minutes earlier, Luke had instinctively reached out to hold Laura’s hand, and she hadn’t protested. The two parents gripped the other’s hand tightly as the doctor spoke.
"What I want to know is why he’s still on the respirator?" Luke interjected worriedly.
"That is by another physician’s order," the hematologist stated, "but it’s likely that he was too weak to breathe on his own after surgery. With the nature of his injuries and his difficulty breathing, it is understandable."
"We requested a rush order for his bone marrow aspiration," the doctor intoned. "You’ll be relieved to know that the results are negative for leukemia’s or other related illnesses. The firm diagnosis is idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura or ITP. Because he was hemorrhaging so seriously last evening, he was started on drug therapy, specifically high-dose parenteral glucocorticoid therapy, IVIg, and more platelet transfusions. The effect should be to suppress his immune system so that it will cease attacking his blood platelet cells."
"What about side effects?" Laura asked tensely.
"He’s already experiencing one, which is fever," the hematologist explained. "Sometimes allergic reactions are possible and aseptic meningitis. I’m most concerned that he doesn’t experience intercranial bleeding since he’s had a recent head injury. We’re trying to bring this bleeding under control so that he can recover from his injuries."
"What are his chances for a full recovery?" asked Luke.
"Fairly good, in terms of his ITP," the hematologist explained. "Many children experience spontaneous remission, and this is what we’re hoping for your son. He’ll need to have his blood tested for several months to determine if he’s in remission." The doctor looked concerned. "His other injuries are serious, however. That’s where I’d place my emphasis right now. If there are people who need to see your son, I wouldn’t delay. This combination of problems has made him seriously ill."
Luke and Laura practically stumbled out into the hallway. "Did he just say what I think he did?" Luke asked in a monotone. Laura’s eyes filled with tears. "Yes, he said that Lucky, I mean Frankie, could easily die." Luke and Laura stood in the middle of the crowded hallway, crying and holding onto each other as the rest of the world passed them by.
~*~*~*~
Several hours later…
"Hey, buddy," Luke said quietly as he entered Frankie’s room. The nurses had warned him to be careful around his son and not startle him since he was being sedated to tolerate the respirator. "I have something for you. It’s a mini CD player so you can listen to some good tunes. You must be bored silly." Luke lay the small box on a table near his son and leaned over to observe Frankie.
The boy’s eyes were open, but didn’t seem to be engaged to his surroundings. "Hey," Luke said again as he bent down closer so that Frankie could see him in his direct line of vision. "It’s Luke again. Can’t get rid of me. I keep coming back." Luke stroked his son’s cheek and noticed that he felt hot. "You aren’t feeling good, are you?" he asked. "I’m sorry. The docs said that you might have a fever from the medicines that they’re giving you." Luke noticed that the Cookie Monster was still tucked under the kid’s arm and remembered one nurse telling him that she thought Frankie had perked up while he was holding it. Frankie was curled up more than he had been in previous days. A physical therapist was supposed to begin working with him the next day so that his muscles didn’t atrophy more from his extended immobility.
A movement caught Luke’s eyes, and he saw Frankie barely wiggling the fingers on his right hand. Luke reached over and took his son’s hand and squeezed it to see what type of reaction he would get. Frankie frowned and blinked slightly to show him that he wanted Luke to sit there with him and hold his hand.
Silence filled the room for long minutes, but Luke continued to hold Frankie’s hand as he sat with his son. "How about some tunes?" he asked jovially. "Your mother and I used to sing Frank Sinatra tunes to you when you were a baby. I’m sure you don’t remember. But I have no idea what you like, so I bought a Sinatra’s greatest hits CD for you. Anyway, let’s try it and see how you like it."
Luke pressed the on button on the pre-loaded player. Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned from the mini speaker and enveloped the room in its unique magic. Luke closed his eyes. "Ah, love those old tunes," he whispered. Luke felt Frankie’s fingers moving in his hand, and he opened his eyes. Tears were pouring out of Frankie’s eyes, and at first Luke became alarmed thinking that he was in pain or hurt in some way. But, Frankie’s eyes held Luke’s gaze as his fingers continued to move. I think he’s thanking me. The little kid likes the old tunes!
~*~*~*~
The gaunt man pulled repeatedly on his cigarette until the darkened corner of the room filled with a cloud of smoke and ashes. Finally, he stubbed out his butt and blew the smoke with his lips directed away from his companion.
"You’re going to die," Agent Samuel said flatly.
"No, I’ll rip out your lungs and have them give me a transplant," Agent Richards replied with a dangerous glint in his eyes. He drained his whiskey and motioned with one finger for a refill. Agent Samuel watched him with a horrified look on his face, not entirely sure if the man was joking or not.
"What’s the status with the Smith kid?" Agent Samuel said in a low voice so he wouldn’t be overheard.
"He’s in ICU, fixing to die," Agent Richards replied breezily. "If he croaks, then no go, it’s a waste of our time. But if he lives…" Agent Richard’s watery blue-gray eyes took on another dimension as he smiled evilly. He accepted his whiskey and banged it down on the table. "If he lives, we’ll snatch him when they move him from the ICU to a regular room. Quick and neat arrest, no witnesses except for a terrified nurse or orderly."
"But if he’s so ill, why arrest him?" questioned Agent Samuel.
"Idiot," Agent Richards responded. "He’s ill, so he’s transported to the FBI hospital. Oh dear, he’s dead! End of story – beginning of a new life for our little Frankie. Only we don’t want him to die on us for real, so for now he stays in the ICU."
"Why’s this kid so hot?" Agent Samuel asked nervously as his eyes kept darting around.
Agent Richards coughed repeatedly and reached for his pack of cigarettes again. "He’s brilliant, a genius. He’s one of the top strategists out there. We can learn from him, use him to refine our programs. Once we have him, he’s ours. He’ll never see the light of day again."
~*~*~*~
Johnny inserted the CD into the laptop and began the process of transferring funds from the specified account to the accounts of each Smith employee. Within twenty minutes, he met payroll plus the reward of an additional ten percent bonus for the organizational tension of the last week. Let the games begin, he thought grimly.