Chapter Thirty-Five
Frankie’s arms were spread wide, and his face was serenely tilted upward as he lifted higher and higher into a gauzy, cloudy atmosphere that swirled around to propel him with a cool, breezy grace. He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs to capacity, smiling broadly at the conspicuous lack of pain. He exhaled and expectantly opened his clear, blue eyes. He was guided by glimmering silver sparkles that beckoned him forward.
Frankie lifted his legs to step up. He was walking down an unfamiliar white path covered with wispy spreading fog, but felt no fear or apprehension, only a calm contentedness. A silhouetted figure approached him slowly and appeared to be a tall man. Frankie looked down at himself and saw that he was still clothed in a blue hospital gown covered with spouting whales and fishermen in boats. Although he felt well and whole, he noticed that his leg and hip were swollen black with bruises, and when he placed his hand on his side, it was roughly lined with sutures. His bare feet continued to walk toward the man in the distance. Frankie briefly closed his eyes and through his eyelids saw the energetic interplay of organic, jeweled color interspersed with a quiet music that seemed like the beautiful hum and flow of the celestial spheres. Up and down, around and around, he was surrounded and sustained by the pure intensity of color, light and sound.
His bare feet stopped abruptly, and he stared in wonderment at the man in front of him. The man was tall and powerfully built, wearing an expensive suit that was covered thickly in the trunk area with dripping wet blood. His white hair was in disarray, and his shadowed, heavy expression was solemn.
"Frank?" the boy’s quivering voice echoed throughout the atmosphere. "Dad!" he shouted with unrestrained joy as he wrapped his arms around the silent man, heedless of the bloody mess that covered his front. The man made no motion to meaningfully touch the boy or hug him back. He merely grasped his cold hands around Frankie’s arms and decisively pulled him away from his body. Frankie’s brow creased with confusion, and for the first time in this place he felt a pervasive uneasiness welling up inside. His blue eyes curiously looked up into the man’s tired, heavy features and dull, leaden eyes.
Frank looked down at his adoptive son and made no attempt to smile or welcome him. "Don’t follow me," Frank’s deep bass voice commanded in a rumbling manner.
Frankie smiled shakily. "I miss you, dad," he said with tear-filled eyes. "I want to be with you."
Frank very slowly shook his head back and forth. "No," he declared. His sunken eyes betrayed his immortal despair and sadness. "You don’t want to be where I am. You must choose."
"But I want us to be together," Frankie protested as his eyes shone brightly with the purity and intensity of his love for his father.
"I am not your father," Frank intoned gravely with the deep lines beside his mouth drawn down. His gaunt arm rose and his index finger pointed. "Go," he commanded. "Leave this place. Go to your real father. Accept him and start your new life. Your family is waiting for you."
Frankie abruptly slapped his hand onto his chest and grimaced as every new breath that he took rushed into his fragile tissues with harsh pain. He stumbled backward with his leg and hip refusing to bear his weight. He looked down at his hands in fear and wonder as his molecules emanated the fierce, hot pain of living. He looked up one more time at Frank with pleading eyes. Frank’s face reflected his stony determination as he suddenly reached out and pushed Frankie away from him with all the strength of his being.
A shout of dismay ripped from Frankie’s lips as he felt himself fall down and down, farther away from the ethereal, peaceful beauty for which he longed. A river of intense, mournful yearning filled his soul as he rushed backward with a tangle of flailing arms and legs caught into the inevitable heavy web of plodding gravity. He fell back to earth hard with a thud like a sack of dusty potatoes thrown to the ground.
~*~*~*~
Laura had been rushed from the room as soon as the emergency team arrived. She was sobbing hysterically in the hallway when Bobbie and Luke raced onto the scene. Bobbie immediately hugged Laura to comfort her enough so that she could talk and tell them what had happened. Luke stood nearby, shaking and pale with intense eyes that were filled with confusion. His mind was racing so fast that he couldn’t focus enough to ask any questions.
Laura’s teary face crumpled with despair, and she pointed to the room. "I was holding him, he seemed to be failing, and then his head fell to the side, and the cardiac monitor started an alarm." Laura looked frantically from Bobbie to Luke. "It wasn’t making any beats – the line was flat," she said breathlessly. Luke’s mouth dropped open in shock, but it was like he was paralyzed, rooted to one spot on the floor. Bobbie quickly walked over to the doorway of the ICU room to assess the situation.
Frankie was sprawled on his back with his head lying at what looked to be an uncomfortable angle and his gown ripped away from his chest. A physician was rapidly performing chest compressions on the boy, simulating the rhythmic beating that the boy’s own heart should be doing. "Start an intravenous line at the antecubital fossa. Rapidly infuse 1000 mL of normal saline." After a minute, he suddenly stopped the chest compressions and said loudly, "Adrenaline, 1 mg IV. Give me 200 joules." The physician grabbed the pre-gelled paddles from the technician and firmly placed them on Frankie, to the front and side of his chest, shocking the boy’s heart and making his body jerk sharply away from the bed as his arms, head and chest flew out and crashed back down. After checking the failed heart rhythm, again he ordered, "I need 200 more joules!" in a tense voice. When Frankie didn’t respond adequately, another milligram of adrenaline was administered. Frankie’s heart still wasn’t pumping, and the physician hurriedly began chest compressions again to force blood through the boy’s heart. The man was starting to sweat from his exertion working over Frankie’s still body, his strong arms extended and his crossed hands pushing hard against the boy’s chest. "Give me 260 joules this time!" he shouted. "And push 10 mg adrenaline." The physician’s hair hung down from his forehead as he grimaced and grunted with the efforts at performing rapid chest compressions over the non-responsive boy.
Bobbie stood quietly watching at the doorway as her heart tightened. Frankie wasn’t reviving, and she knew that they wouldn’t work on him much longer. Her fingers curled around the molding beside the doorway, and she held her breath as her brown eyes blinked back her tears.
~*~*~*~
Jason picked up the other cordless phone in Sonny’s penthouse living room and gently turned on the sound as he placed it next to his ear and nodded at his boss.
Sonny cleared his throat. "Well, Mr. Callahan, to what do I owe this pleasure," Sonny answered respectfully as he shook his head and rolled his eyes at Jason.
"I have a message for you from Frank Smith Junior," Johnny replied cryptically.
"And how do I know that you, Mr. Callahan, speak for Frank Smith Junior?" Sonny questioned. "How do I know this isn’t some crank. I thought your so-called boss was presumed dead anyway," Sonny stated in a leading manner as he raised an eyebrow and eagerly awaited Johnny’s answer.
Johnny sighed. "Call me Johnny," he said. "I’m a bodyguard, Mr. Corinthos. Intelligent and capable at performing the duties of my job, but not with the mind of Mr. Frank Smith Junior. I’m sure you’re aware of his reputation?"
Jason nodded that Johnny was indeed Frankie’s bodyguard, and Sonny picked up on that. A wave of dread washed over him when he considered Johnny’s words mentioning Frankie’s prowess. Sonny wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but he was convinced it wasn’t good. Small-time mobsters were vanishing at a rapid pace all along the East Coast, and rumor had it that Frank Smith’s young son was the mastermind behind a diabolical long-term strategic plan. Most people had laughed that off as being ridiculous, but Sonny had noted the increasingly long arm of the Smith organization, which seemed to be rapidly growing and acquiring more power. He’d been glad that he’d had no contact with the Smith organization – until now.
"I’m a busy man," Sonny retorted irritably. "What do you have on your mind?" Sonny’s dark brown suit jacket was flung to the side as he held his hand on his hip. His brown eyes hardened and narrowed while waiting for Johnny’s answer.
"We have a business proposition for you, Mr. Corinthos," stated Johnny, pausing for dramatic effect before continuing. But first you might appreciate a quick recap of your business position before we proceed."
Sonny was fuming as he waited for the bombshell to arrive. "I don’t do business over the telephone," he growled scornfully. A best defense is an offense, Jason thought.
"Mr. Smith doesn’t perform business deals in person. It’s not his style," Johnny emphasized. He nervously wrapped the phone cord around his index finger as he talked. I’m not used to doing this, Frankie, he thought tensely.
"And I don’t do business unless it’s face to face, man to man," Sonny yelled. "This is bullshit."
"Two of your four men in the middle ranks are now Frank Smith employees," Johnny outlined in a smooth, assured voice. "Which ones are they? You weren’t terribly certain about Jason Morgan recently, were you? Every dirty cop in the PCPD now works for Frank Smith, not Sonny Corinthos. Two out of three harbormasters are accepting our bribes, and we have a sophisticated money laundering system in place, ready activate with one quick phone call. Oh, and we’ve effectively eliminated the minor competition," Johnny added breezily.
A bead of sweat formed on Sonny’s forehead and dripped down slowly along the length of his taut face. "Sorel," Jason mouthed at his boss. Sonny grimaced as his mind raced. Frank Smith has taken over. He’s moved in without me detecting it. But wait! He’s dead. The kid! Ohmigod, it’s the kid. He’s the one behind this. I don’t believe it. He’s young enough to attend the local high school. This is unbelievable. He’s got a hand around my throat, and he’s ready to squeeze.
~*~*~*~
"Honey? I didn’t know you’d be home so soon. I thought you were still at Kelly’s." Felicia stood in the doorway of Maxie’s room, watching her daughter sitting on the edge of her bed, playing with a stuffed bear.
Maxie shrugged and continued to swing the bear on its metal chain and leash. "I was only there for a minute," she explained. "Ruby Spencer gave this to me." Maxie held out the bear with her arm and twisted her wrist to swing it back and forth. "It’s a gift from Frankie. He’d bought it for me when we were supposed to go on our date. Only he never made it." Maxie looked back down at the floor.
"Yes, I know," Felicia said sympathetically. As her eyes swept around her eldest daughter’s bedroom, she took in the feminine, white painted furniture and the pink frilly bedspread and coordinating pillows of the décor. Maxie is growing up, she thought. She doesn’t seem at home in this room anymore. My baby girl is becoming a young woman.
Maxie looked up, her face suddenly innocent and childlike again. "Mom?" she asked seriously. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"
Felicia leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms as her forehead creased with her concentration. "I don’t know, Maxie," she answered finally. "I think I believe in attraction at first sight, but love takes time to grow," she explained. "It needs to be nurtured."
"What about you and dad?" Maxie asked quietly.
Where is this coming from? Felicia wondered. She seems to be talking about herself and her parents at the same time. Felicia suddenly giggled, and Maxie looked up in surprise. "Definitely attraction at first sight for your father and me," Felicia said firmly. She shook her head and giggled again at the memories of a young, sexy, debonair Frisco.
"But no nurture?" Maxie asked sadly.
Felicia rubbed her lips together and frowned lightly. "Not enough, not consistently," she answered honestly. "Is there something specific that you want to know?" questioned Felicia as she sought her daughter’s face.
Maxie shook her head, hugging the plush bear to her chest. "I think I love Frankie," she said very quietly as she glanced up shyly at her mother.
Felicia’s heart clenched when she saw both the little girl and woman co-existing in her daughter’s appearance, mannerisms and conversation. Felicia knew that she was standing on dangerous ground without a map for guidance. Her face softened. "Oh, honey. You’ve only been on one date with this boy," she said gently yet firmly.
"I fell in love with him the first time I saw him," Maxie interjected. Her face took on a serene glow as she described their first encounter. She lightly rubbed a floral pillow lying beside her with a soft hand. "I saw him walk into Kelly’s Diner with his uncle – he looked so cool and on top of the world. I was having lunch with Mac that day. Frankie walked by our table and sat down across from us. He looked over my way, and our eyes locked. That was it. I haven’t felt the same since." Maxie shivered delightedly and hugged her arms. "And then when he sat beside me at lunch and asked for my phone number…I thought I was going to die." Maxie’s cheeks flushed with the memory.
"I think that’s the initial attraction we were talking about," Felicia reminded her daughter. "Mature love takes time."
An angry, stubborn look crossed Maxie’s face. "Are you saying that I’m too young to be in love?" she challenged.
"No, what I’m saying is that real love grows and develops over time," insisted Felicia. "It’s not the result of a single glance or conversation. You don’t know this Frankie very well."
"Well enough," Maxie protested.
"There are some things we need to talk about," Felicia countered firmly. "The fact is that you don’t know Frankie very well. He’s not who he says he is."
Maxie’s face scrunched up. "What are you talking about, mother?"
Felicia sighed. "Frankie’s real name is Frank Smith, Junior." She hesitated. "Well, it’s sort of his real name. His father or whomever you want to call him was Frank Smith. He was killed several days ago. I imagine that’s how and when Frankie was injured."
"Are you talking about that incident in New Jersey where the National Guard was called out?" Maxie asked incredulously.
"Yes," replied Felicia. "Mac received a flyer from the FBI with a notice that Frank Smith Junior was wanted for questioning. Your Frankie’s photo was on that flyer. And there’s more, honey. I went to the hospital last night to see if I could find out anything about Frankie’s condition. But, there was no boy listed under his name. I investigated on my own and discovered something quite shocking. Frankie is really Luke’s Spencer’s son. His name is Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior. Mac said that Luke’s son was supposedly killed by Frank Smith’s mob fourteen years ago. His parents thought he was dead all that time. Obviously, he was kidnapped and raised by Frank Smith. It’s terrible."
"So who is he, really?" Maxie asked dreamily with big eyes. "I knew he was an interesting guy. This is amazing."
"That’s one word for it," Felicia laughed uneasily. "You know Mac is upset that a kid mobster is dating his stepdaughter."
Maxie’s chin jut out in defiance. "So what?" she declared. "I don’t care who he is – I love him."
"Your safety is very important to us," Felicia said emphatically. "We have a right and an obligation to be concerned about you."
"We’re going on a date as soon he gets out of the hospital," Maxie retorted.
Felicia took Maxie’s hand into her own and squeezed it as her eyes filled with concern for her daughter. "Maxie, I saw Frankie. He looked very ill, honey. I just called the hospital to check on his condition, and it’s listed as critical."
~*~*~*~
"We have a rhythm!" a nurse announced excitedly. Everyone in the room sighed as the cardiac monitor indicated electrical activity that increased and soon approached normal. "He’s starting to pink up," the nurse remarked as the color began coming back to Frankie’s skin with the improved circulation of his blood. Everyone in the room relaxed but quickly startled when Frankie’s eyes suddenly opened, and he let out what sounded like a wounded, angry roar.
"What in the world?" the technician questioned out loud with a shadow of fear on his face.
The weary physician shook his head and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm. "It’s something new every day. I stopped asking ‘why’ years ago."
~*~*~*~
"What’s going on, Barbara?" Luke asked shortly. Apprehension and fear radiated from his face and body, giving him a tight, irritable look that suggested he might pop someone on the jaw at any minute.
"He was in cardiac arrest," Bobbie stated factually. "They managed to start up a heart rhythm again. He’s okay for now, but certainly not out of the woods with a serious incident like this. This is not good."
"Can we see him?" Laura asked eagerly as she tried to smile through a face wet with tears.
Bobbie shook her head. "They just started his heart. We’d better give them some room to take care of him. I’m sure a nurse will let us know when it’s safe to see Frankie." Bobbie stepped up to hug her stiff older brother, patting his back and holding him for a minute.
"Barbara, I don’t know how much more of this I can take," Luke whispered, his eyes haunted and pained. He clung to Bobbie and tightly closed his eyes against the reality facing him.
"What is going on?" Stefan questioned breathlessly as he briskly walked up to the group of people outside of ICU 5. "I was paged that there was an emergency." Stefan’s hand brushed past his pager, and his heart dropped when he saw his wife’s face. Is the boy dead? Stefan drew her into a hug, and Laura began sobbing again. Stefan looked beyond Laura to Bobbie, who gave him a weak smile and explained. "Frankie was in cardiac arrest. They’ve managed to stabilize him."
Laura pulled away from Stefan and swiped futilely at her tears. "I was with him when it happened," she said. "I was holding him, and he faded away on me. He seemed, oh, I don’t know, in a great deal of pain, but happy somehow if that makes any sense. I was rocking him and talking to him about when he was a baby. He relaxed for several minutes, but then his head dropped to the side and the monitor sounded an alarm."
Stefan’s face turned serious, and he lightly ran his hand over his wife’s hair. "After you’ve seen him and know that your son is well, I want you to go home and rest. It has not been long since you’ve had a baby, and this shock isn’t good for you. I can see it in your face."
Laura sighed deeply and bowed her head in agreement with her husband.
"Stefan?" Luke asked tentatively. His blue eyes sought out the competent green eyes of the shorter man standing beside him. "Can we talk for a moment in private? It’s about Frankie. It’s important."
Stefan looked quizzically at Luke. Luke’s request surprised him, but he quickly recovered and nodded. "Let’s talk in my office. Laura? Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes?" When Laura nodded her assent, Stefan held out a cordial hand to direct Luke to his office.
~*~*~*~
Luke craned his neck looking around Stefan’s office. The first time, he’d been there with Alexis. He’d been too preoccupied with maneuvering the man into telling his wife about Lucky’s miraculous reappearance to notice the expensive and tasteful décor. He wondered if Stefan’s executive suite was indicative of the man’s temperament. Was he expensive, classy and tastefully progressive? Luke laughed as he sat down in a chair across from Stefan’s Danish modern desk. "I don’t see any feminine touches in here," he said teasingly as he remembered with a cringe Laura’s decorating obsessions that had plagued him during their marriage. At the time it had been country critters – ducks, geese, bears – anything with a heart emblazoned on it. He was surprised that Lucky hadn’t emerged from the womb holding onto a plaid country quilt and with hearts and smiles stamped onto the bottoms of his tiny feet.
"No, there is a time and a place for everything," Stefan answered smoothly. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the two men shared a mutual joke without ever bringing up the topic verbally.
Luke crossed his leg and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "My son is more heavily involved in the mob than I had originally thought. Somehow, from his ICU hospital bed no less, he’s reactivated Frank’s business. His bodyguard is concerned for the boy’s safety. Apparently there are rival factions within the organization that have been trying to kill Frankie for some time. That’s how he received his gunshot wound."
"The most recent one?" Stefan asked. "The child is covered with them."
Luke let out a brief expulsion of air from his pursed lips. "Yeah, I hear what you’re saying. I haven’t talked to him about it, but we think he was first injured at about age ten. It’s not the life that he would have experienced with me. I had different, better plans envisioned for him."
Stefan nodded in agreement. "I understand. My Nikolas means everything to me."
"Nikolas is a special boy. I enjoyed spending time with him," Luke concurred.
"And you’ll be his uncle soon," Stefan stated. He looked at Luke with an intense expression that Luke couldn’t read.
"In two days I will," Luke stated. "You’ll be there for your sister?"
"Of course," Stefan replied. Stefan shifted in his chair and grabbed hold of his brass letter opener, his slender, aristocratic fingertips stroking up and down its sharp length. "Our sons are not acting like brothers," he mentioned casually to gauge what Luke would say about the situation.
"Only if they’re Cain and Abel," Luke shot back. "My son is waving guns in your son’s face and damaging cars. Nikolas is throwing his weight around and beating on Frankie. It must stop."
"Agreed," Stefan answered. He lay the letter opener down on his desk and folded his hands. "I’ve spoken to Nikolas about his involvement in this feud. I took him to see his brother, and he has had second thoughts about his attitude."
"I’ll discuss this with Frankie when he’s able to hold a conversation," Luke promised. "This behavior is not acceptable to me, either. I’ve confiscated the kid’s guns."
Stefan looked amused and laughed briefly. "I will call over to Wyndemere and have one of my finest guards stationed at the ICU. Artur is very fierce looking at a height of six feet seven inches, and he speaks no English. There is no danger of his defection. He’s been loyal to me for years, and unless someone can write him a note in Russian, he will not understand him or her. I will assign a similar guard for the evening shift as well. Your son and my stepson will be protected at all times."
"Thank you," Luke stated gratefully, the relief flooding throughout his body and leaving him feeling slightly giddy. "You’re not so bad for a future bro-in-law," he said jokingly as he held out his hand for a handshake.
Stefan looked stumped, but then the light turned on in his brain as he shook Luke’s hand, and his face flooded with recognition. "Oh. Brother in law. Yes. Isn’t life very odd indeed."
~*~*~*~
"We can go in to see our son now," Laura said expectantly when Luke returned to the pediatric ICU. "They’re only allowing family to visit – no more than two at a time and for only ten minutes every hour. They’re trying to be careful with him."
Luke smiled appreciatively. "Thanks for waiting for me. Let’s go see Frankie."
Luke steeled himself for what he’d see, just in case, but neither the room nor Frankie looked markedly different. He walked up to Frankie’s bedside. The room was darkened and the lights turned out except for one weak overhead light near the head of the bed that glowed eerily over the boy’s head. Laura was relieved to see that Frankie’s coloring had improved so much. He now looked livelier than earlier when he’d sported a deathly gray tint.
"He’s not totally unconscious," Laura whispered. "They said he’ll been in and out for a time. I just want him to know that we’re here."
Luke fingered the sleeve of Frankie’s new gown. It had a light green background with little leprechauns holding pickaxes and shining rainbows over pots of gold. "Every time they give him a different one, it’s worse than the last," he chuckled. "Do you like the hair?" he asked Laura. She nodded and smiled, and Luke complimented the barber on the good job that she’d done.
Luke noticed that Frankie was sporting yet one more IV. "They’ve got their hooks in you, kid," he said. "You’ll not get away easy." His heart skipped when Frankie moved. Frankie was lying on his side, and the biceps on his right arm twitched convulsively as his eyes opened. "Hey there," Luke said gently. "Welcome back." Frankie was still connected to the respirator, and it seemed like he was struggling to speak. His lips moved and his eyelids blinked as a muscle jerked in his cheek. He made soft breath sounds through the tubing in his throat and then rolled to one side so that he was nearly on his back. His eyes closed, and he frowned with his exertion. His lips moved again, this time while opening his eyes to look directly at Luke. He formed a word, but it wasn’t possible for Luke or Laura to hear it or make out what he was trying to say.
Frankie flexed his fingers in frustration and made one final effort to speak. "Daaaaa…" it sounded like. His eyelids fluttered as he almost lost his struggle to stay awake. "Dad," he finally uttered.
~*~*~*~
"So now you know your circumstances," Johnny intoned gravely. "You have a choice to make."
"Which is?" Sonny asked impatiently.
"Would you prefer to buy a portion of Frank Junior’s business or would you rather he sold it to one of your direct competitors, including the plans for Port Charles and your inevitable destruction?" Johnny asked lightly. Johnny’s fingers located a nearby pen and tapped it nervously on the desktop in the rundown motel room that was now his residence as well as command station.
"What?" Sonny shouted into the phone. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you nuts?"
"My mental health is fine, Mr. Corinthos," Johnny responded coldly. "It’s your fiscal health we’re discussing. I have Jason Morgan’s email address. I’ll be forwarding to him the exact pieces of business that we’re interested in selling. Your expected response will be a monetary offer for these valuable organizations. Mr. Smith is looking for fair market value. I’d say that’s rather generous considering he could painlessly overtake your entire operation with the press of one Enter key, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Corinthos?"
Sonny’s face looked pained as he ran a hand over his stomach. Damn, this ulcer hasn’t acted up in years, he thought angrily. "I don’t know," he admitted uncertainly. "This is all rather sudden."
"That’s the nature of fortune," Johnny agreed jovially. "Good or bad fortune," he added for clarification.
"What kind of money are we talking about?" Sonny growled.
"That’s what I’m looking for you to tell me," Johnny directed. "Jason Morgan will be able to quantify these businesses. He’s a good second hand man, isn’t he? Perhaps you’ll trust him to stay by your side after you become the largest, most successful organization on the East Coast. After the acquisition, that is."
"Why is the kid unloading all this stuff?" Sonny asked suspiciously. "You’re not setting me up with some undercover FBI sting, are you?"
Johnny chuckled. "Frank Smith Junior has no dealings with the FBI. He wants to be the next Sam Walton. He likes Wal-Mart."
Sonny laughed uneasily. "Why doesn’t he buy out K-mart then?" he asked snidely.
"Mr. Smith Junior takes a personal interest in his holdings. It’s the ego, you know," Johnny explained. "Only Frankie-Mart will do."
"Ahahaha," Sonny barked out in laughter. "The man’s a comedian as well as a bodyguard," he mentioned to Jason who smirked and nodded. "Show us what you have, and we’ll look at it," Sonny stated.
"Of course," said Johnny. "This will be an entirely private venture between interested parties. No outside influences or three lettered prying eyes. You understand," he added grimly.
"Sure, sure," Sonny replied as his deep dimples betrayed the pain on his face with his stomach painfully shooting full of acid.
Sonny hung up the phone. "Yo, Jason," he said, pointing a finger at his white teeth. "Uh, the red stuff?"
Jason looked puzzled. He ran his index finger over his teeth and scowled when it came back red from the lipstick that lingered in the small crevices of his lips and spread onto his front teeth.