Author's Note: I'll be updating Fallen Angel every other week.

Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Forty-Nine

Frankie stood stiffly in front of the mirror in his bathroom, tugging on the bulletproof vest that his associate Jimmy had delivered half an hour earlier. He gingerly pulled the vest over his abdomen and winced with pain. His kidney and the surrounding area were still sore twelve days after the kidney had ruptured, and he idly wondered if he could fasten the side straps without killing himself in the process. He frowned as he pulled in a breath and held it. A fat drop of sweat rolled down his forehead as the memories of wearing a vest over his severe injuries brought a nauseous feeling of desperation reverberating through his gut. They'd been trying to kill him for five years now, and he knew they had no intention of stopping the attempts until the dirty deed was done. Frankie murmured angrily to himself as he noted that the rough fabric of the vest burned and chaffed annoyingly against his tender skin. The protective garment was tight, as it should be to protect his torso, but both the kidney and the surgical incisions on his chest and abdomen reminded him loud and clear that he wasn't out of the woods yet. Dey're not takin' me out, he thought grimly. I got things to do, and I'm not goin' nowhere. Maxie's pretty face surfaced in his mind's eye, and he smiled as a ripple of warm pleasure ran throughout his body. I like dat Maxie. She's my girlfriend. She likes me, too. She said so.

Frankie pulled on a pair of dressy blue trousers with fashionably neat pleats and a miraculously correct length. Mama, she thought of everything - dey fit just right. He pushed a shiny, new pistol into the waistband and gulped as the vest cut even tighter into his abdomen. He sighed crossly and inspected himself in the mirror. Frankie rifled his fingers through his short hair. Maybe I should dye it dark again. I looked older and tougher den. Frank said I looked better with da dark - not as wimpy. My baby sister has dark hair, too. Frankie's hand fell to the sink, and sadness welled up inside of him. Frank's never gonna say nothing else to me again - good or bad. He sniffed several times and ran his hand over his eyes to prevent them from tearing up any further. Frankie picked up a second, smaller gun that was lying on the sink and inserted it into his sock. I miss my dad.

~*~*~*~

"Are you ready to go, boss?" Johnny laid his hand on Frankie's shoulder before he wheeled the chair out of Frankie's room. Frankie squirmed under his touch and shot him a dirty look.

"Don't touch me," he ordered crankily. Frankie didn't want Johnny to detect that he was wearing a bulletproof vest. Next, the questions would come of how he had obtained it and was he also packing heat. Bore.

"Simmer down," Johnny sighed as he wheeled Frankie down the hallway. Johnny's eyes registered the intricate wood paneling lining the walls and the sumptuously patterned, reproduction Victorian wallpaper hugging the eleven foot high walls. To the manor born, he thought. Frankie has always lived in mansions. Well, except for the apartment over the diner and Mrs. DeMarco's. Johnny chuckled at the thought of Frankie stripped of all his wealth. It'll never happen. He has the Midas touch.

"What are you laughing about?" Frankie questioned sarcastically.

"Who woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" Johnny asked. "You've been in a bad mood since I arrived. What's wrong?"

They stopped in front of the small elevator at the end of the hallway and waited after Johnny pressed the down button. Frankie shrugged. "I don't wanna go back to dat hospital," he stated tensely. He bent his head down and fiddled with his thumbs as he tried to regulate his breathing. It had only been several days since the beatnik hitman had tried to smother him, and he felt vulnerable and afraid - two emotions that he wanted to eliminate from his vocabulary or die trying.

"Why?" Johnny probed. He wheeled Frankie onto the small elevator car and pressed the button. "I'm going with you, so you don't have to worry about an attack." Johnny adjusted his suit coat and revealed his lethal hardware lining the brown leather holster.

"I'm not gonna stay dere," Frankie warned. "Nobody's gonna make me. I don’t like dat place. It better go quick or I'll be angry."

Johnny noticed that Frankie seemed to be trying to prepare himself for bad news. "You have improved by leaps and bounds," he stated reassuringly. "I’m sure the doctors will be pleased with your progress."

"Don’t care," Frankie pouted as he crossed his arms. "Nobody better mess with me."

"Heaven forbid anyone should try to help you," Johnny replied wearily. "You'd accuse them of something horrid I'm sure."

"Shut up!" Frankie snapped. They crossed the threshold of the mansion and wheeled slowly down the driveway toward Luke's car.

"Respect," Johnny said lightly to remind Frankie of his behavior. "Your dad will be glad to see you. Your mother will be joining you at the hospital later after her charity function."

Frankie muttered and mumbled curses under his breath as he was still wrapped up in his bad mood. "Luke," he reminded Johnny. "Not Dad. I got a dad, um, I had one. You know what I mean."

~*~*~*~

"Hey there, sport. How's my boy?" Luke smiled brightly at Frankie as he held his hands on his hips and inspected his son. "You're looking good." Secretly, Luke was worried about Frankie after Laura had called him the night before to inform him about the boy's disastrous muscle spasms. He'd lain awake for part of the night and had slept fitfully the rest of the time.  

*** Alexis sighed as she sat up in bed and leaned on her elbow to look at her restless husband. "You know, Luke, when we married, I didn't figure on signing up for sleepus interruptus."

Luke lifted his head from his pillow and laughed loudly. "Is that some lawyer-ese mumbo jumbo or are you making it up as you go along?"

"It's three o' clock in the morning," Alexis whined. "I have to go before the court with an important case in the morning."How am I going to get some sleep with you tossing and turning and sighing all night?"

Luke reached his arms out to pull Alexis close to his chest. "How 'bout some coitus non-interruptus?" he whispered in her ear as he lazily rubbed his leg against hers.

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind," Alexis replied dryly. "You won't relax otherwise."

Luke rolled onto his back and placed a forearm over his eyes. "It's Frankie," he said leadenly. "I can't stop worrying if he's going to recover or walk again. It's eating me up inside. I know all I can do is support and encourage him, but I'm not used to being so passive. I'm a take charge kind of guy. If it's broken, fix it."

Alexis leaned her head on Luke's chest and said, "But this is your child, your son that you're talking about, not a home construction project."

"Exactly. I'd move heaven and earth for him, but I feel so helpless. What can I do? I keep wracking my brains, trying to come up with a solution to all of his problems."

Alexis sighed and played with the hair on Luke's forearm, stroking it absentmindedly. A minute passed before she spoke. "First off, he has to accept your help. So far, that's been a problem. It's push and pull. Sometimes he'll listen, other times he pushes you away. It's natural, really. He's testing the relationship, sticking his toe in to test the waters. If he feels the least bit of cold, he immediately backtracks. You have to be there for him, be the rock that withstands the storms."

"And why do I suspect we're in for a round of tornadoes and hurricanes," Luke said sullenly.

"Hurricane Frankie," Alexis tittered. "I think it fits." She ran her hand lightly over Luke's forehead, stroking rhythmically to ease the tension. "It's been less than two weeks since he came back to Port Charles," she said softly. "Give him time to heal. It takes time. You need to heal, too."

"I know," Luke said quietly. "I just want to make sure we're all standing when all is said and done."

Alexis continued to rub his temples, and then giggled suddenly.

"What?" Luke laughed.

Alexis jettisoned herself on top of Luke, making him let out a surprised "oof" sound. He immediately rested his hands on her hips and luxuriated in the feeling of her breasts and tummy lying on top of him. "Oh what the hell," Alexis snickered. "I'm going to need some type of glow to get through the day tomorrow. I'm out of blush, so you're next on the list. Make me glow, Lucas Lorenzo!"

Luke made a secret sneak attack with his lips on Alexis' throat to the result of a surprised squeal. "No hickies!" she shrieked. ***

 Frankie looked up at his father standing in front of him with his tossled hair and dark circles under his eyes. He looks beat. Frankie lowered his eyes. "I'm okay," he said softly. Not really. Frankie was growing more nervous by the minute. Between the threat of hit men and doctors with bad news, he felt extremely edgy.  

"Need some help into the car?"

Frankie nodded and extended his hand toward his father. Luke pulled Frankie from the chair, and allowed Luke to place an arm over his shoulder for support as he hopped toward the back seat. Luke pulled the seatbelt out and handed it to Frankie.

Luke's eyes met Johnny's when Johnny shut the car door. "Thanks for coming," he said plainly. "I want him safe."

Frankie wasn't looking forward to this outing, and he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, not eager to survey the passing landscape or comment on the sights.

"We'll plan on eating out today for lunch," Luke suggested as he briefly took his eyes of the road and turned his head slightly to talk to Frankie. "I know a real nice burger place. You like hamburgers, don't you?"

"Yeah," Frankie answered morosely. "I can eat 'em again. Dey took me off dat liquid pea shit diet."

Johnny's shoulders moved up and down with his silent laughter, but Luke bust out in a cackle. "Pea shit diet? What's that?"

"Mama fed me dese horrible mushed peas. I told her I didn't eat da round ones, why would I eat 'em when dey're all gross and slimy?"

"A man after my own heart," Luke intoned. "Vegetables are not welcome in my home. I'll take a vitamin any day."

Frankie laughed lightly, but the merriment never reached his blue eyes, and he remained silent for the rest of the trip.

~*~*~*~

Frankie leaned in toward his bodyguard when they were seated in the waiting room for his first appointment. "Johnny," he whispered. "You gotta go in with me to protect me. I don't know who could be da next hitman. For all I know, it's one a dem nurses. Okay?"

Johnny's green eyes met Frankie's worried blue ones, and he felt a wave of sadness at the life that Frankie had been forced to lead and the obvious result in the boy's nervous, suspicious behavior. He patted Frankie on the knee. "Sure thing, boss."

Frankie visibly relaxed some at the reassurance that Johnny would be present to protect him. When his name was called, Frankie looked at Luke seated beside him. "Johnny's goin' with me," he announced. Luke had half risen from his chair, planning to accompany his son on an important appointment, and he felt shocked and puzzled. He looked over at Johnny whose face tightened as he gave a small nod toward Luke to confirm the appropriateness of Frankie's decision.

"Wait," Frankie said when Johnny began wheeling his chair. He pulled up his blue sweater and pulled the gun out of his waistband. "Give dis to Luke," he instructed Johnny. "He might need dis."

Johnny accepted the heavy metallic object and shook his head as he handed it to Luke. "Don't ask me," he intoned when Luke gave him a shocked look. "I have no idea where he got it from."

Frankie patted his sock, secure in the knowledge that he had a backup weapon. He planned on eyeing each person in that office and would use the gun if necessary.

Luke looked around the small waiting room and placed a two year old National Geographic over the large, wicked looking weapon, hoping that no one had noticed the handoff. He felt a deep hurt licking around the edges of his emotions. His son trusted paid associates over his own father. Luke sat all alone holding a gun. When would things ever be or feel normal?

~*~*~*~

"How's it going?" Luke looked up and smiled gratefully when he saw his ex-wife sitting next to him in the waiting room. He glanced at his watch and winced. "It's been over an hour. Johnny came out and said they sent him for a chest x-ray and some blood tests. Look what I've been holding onto the whole time." Luke moved the National Geographic to one side of his lap in order to reveal the lethal, gleaming firepower given to him by his son.

Laura gasped audibly and held a hand to her chest. Her cheeks flamed even pinker than the rosy hue of her ruffled blouse. "What are you doing with that?" she whispered harshly, her eyes flashing a sharp question at Luke.

"I'm holding for my son," Luke explained wryly with raised eyebrows. "He left it for me in case I needed it while I was waiting." Luke flicked at the gun with an annoyed motion of his fingernail. "It'll come in handy for shooting hit men and any other threats. I use one every day, you know. I take out people standing in front of me in line, idiots talking on cell phones, inept deliverymen. I find it very handy to get my point across. Death has such an effective, elegant ring to it, don't you think, Laura? Oh, he wanted his bodyguard with him, too, even though he has another pistol tucked in his sock. Is he ever going to feel safe or happy?"

Laura's eyes flickered with compassion. "Yes," she stated decisively. "I've seen him happy and content for brief moments. We just have to find a way to make it permanent."

Luke looked appraisingly at his ex-wife. "I'm glad we decided to bury the hatchet - for Frankie's sake."

"That's what's important," Laura replied softly as she looked down at her folded hands. "Besides, he filled the hole in my heart when he returned. There isn't any room for negative feelings. I'm so grateful that he's alive."

Luke sighed and fidgeted, his right leg moving up and down a mile a minute while his tired, blue eyes noted the bland, beige wallpaper of the room plus the fish tank to the side, which was supposed to calm patients, but failed to do its job with the depressing fact that it only had two live fish left in it. "I want my boy healthy," Luke said tightly. "I'm nervous about these appointments. I want to hear that he's fine, but what if they tell us something else? He has a lot of problems."

"He's healing. I've been fortunate to be able to see the improvement day by day. He's a lot stronger than only a few days ago. He's getting around on his own." Laura tittered. "I met his girlfriend, you know."

"The police commissioner's daughter?" Luke asked.

Laura's eyebrows rose. "So you knew?"

Luke nodded. "Not that he ever said one word about her. He's pretty tight lipped about his feelings."

"We didn't talk about her. She seemed nice, very concerned for him. She said she met him in the school cafeteria. Boy did those two glow when they were around each other. Cute. They couldn’t hide their feelings if they tried."

"I bet Mr. Police Commissioner isn't happy about this rendition of young love," Luke commented.

"If he knows about it," Laura speculated.

"Yeah."

~*~*~*~

Two hours later...

Luke, Laura and Frankie were all seated around a conference table with expectant looks on their faces, and Johnny was standing in a corner, leaning against a wall, his hand on his hip, revealing a small portion of his leather holster. A pall hung over the room as four people waited for the pulmonary specialist to begin talking. The man shuffled through a stack of x-rays and cleared his throat. Johnny shot him an annoyed look. Get on with it, fella.

"In general, I'm very pleased with the healing of Frankie's chest wound. It still is inflamed and probably sore, but it has sealed up nicely with minimal scar tissue. There are no complications. I'm curious, though, as to how the older wounds were received - quite a few for a young man. The surgical techniques utilized seem rather crude. Was the surgery performed out of the country?"

Luke and Laura shifted in their chairs uneasily as they glanced at one another.

Luke spoke first. "Our son was kidnapped as an infant. He's only been with us for two weeks."

Laura laid a supportive arm on Frankie's shoulder. "He was injured when he was ten years old, isn't that right, Frankie?" She smiled apologetically at the doctor. "We haven't been able to elicit a medical history from our son."

The room filled with silence to the degree that one could hear a pin drop. Frankie sighed and laid his head on the table, ignoring the adults' conversation. Laura rubbed his back. "Honey, can you tell the doctor what happened?"

Frankie shook his head as he still hid his face from the stares of the adults.

"Why not?" Luke asked.

Frankie jerked his head up and pounded his right fist on the wooden table. "I don't remember!" he shouted with a red face. "I can't remember much of what happened."

"What do you remember?" Laura coaxed in a gentle voice.

"I don't wanna talk about it. It hurts me," Frankie whined in a teary voice. "It's bad, Mama."

Luke met the doctor's eyes and shook his head as his face tightened and his stomach clenched. A fierce determination rose up in him from deep within the core of his being. His mind wandered to the gun that he'd hidden in his own waistband. No one was ever going to hurt his son again.

"I believe the spells of breathlessness that you've experienced are a phenomenon called hyperventilation," the doctor explained. "It's partly physical, partly psychological. Some persons have respiratory systems that react to stress by prompting the body to breathe in too quickly. You can feel dizzy or like you're suffocating as a result. I'd suggest consulting with a general physician or a psychiatrist. Antidepressants are often effective for the condition. Perhaps it is reassuring to know that you're healing from your wounds, and that is not the cause."

Frankie turned his face away and clenched his teeth, causing his jaw muscles to twitch. He felt humiliated and ashamed by the assumption that he was overreacting to his breathing problems. Good thing Frank wasn't here to hear this news. He'd have a field day with him later on, taunting and teasing him. Frankie shot a wary glance at Luke, wondering how he was taking this explanation. But, his father's face was impassive and impossible to read.

~*~*~*~

Luke pulled out of the hospital parking lot and headed for the highway so he could drive Frankie to one of the new restaurants near the mall. "Are you working on an appetite?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Ya," Frankie answered. "I haven't had no real food for...well, forever it seems like."

"How about a hamburger?" Luke prompted. "What kind of food do you like anyway? I haven't seen you eat a morsel since you've come back. Last time I saw you, fourteen years ago, applesauce was your fave by far."

Frankie laughed. "Dat applesauce is okay. I like a meat and potatoes dinner. Nothing too fancy or French or nothin'. Dose sauces suck."

"What about Mama's cooking?" Johnny asked. "You always seemed to gobble up anything Mrs. DeMarco made."

"She's a good cook - da spaghetti was da best. I love dem cookies, too. I could live offa dem. Coo-keee!! Ha. I love dat Cookie Monster."

Luke smiled to himself, grateful that Frankie was in such a good mood for a change. He'd perked up immediately after leaving the hospital. Luke had thought he'd be cranky and unapproachable for days.

"You're certainly welcome to join us for lunch," Luke offered Johnny.

Johnny shook his head. "I have a few errands to run. Frankie, you'll be all right with your, um, with Luke, won't you."

"I think so," Frankie answered. "I got my vest and guns."

"No shooting pedestrians," Luke warned.

"Dat's no fun," Frankie joked back. "I get an extra ten points if dey're pushin' a grocery cart. Ahaha."

"What did you think about your new physical therapist?" Johnny asked. "He seemed very competent. You're lucky he'll make home visits."

Frankie nodded as he looked down at his useless leg and patted it with his hand. "I liked it when he said I could go on crutches soon."

"If you do your exercises," Johnny prompted.

"I know," Frankie answered with exasperation. "He's gonna show me how to do da weightlifting, too, so I can bulk up some. It'll help me fight better."

~*~*~*~

10:48 AM

Sly opened his locker and pulled out his gym outfit - a tee shirt and pair of blue shorts. No one else was in the locker room yet as he'd sneaked in ten minutes earlier to switch tapes in the audiovisual room off of the main gym. His mind was occupied with Frankie's upcoming performance, and he didn't pay attention when several boys entered the area. Sly pulled on his red Converse basketball shoes, amazed as always at how huge they looked before he put them on his feet. Uncle Luke had said he'd grow into his feet eventually, and maybe there was hope since Luke's feet didn't stick out that badly. Sly fervently wished for a more defined, bulky musculature as well. It seemed like all of his calories went straight to his spindly legs, making them grow longer and longer. Sometimes he felt like Plastic Man, the superhero who stretched and stretched out of proportion. Sly finished tying his shoes and leaned in to look into the small mirror attached to the locker door. His black eye was already starting to fade a bit - it wasn't the permanently disfiguring wound that he'd originally fancied it to be. How do those boxers handle getting beat up all the time? What a drag.

Sly gasped loudly when someone came up behind him and smacked him smartly in the back of his head, almost making him kiss his own reflection in the mirror as his face flew forward. "Hey!" he protested as he turned around to face three boys that glared back at him.

Sly stared directly into the squinty blue eyes of Jacob, his primary tormentor. Jacob was blond and squat, a wrestler who fancied himself a ladies' man and all-around tough guy. Secretly a coward, this pseudo tough guy believed in stacking the odds in his favor by surrounding himself with an entourage of his friends and supporters.

"What are you doing, Bigfoot?" Jacob sneered. "If you're looking into that mirror, there's not much to look at."

Sly's face worked into a frown as the anger built within him. Why was Jacob always haunting him? He seemed to be one step behind him at all times and always ready with a smart comment or putdown. Where was Frankie when he needed him? Sly's mind redirected to the tape that would be shown within the next hour, and he took courage from the knowledge that Frankie would set them straight. "At least I'm a natural blond," Sly answered boldly with a disdainful voice. "You're a highlighted special. The bleach must have gone to your brain."

Jacob's companions laughed delightedly at Sly's wrathful humor. Jacob was not amused. He pushed at Sly with a harsh motion, sending the boy crashing back into the locker with a loud bang. "You want to fight me?" he asked angrily with his face screwed up. "Looks like you're not much of a fighter from the size of that shiner you're wearing."

Sly's eyebrows rose haughtily. "You didn't see the other guy," he commented lightly, brushing past Jacob to leave the locker room for the relative safety of the open gym. The cackling laughter of the boys assaulted his back as he exited the door.

~*~*~*~

Twenty-five boys galloped around the gym in a forced run handed down as punishment for more hijinks and misbehavior. It was as if the necessity of sitting still and quiet in their other classes brought out the animal in the boys when they were finally allowed to move around. Inevitably, someone was pushed down or goosed by a flying elbow. The teacher, with his past athletic ability, still had a modest IQ and never figured out that his punishments were a futile waste of time and, in the case of the boys, breath.

When he blew his ever-present whistle, the boys stopped running and ceased muttering curses under their breaths. "To the audiovisual room," Mr. Shank directed with a thick finger pointed in the direction of the room off of the gym. A secret smile creased across Sly's expectant face, and he laughed lightly in anticipation.

Predictably, Mr. Shank announced to the seated boys, "I'm going to leave you in this room to watch the film. There might be a quiz on the contents afterwards, so pay attention. John, you're in charge of running the videotape." The boys watched as Mr. Shank left the room. One time, after the videotape was over, they'd found him asleep in his office with his feet propped up on his desk and his head bent back as a raucous snore emitted from his open mouth. More than one boy was considering becoming a gym teacher later on in life - it seemed like such a cushy, no-brainer job with summers off to boot.

John turned on the television as the boys sighed and moaned, expecting another 1960's basketball demonstration movie complete with the worn out groovy lingo and fab Beatles haircuts of the time. The attention of twenty-five boys was immediately riveted by the person who greeted them via videotape. "Gentlemen," the tough mob voice intoned as Frankie glared at them from the small screen.  The hair on the back of Rick, John and Jabob's arms pricked with goose bumps when their names were mentioned specifically with an implied threat attached. Rick looked around the room in bewilderment when his name was selected as first official victim if the gym dynamics were not immediately altered. He leaned in to whisper something to Jacob who looked equally terrified as he nodded. A buzz of murmured exclamations floated throughout the room as Frankie forcefully outlined his expectations.

"Hey, where's he been anyway?" someone asked.

"I heard he was arrested," another boy replied worriedly.

"He looks messed up," a third, more analytical boy mentioned. "He's sitting in a wheelchair."

"But he still looks like he could kill somebody," a fourth boy pointed out.

Sly crossed his arms with a look as satisfied as a fat cat who has eaten its fill flooding his face. This was working out perfectly. He cleared his throat and rose higher in his seat, prepared to accept the videotape after Frankie was through. Frankie made the cutting motion at his throat, and Sly fully expected the tape to sputter and then run to a blank blue screen. However, much to his amazement, the tape was continuing to run. His eyes bugged as fear electrically jolted throughout his body. Oh no! Didn't I turn off that camcorder? Oh no!  Sly's head turned abruptly as he looked in panic at the twenty-five boys who glared at him. They know I shot the tape! I'm on the tape, too.

<<<Too cool!>>> Sly said gleefully on the tape as he ran up to Frankie to give him a high five. Sly started sweating in his chair as he watched himself.

<<<I'll switch tapes during gym, and they won't know what hit them. Everyone will see it at the same time. Of course the stupid PE coach will be too busy romancing that ugly Ms. Perkins. Why does he even bother?>>>

<<<Have you seen his wife?>>>

The entire class broke out into laughter and snickers of agreement. "What a dog!" one boy exclaimed to the resulting barks and howls of other boys.

"Look at that!" John said. "It's Nikolas Cassadine. What's he doing with that hood?"

"They're brothers," Sly stated with a heavy, shocked voice. "Frankie's my brother, too." John shot him a disbelieving look, and he turned to Jacob who shrugged.

<<<You bastard. You don't talk about my girl!>>>

<<<Worried about keeping your woman, pipsqueak? Maybe she needs some lessons from an older man.>>>

<<<Hey.>>>

"Oooooooh!" the boys in the room exclaimed simultaneously when Frankie's right hook solidly met Sly's eye.

"Yeah! Sly's the man," Jacob snickered. "Watch him fight back."

Sly's face turned red as he endured another round of teasing. "What a big baby. Look at him crying," Rick commented as he pointed at the screen. Most of the boys were too busy concentrating on their fear of Frankie, the enforcer who backed up his talk with a flying fist, to single out Sly.

"Nikolas Cassadine is his brother?" one incredulous voice asked. All of the boys in the room were freshmen and sophomores, not a respected, athletic upperclassman like Nikolas. Nikolas was extremely popular and a burly guy in addition, a natural athlete. Conversations picked up when Sly was lead out of the room by Nikolas and Frankie entered the bathroom. There was a lull when the camera focused its static attention on a chair in the room.

Sly blinked rapidly as he tried to figure out when he took back the camcorder. There was a good fifteen minutes or so of time from when he left to when he returned. What would be on the film? He gulped as a lump rose in his dry throat. Uh-oh, he thought when he saw Maxie enter the room.

<<<Surprise!>>>

<<<Wow.>>>

<<<I found out where you were and decided to come visit. Sly was supposed to meet me at the front door, but I got tired of waiting. One of the servants told me where to find you.>>>

"He really must live with Cassadine if she's talking about servants," the analytical boy commented.

<<<I love dose surprises. See? No more gowns. I'm a real guy now.>>>

The class started getting extremely interested in the videotape and began hooting and making sex noises. "Show her you're a real guy!" someone suggested loudly.

<<<Cutie.>>>

<<<Dat's me.>>>

"I'm taking notes," one boy called out. "He's smooth."

"He's making his move!" another replied.

<<<Soft>>>

The boys watched mesmerized as Frankie and Maxie made out with a passionate intensity.

"I always knew she was a babe - I just never figured she'd put out," Jacob stated.

"Not for you," his friend Rick teased.

Sly sank lower and lower in his chair as he covered his face with his hand and felt mortified. Frankie and Maxie were never going to forgive him. He'd be a hermit with no friends and Jacob constantly on his tail, tormenting and tripping him at every step. Maybe now was the time to apply for the priesthood. A monastery, preferably on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere was looking especially attractive. He'd take a vow of silence for fifty years.

Mr. Shank boldly entered the room, annoyed that his class seemed to be having some sort of fun when they were supposed to be watching the videotape. Would these hooligans ever be serious? All eyes were fixed on the screen, and there were sounds of moaning and murmuring coming from the television. "Oh yeah," someone said under his breath in an awed tone.

At the exact moment that Mr. Shank turned to look at the screen, Frankie moved in for the kill and placed his hand on Maxie's breast. The entire room cheered loudly as Mr. Shank blinked in confusion. "What is this?" he asked loudly. Sly burst into the scene on the tape, and Mr. Shank's beady eyes narrowed as he saw who was responsible.

<<<I'm going. You're a jerk. Not you, Maxie, Frankie I mean.>>>

The tape ran all over the place as Sly obviously picked up the camcorder and began walking with it. The class was greeted by the sight of the Wyndemere green, red and navy oriental carpeting that lined the hallway.

Sly stared straight ahead in shock and didn't notice that Mr. Shank was standing directly beside him until he felt the heavy, thick hand rest firmly on his shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Eckert," the stern voice intoned.  "We're going to pay the principal a visit."

~*~*~*~

"Dis is nice," Frankie said as he sat with Luke in the hamburger restaurant. "Custom made burgers," he noted appraisingly as his eyes roamed the room. "A person could rake in da dough with a joint like dis."

Luke smiled at the junior businessman in front of him.

Frankie dipped his fries into a large pool of ketchup on his plate and bopped his head back in forth in time to the music that was playing in the background. He ate his fry and smiled back at Luke with his mouth full as he munched happily.

Luke noted Frankie's impeccable table manners and the fact that the boy never touched his fries, but used a fork instead. That's one thing Frank did well - he gave my boy manners. Luke's eyes swept over Frankie, and he laughed. "I can tell you like music."

"Ya," Frankie agreed with a nod. "It's da best."

"Do you play an instrument?"

"Nah. Frank said dat was for pansies. I needed to concentrate on business and my other studies."

Figures, Luke thought. The bastard wouldn't allow him a single redeemable hobby. He obviously has some talent.

"I sing," Frankie offered with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, yeah? What do you sing?"

"Oh, lotsa stuff. I'm fond of Frank Sinatra."

"Well, me, too," Luke stated. "That's why I bought you the CD. We used to play him and sing his songs to you when you were an infant."

Frankie nodded. "I'm named after him, too. He was friends with Frank, my Frank."

"Mhmm," Luke murmured. "Have you met him?"

"Ah, sure," Frankie stated as he took in another huge bite of his burger, being careful to chew and swallow before speaking again. "He's kinda like an uncle? He was in da casinos a lot when I was growing up. I usta sing with him sometimes. Dey'd put me on da table so I'd be taller. We'd share da mike. It was fun. I like Frank."

Luke's brow furrowed with confusion. What must it be like to mingle with the rich and famous like that? What an odd upbringing - hanging out in casinos and crooning out the old tunes with the master.

When the waitress returned to bring the check, she startled Frankie, and he tensed as his hand brushed his lower calf. Luke noted his reaction and felt tense as well. He needed to have another discussion with Frankie about his propensity for firearms, but this wasn't the time or place. He'd prefer to talk to him alone and in private.

"I ordered the furniture you wanted," Luke stated casually. "Do you want to be there to supervise when they deliver it?"

"Oh yeah!" Frankie answered enthusiastically. "I didn't have time to mess with da architect, but I think I can direct 'em on how to place it. Cool."

Luke didn't want to break the good vibes between him and his son, but he broached the next subject with seriousness. "You gave Sly quite a shiner. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Frankie stopped chewing and frowned as he carefully placed the remainder of the burger back onto the plate and wiped his hands on the white, paper napkin folded across his lap. "It was an accident," he explained. "I was aiming for Nikolas."

"And that's your excuse?"

Frankie shrugged. "He was being a prick, insulting my girlfriend. He deserved it."

"No one deserves to be hit," Luke offered.

"Disagree," Frankie answered impudently. "Anyway, I tried to call Sly and apologize, but he won't talk to me."

"Sly is sensitive. His feelings get hurt easily. He usually needs some time alone when he's upset. He'll come around. It would be good to try apologizing later, though. Give him a day or two to come around. And in the meantime, keep your fists to yourself."

"Okay," Frankie agreed as he resumed eating. He'd been worried that Sly might not speak to him again, and it was a relief to hear that he just needed time. Nikolas was still a prick, but not quite as big of one as Frankie had previously thought.

Luke's cell phone suddenly rang with a crazy tune that made Frankie giggle and shake his head. Luke frowned as his hand reached for the small phone in his jacket pocket.

"Luke Spencer."

Luke listened intently to the speaker on the other end of the phone as his face registered his surprise. "What has Sly done? A videotape?"

Frankie's eyes lit up with alarm. He gripped his napkin so hard that it tore. Da tape! Dey must be talking about the one me and Sly made. He got caught! Uh-oh, Frankie. Backtrack. How am I gonna get outta dis one? It sounds like Sly went down hard. Did he rat on me? Should I fess up? Shit.

"My other son is with me. I need to drop him off before heading to the school," Luke explained. "What? You want me to bring Frankie with me? I don't understand."

Frankie gulped several times as his mind raced and his eyes darted around the room. He wished he could hear the other end of the phone conversation. What was going down?

"Okay, then," Luke said solemnly as he pressed the off button on the phone and turned his serious blue eyes to his son. "That was the school," he stated.

Frankie just stared back at him with wide eyes and no reply.

"Sly was involved in some mischief with a videotape. He's in the principal's office, and I'm to come in for a meeting. They want you to come, too. Apparently you're involved?" Luke's right eyebrow rose as he regarded his son's reddening complexion.

"Can't do dat," Frankie replied breathlessly. "Need my pain pills. I don't feel good." Grasping at the only card he could play, Frankie effected a hurt, solicitous expression as he suddenly appeared much smaller and sickly than he had the previous minute when he'd been enthuisiastically eating his lunch. "I ate too much too soon. I need to lie down. Dat's right - I need my nap. No can do. Some other time."

Luke looked on with amusement. He needs to add acting to his other list of abilities - only he could use a few lessons. He's laying it on too thick."

Frankie held a hand to his forehead as he sighed. "Yep. I'm getting more tired by da minute. Maybe I'm getting a fever, too."

~*~*~*~

Johnny had been calling around all afternoon, and he smiled broadly when he finally hit the jackpot. This man is impossible to connect with, he thought.

"This is Johnny Callahan, Frank Smith Junior's bodyguard."

Johnny listed to the retort on the other end of the line.

"That's why I’m calling you, sir. I thought you'd like an update on him. A lot of things have changed as I'm sure you're aware."

Next chapter...