Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Sixty-Five

 Frankie cruised his BMW up to the ice cream stand and parked it without saying anything. He'd been quiet since he'd pulled away from the high school parking lot, and Maxie had been quieter, only responding once or twice to questions from Emily, and then only with short one or two word answers. Sly and Emily didn't pay too much attention to the situation as they were giddy with being able to see one another. Sly had shyly taken Emily's hand, and the two were seated very closely together, as close as their seatbelts would allow.

"How'd you know where this place was?" Sly asked.

"Saw it outta da car window when Luke took me to get lunch one day," Frankie said shortly. "What do you all want? I'll get it."

"Chocolate milkshake," Emily said excitedly with a bounce on her seat and a clap of her hands.

"Me, too," Sly responded.

"Me, three," Maxie said softly.

"Okay den." Frankie exited the car, and all eyes watched him struggle up to the ice cream stand with his crutches moving haltingly forward.

"He's going to need some help," Emily said to Sly as she poked him with an elbow. "Go on."

"You're right. I'll go." Sly hopped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Frankie wasn't moving quickly, and Sly easily closed the distance with his long, bounding legs walking fast until he was beside Frankie.

Emily and Maxie were left alone in the car, and Emily unfastened her seat belt so she could poke her head between the two front seats. "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly. Maxie's face leaned against the window, and she looked upset. "Is it something to do with Frankie? You've been ignoring him all the way over here. Can I help?"

Maxie sniffed back her tears and shook her head. "I don't think anybody can help," she said tearfully.

"Why not?" Emily asked softly. "I want to help."

Maxie sighed dramatically as she wiped off the few tears that escaped her eyes. "I don't know. I don't feel comfortable around Frankie anymore, and what can anyone do about that?"

"Have you talked to him?"

"Sort of...not really...oh, I don't know." Frankie had spent more time kissing than talking, and Maxie felt powerless to direct the relationship.

"You've mentioned how you enjoy talking to Robin. Why don't you call her?"

Maxie's eyes brightened. "That's a great idea! She's coming home tonight to spend the weekend."

Emily patted her on the shoulder. "There you go! Oh, look! They're coming back with our milkshakes."

Sly held the tray with the milkshakes while Frankie slowly navigated his way back to the car. Sly walked with special care so he wouldn't make Frankie feel strange at how difficult it was for him to walk. He carefully placed the tray on the hood of the car so he could open the driver's side door for Frankie and assist his brother into the seat, placing his crutches along the length of the floor in the back. All of this took place seamlessly without a word mentioned as Sly was able to help without making Frankie feel dependent or foolish.

"Can you drive while drinking your shake?" Sly asked. "There's a real nice piece of land about two miles from here - it's very scenic with pretty trees. If you want to go, take a right when you pull out."

"Sure," Frankie agreed. It would be a relief to do something to take his mind off of his current dilemma with Maxie. Inside, he felt confused, disappointed, angry and fearful all in a toxic mix that sludged around his guts and made him hopeless with worry. He was certain that Maxie intended never speak to him again, and he didn't know how to make it right. "We have twenty minutes before we gotta get you girls home."

"Do you think anyone will notice we're missing?" Sly wondered aloud.

"We'll find out when we get back," Frankie chuckled. "Da bribes should help, but I don't know if anyone will try to enter my room. Dat's a tossup. What did you tell Mama about where you'd be?"

"The stables," Sly answered. "It's worked before. I can't see Laura mucking about in horse poop."

Frankie's laughter rang throughout the car, and Sly snickered in the back seat. In his mind Frankie could see Laura standing on top of a fragrant pile of poop with her skirts dragging in it and her nose wrinkled distastefully. "Nah. Dey don't got no foofy frilly stuff out dere or no antiques neither. Dat's what she likes."

"My sister was scared of the suit of armor that was in the house," Maxie confided. "She thought someone was hiding in there and spying on her."

"Da spy thinks everybody's spying on her," Frankie agreed. "Hazard of da profession. Makes ya paranoid." It felt good to finally share a few words with Maxie, and he visibly relaxed as he gratefully exhaled.

Frankie handled his car with a graceful ease, as if it were a natural extension of his body. It felt good to be behind the wheel once more. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned right, his vision missing the black car parked a discrete distance from the ice cream place. The car trailed undetected behind the BMW.

Frankie tensed behind the wheel of the car, and he kept glancing surreptitiously into the rear view mirror. His palms began sweating, and he flexed his fingertips back and forth over the leather-covered steering wheel as his right foot tapped nervously on the gas pedal. He could swear someone was following them, but each time he looked for a suspicious car, he only saw the usual mix of SUV's, cars and trucks behind him. Nothing unusual presented itself; however, his inner radar detector was warning him plenty.

The other teens chatted happily while sipping their milkshakes. Frankie drove along a two lane highway that sliced through the countryside, twisting and turning through the hills and valleys. It was as scenic and beautiful as Sly had claimed with groves of trees waving their branches over the highway and horses peering at them from behind fenced properties. It was a bucolic world where the cares and frustrations of the city seemed to vanish with the soothing quality of the surrounding natural splendor.

The next time Frankie looked back, he caught a glimpse of a black car that maintained a strict tailing distance - not too far away to see the BMW, but not close enough to be obvious. His breathing quickened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted toward Maxie. Why now? I don't want nobody hurt.

"So what do you think, Frankie? Frankie!"

Frankie jumped. "Um. Huh?"

"Why aren't you listening?" Emily asked. She glanced at Sly who shrugged. "I asked you a question."

Frankie's mind raced in another direction as he tried to concentrate on two different situations at once. "What?" he asked shortly as his right foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. Maxie looked curiously at the speedometer when she noticed that the trees were suddenly moving by at a rapid pace.

"Who is the greatest person in history? Everyone has a different opinion. What's yours?"

"Alexander da Great," Frankie answered without hesitation. "Hands down." He gulped when he noticed that they were nearly alone on the road now that most people had taken the last exit.

"Why?"

"Conquered da known world and changed history before da age of thirty."

"But he didn't live long," Maxie observed.

"Didn't need to. Already did what he came for," Frankie explained. "And he didn't have ta be an old fart ta do it."

"I think it's Homer who is the greatest," Sly responded. "We're still reading his books after thousands of years."

"They make us read him," Emily laughed. "But do we want to?"

"Too passive," Frankie snorted.

"But he had a great mind," Sly added.

"So?"

"I vote for Homer Simpson!" Maxie laughed.

Sly leaned toward Emily and whispered in her ear. "He's in a bad mood. He's been that way all day. Ignore him."

Emily looked into Sly's amused, green eyes, and she smiled when she thought for the tenth time that day how absolutely cute he was. Sly leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, his timing perfect as always.

"Hold on!" Frankie called out in a sharp, warning tone. He floored the car, notching up the speed an extra ten miles an hour with each second that passed. His hands deftly turned the steering wheel back and forth as he passed several people on the road, darting in and out in an attempt to elude his tail.

"Frankie?" Maxie asked tensely as her fingers wrapped around the handgrip on her door and squeezed tightly. Her breath was taken away by the dashes of color sweeping by and the speed that didn't allow the shapes of objects to register in her vision.

When Frankie hit an open space of road, he saw that only he and the black car remained, the black car no longer bothering to maintain its illusion of innocence. "Shit!" he cursed loudly. "I got a tail," he explained. Why now? Why won't they leave me alone? I sold da businesses. What do I gotta do to be free of dis? As he expertly maneuvered the car, his life seemed to flash before his eyes, predominantly scenes of death and mayhem, byproducts of a life lived in the mob. He reached into his waistband and pulled out the revolver that he'd earlier placed there, grateful for both the firepower and the vest that protected his vulnerable midriff. Why hadn't he allowed Maxie to put on the vest instead of playing games? Now she was in danger, too.

Frankie was quietly panicking while he tried to outrun the ominous black car that refused to give up. It was one thing to be with the mob lowlifes that he usually associated with or professionals like Johnny, who knew the risks involved, but these were his friends, innocent people, and Frankie didn't know how this would end. Life and death were interchangeable for Frankie, an everyday event. He had no illusions that he would make it to middle age let alone adulthood, but he'd dared to hope for a spot of happiness in the weeks that he'd been in Port Charles. Now his back was up against the wall, and the stakes were impossibly high. Panic stabbed at him like shards of glass, pricking everywhere and drawing blood. He tried so hard to concentrate on the road, but his head was getting fuzzier by the minute, and it felt like something was closing down in his mind. He could see the road and react with excellent reflexes, but his awareness was dimming.

Maxie noticed that Frankie was breathing hard with a line of sweat dripping down his face. She was so terrified that she made no sound, her throat gripping so tightly it made her mute. Her heart raced, and all she could think about was how much she wanted her stepfather at that moment and the strength and security he offered. Sly and Emily were white as sheets and clutching each other, trying to offer one another reassurance, but this wasn't a game as it had first seemed; life and death suddenly became very real and very final.

Frankie's eyelids were at half mast, and he stared straight ahead as if on autopilot. When he felt the change come over him, he warned, "Get your heads down," in a drawn out, spacey voice. In an instant, he sat up straighter in his seat and ordered, "NOW!" Three heads obediently went forward toward their laps, and a steely determination invaded Frankie's features. "I'll show dose goddamn, sons of bitches!" he yelled harshly. His eyes rapidly sought out an escape, and he made his decision. Upon whipping the wheel to the left, the BMW shot off the road and headed toward a flat pasture. Sounds of rushing grass assaulted their ears, and Frankie said, "Hold on!" when he harshly braked the car. While the car was still moving, Frankie dove out of the driver's seat, his hand gripping his pistol. Somersaulting, he came up with the pistol aimed where he'd anticipated the black car traveling. The BMW finally stopped moving and idled near a haystack, but Frankie was still in motion, forgetting his bad leg and any other injuries that haunted him. He ran toward the black car like a limping battering ram, firing with precision into the back and front tires. Before the men in black could react, he used the barrel of his pistol to smash the driver's side window into pieces. His eyes flashed dangerously with an edge of madness fueling their intensity. "Get dis fuckin' car back on da road NOW!" he ordered. "Or I'll kill you bastards!" When the driver merely blinked at him in terror, he screamed, "You don’t mess with Frank Smith; I'll eat you for dinner, motherfuckers!" When Frankie shot out the back window of the car, the driver was prompted into action, and he peeled away from the scene with the smell of burnt rubber, leaving Frankie standing beside the road, shaking and breathing heavily with a ferocious sneer on his face. He jumped up and punched at the air with his free hand, in a gesture of victory.

The jolt of pain that exploded into his body upon landing on his bad as well as good leg shocked him greatly, making him scream out in pain with wide eyes and mouth. He fell back onto his butt with his legs askew and his arms flung to the sides. He looked first at the gun in his right hand and then at the road in a moment of confusion. Who were dey? he thought tiredly. I shoulda pumped 'em for information. Dey got away.

By the time Sly reached him, Frankie was trembling all over from shock and pain. When Sly tried to help lift him from the ground, Frankie instead curled into a ball as if he were trying to protect himself. "Frankie, come on," Sly said urgently as he tugged on his brother's arm. "We've got to get out of here. They might come back. Come on!"

"Noooo," Frankie wailed.

Sly finally managed to pull him upright. "I'll help you walk back to the car. You're the only one who knows how to drive. You've got to help us."

"I can't drive," Frankie's young sounding voice whined.

Sly frowned at the sound of it, but he corrected him. "Yes, you do know how to drive."

Frankie sat in a daze in the driver's seat upon being deposited by Sly, his blank eyes staring and glassy. "Frankie!" Maxie's urgent voice pleaded. "Come on, let's go!" She shook his arm, but he didn't respond as his body moved back and forth like a puppet without a mind. Maxie slapped him hard on the cheek. "Frankie!!!" she pleaded hysterically. "Pleeeeease!"

Frankie jerked and turned his head slowly toward the sound of her desperate voice. He knit his brows together into a frown and acted like he was in a daze. "What?" he breathed out. 

Maxie began sobbing, "You drove us into the field, now get us out of here!!"

"Okay," Frankie said unemotionally. "How come you're upset?"

"Because you almost got us killed!" Maxie exclaimed.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Frankie replied mechanically as he put the car into reverse and headed for the road. "I drove off da road," he said. "Dat was dumb."

~*~*~*~

The girls had nearly raced to the front doors of their homes when dropped off by Frankie, grateful for their health and the distance from the automobile and person that had nearly ended their lives. Sly joined Frankie in the front passenger seat, and the two brothers rode back to Wyndemere in silence. Sly wasn't afraid of Frankie as he knew that it was Frankie who had saved them. However, Sly thought he must have just witnessed the "disorder" firsthand. Someone had definitely not had their best interests at heart, and that black car had tailed them. What was this all about - Frankie was out of the mob now. It was supposed to be over. With Frankie, would it ever be over? Sly glanced at his brother, but Frankie's face seemed normal with his concentration on traffic and changing lanes.

Back at the garage, Frankie paused when he exited his car. He grimaced and leaned against the vehicle as he was in serious pain and couldn't force his legs to cooperate.  

"Want me to get the wheelchair?" Sly asked seriously.

Frankie didn't reply, but nodded.

"I'll try not to get caught," Sly whispered. "Back in a sec. Let me take those crutches with me."

Frankie handed over the metal crutches and slowly sank down to the concrete floor of the garage with his sweater riding up his back, feeling the coolness of metal against skin. A weary feeling of despair rose within him and flooded him with a desperate intensity. His large pistol dug reassuringly into his gut as he leaned his forehead onto his knee and wrapped his arms around his head. His left leg was held at an unnatural angle to his hip, and he didn't care. It could fall off for all he cared at the moment. It was hopeless anyway. They were going to find him, and when that happened, he decided he'd give up and let them kill him. There was no use involving other people in his own mess. Remove the mess, remove the danger. Remove Frankie, and everyone else will be happy.

Frankie was almost dead weight when Sly arrived with the wheelchair. Sly pleaded with his brother to help him more, but Frankie couldn't summon the energy or will to cooperate. Finally, Sly helped Frankie to the point where he sprawled awkwardly on the seat, and he manually adjusted his brother's legs onto the footrests. Sly was plenty worried. It was like Frankie did what he had to when he drove them out of there, but now he'd given up.

Sly checked his watch as he wheeled Frankie back into Wyndemere. It was five thirty. Hopefully, they weren't missed, but he was doubtful. Sly parked Frankie by the elevator, and whispered, "I'm going back to the study. You're heading back to your bedroom?"

Frankie listlessly nodded yes, and Sly took off for the stairs. Frankie rode the elevator to the next floor and slowly wheeled himself to his room. The door was closed, and he turned the knob to open the door and enter. There was a small lamp on, but the rest of the room was dark with the curtains drawn. Had he drawn those curtains? He knew he hadn't left on a lamp because he didn’t want to be discovered. No light was good light in that case.

When Frankie wheeled into the center of the room, he was startled by the voice that spoke from a leather cushioned, Stickley rocking chair located by the far wall of the room.

"You're back," Dr. Hill observed dryly.

Frankie's head turned to find the doctor rocking in the chair with a disappointed expression on his face.

"You missed your appointment with the occupational therapist," he informed the boy. "I suppose you forgot it?"

"Shit," Frankie mouthed. The appointment was at three thirty, and it had totally slipped his mind.  

"Where were you?"

"We took da girlfriends for an ice cream," Frankie protested. "What's wrong with dat?"

"Nothing's wrong with it if you first ask permission," the doctor explained.

Frankie muttered under his breath. Ask permission. Yeah. Forget it. I do what I want.

"So did you play rugby while having your ice cream?" Dr. Hill asked with a finger pointing toward the dirt and grass stains on Frankie's clothing.

Frankie cautiously ran his fingers over his hair, smoothing it as if a nice hairdo would cover up the rest of his appearance. "Are you gonna tell on me?" he asked as his eyes flashed with defiance.

"I'm a physician, not a tattletale."

"Good." Frankie tried to rise from his chair but was unable to gain the momentum to do so. His arms shook, and his legs wouldn't help lift him. Embarrassed at being caught so helpless, he sadly looked down at the floor and remained silent.

"Need some help?"

Frankie's head nodded wordlessly.  He bit the inside of his cheek in order not to cry out when he was lifted upwards and dragged onto his bed. Frankie felt like a little kid when the doctor had to remove his shoes for him and pull the covers back so he could lie down. He turned away and cried silently for his pain. He was dying, but he wouldn’t admit it.

"Your mother told me you're drinking a lot more water," Dr. Hill mentioned. "Thank you for listening to me. It's important for your health."

"I know," Frankie replied tearfully.

"The results of your blood test came back today. We're increasing your dosage of steroids. Your blood counts are low again. You need to be more careful than ever about eating properly and reducing stress."

Frankie laughed bitterly but didn't reply. He reached into his waistband, withdrew his pistol and laid it with a clunk onto the nightstand beside his bed. He adjusted uncomfortably on the bed and decided that the bulletproof vest had to go as well. It was cutting into his side, the one with the damaged kidney. The doctor watched with disbelief at the mounting evidence of Frankie's mob activity.

"You haven't quit, have you?"

Frankie glared at him. "I quit, dey haven't. Go blame someone else."

Dr. Hill rose from the chair and reached into his medical bag for Frankie's medications. "I have a meeting tomorrow with your father and stepmother. They need to be informed about how to help you with your medications and injuries. You have my phone numbers if you need to reach me."

"Okay," Frankie conceded. He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jerry."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry dat I keep hurting myself. I don't mean to. Life gets in da way, ya know."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Frankie. I wish you'd be more responsible, though. A boy with your intelligence ought to understand cause and effect. My interest is to see you healed. Your behavior confuses me. Do you want to be healed?"

"Yes," Frankie said in a small voice. He accepted the pills that the doctor offered and flushed them down his throat with a generous amount of water. "But I don't think I'm gonna survive, so it's a moot point, right? I just need ta stay away from people so dey don't get hurt."

Dr. Hill looked concerned. "I want you to discuss this with your parents. Perhaps they can offer you some reassurance. I know you're very well protected on this estate - if you'll stay on it, that is."

"I dunno," Frankie replied. He threw the bulletproof vest across the room, and it hit the floor with a solid plop. "I give up. Next time dey try to kill me, I'm gonna let 'em. No more running and hiding."

"I don't like to hear you say that," Dr. Hill replied. "It doesn't bode well for your physical or your mental health."

Frankie painfully eased himself up and leaned against his slatted, wooden headboard. "What health? I'm never gonna walk again," he said pointing to his bad leg. "I'm not gonna grow no more. Dat blood disease ain't goin' away, I can't play sports, and now I don't gotta girlfriend. Forget it. It's hopeless."

"It's never hopeless. You have plenty to look forward to, and your physical injuries will heal eventually if you follow directions and take care of yourself. Running off to see a girlfriend and skipping physical therapy isn't the way to do it."

Frankie frowned deeply and harshly jabbed his elbow back against the headboard in protest. He bent over with a groan and held his side as he panted and puffed from the jarring motion. He didn't protest when the doctor insisted on looking at his kidney.

"It was probably the vest again," Dr. Hill said. "But you're acting like you're still in pain after taking your medication."

"Sly said I was jumpin' up and down," Frankie gritted out. "Da leg," he said while grasping his hip and thigh. "It's always da leg. I don't remember nothin' though."

"I'm going to bring back something stronger for you," Dr. Hill said after examining the leg to make sure it wasn't broken. "You likely pulled a muscle or a ligament." He paused before heading for the door because he felt an instinct about his patient. "I'm going to call one of your parents to stay with you. Who do you want to come?"

"Luke," Frankie replied quickly. "I want my dad." He always gravitated toward Luke when he was in physical pain. It was as if he wanted the man's strong presence as reassurance against his harsh world. He flopped back down on the bed and closed his eyes, giving into the pain that made him feel as if he were being pulled apart.

~*~*~*~

Luke was reading through the wine list at the fancy restaurant he and Alexis decided on for a date. Alexis took a sip of her water and admired the décor. It was lush in its elegant simplicity with the subtle glow of candlelight at their table and rich opulent fabrics prominent on chair cushions and drapery. Somewhere in the distance, a piano player tinkled out a classical tune that was perfect for the setting.

"What type of wine do you like?" Luke asked.

"Rosé is nice."

"How about the house wine?"

"Perfect."

Luke's bright, blue eyes stole a quick glance at his wife. Alexis' skin glowed, and her brown eyes sparkled back at him with a tinge of mischief. Neither of them had forgotten what they'd share for dessert later on...after the restaurant dinner...in the privacy of their home...with whipped cream...and a possible cherry on top.

"What is this restaurant's specialty?" Luke wondered.

"I heard it's the steak," Alexis commented. She ran her hand over the menu. "But I think I'll order fish, maybe the mahi-mahi. I need to watch my waistline."

Luke's eyes twinkled, and he laid down his menu. "No you don't."

Alexis looked puzzled. "What?"

"You don't need to watch your waistline." Luke's eyebrows rose. "I will." He stared directly into Alexis's eyes and smiled a tiny smile that twitched his amused lips.

Alexis' blushed, which only further heated up her husband's libido. "You are soooo bad," she whispered furiously at him as her eyes darted left and right to see if a waiter had overheard.

"Bad to the bone," Luke joked as he pursed his lips at her.

"So help me," Alexis shook her head, dying to laugh, but containing herself in the restrained atmosphere.

"Oh, I'll help ya darlin.'" Luke reached his hand out and enfolded hers. "I love you," he said simply and honestly, his blue eyes taking on an earnest, innocent expression of love.

A few tears filled Alexis' eyes, and she sniffed. "I love, you, too."

"Uh-oh," Luke said worriedly. "My pager is vibrating."

"Sure it's your pager?"

Luke smiled at Alexis and looked at the phone number. "It's Wyndemere. Must be Frankie."

"Better call."

"Back in a minute."

When Luke returned a few minutes later, he sighed deeply and sat down with a tight expression on his face. "Alexis," he started regretfully.

"Go," Alexis said, waving her hand. "He needs you."

"But our date," Luke protested.

"Will wait," Alexis filled in for him. "Parenthood calls."

"Are you coming with me?"

"You know what," Alexis exclaimed. "I think I'll order a glass of wine and an appetizer and then take a taxi home. You call me with the news. If you have to stay there tonight, I understand."

"You just don't want to talk to Laura," Luke teased.

"How accurate and insightful you are," Alexis replied.

~*~*~*~

Luke and Dr. Hill stood outside of Frankie's bedroom door, deep in conversation. Luke's arms were crossed and he intently looked at the man beside him as if he wanted to absorb each and every word he was saying.

"I thought his health was improving," Luke stated. "What's wrong with him?"

"His psychological issues and behavior are interfering with his physical health. We've been struggling with him to eat, drink and rest properly. He's made some improvement in those areas, but it's taken a toll on him, including his ITP. His blood counts are down again, yet he's sneaking off the estate and reinjuring himself, carrying firearms..."

"What?" Luke asked loudly with a furious look on his face. "He's got guns again?"

The doctor nodded. "Laid a huge revolver on his nightstand and complained about the vest cutting in on him. His kidney is swollen again. Frankly, Mr. Spencer, this case is going beyond my ability to provide him with good health care. My recommendation would be a residential treatment program for troubled adolescents. He's out of control."

"But the psychiatrist wants him to regain his physical health before engaging in any intense therapy."

Dr. Hill shook his head. "It's a catch-22 situation. I didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone with the statements he's made. He's expressing a lot of hopelessness. He asked for you specifically. I'm concerned because of his recent suicide attempt."

"I have absolutely no idea what to do," Luke said as his face turned pale. "What about his mother and Stefan?"

"They haven't returned home yet," the doctor explained. "They're aware of everything except for what happened this afternoon. Oh. I wanted to tell you that he mentioned your other son. Perhaps Sly can fill you in on the details. Frankie's recall seems spotty."

Luke rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe himself. "I'll talk to Frankie. Then, I'll give Sly a call."

~*~*~*~

Robin laughed with surprise when Maxie immediately greeted her at the front door with a fierce hug.

"I'm so glad you're home!" Maxie said with a tearful voice.

Robin's warning alert was on, and she wondered what was up with the teenaged girl who unsuccessfully tried to keep up a brave front. "Why don't you walk back with me to the guest room," she said jovially. "We can talk while I settle in."

"Okay," Maxie said quickly. She picked up Robin's suitcase and almost ran with it down the hallway.

What now? Robin sighed to herself. I bet it's that boy.

Maxie closed the guest room door with a bang. "I really need to talk to you, Robin," she said as she wrung her hands. "It's life or death."

Robin chuckled. "I'm sure it's not that serious." 

"It is!" Maxie protested. "I almost was killed today."

Robin sat down on the bed and looked concerned. "Tell me what happened. And don't leave out any important details."

"Well, Frankie picked us up after school - it was me, Frankie, Sly and Emily. He was driving his BMW."

"I thought he was fifteen." Robin looked confused.

"He is. It's just that he's been driving for a long time, and he has these fake ID's so..."

Robin rolled her eyes. "He's gotten you into trouble again."

"Yes. Sort of, oh I don't know. I'm so confused."

"Come here," Robin said as she extended her arm. "Sit with me on the bed."

Maxie sat by Robin and slumped over, her eyes staring at the floor and her face upset. "He almost got us killed. These men were following us, and he was driving faster and faster. Robin, I looked at the speedometer, and it read ninety miles an hour. But the car still followed us. He slowed down a little and then he ran the car off the road."

"What?"

"I know. I couldn't believe it. We were bumping through the grass and then it finally stopped before we hit a haystack. But Frankie jumped out of the car with his gun drawn."

"GUN?" Robin almost shouted.  

Maxie nodded rapidly. "I know, Robin. He really is a mobster, just like Mac said. I guess I didn't realize it until I saw the gun and the bulletproof vest. And he wants me to wear one, too."

"I'm becoming majorly confused here," Robin interjected.  "Didn't you tell me he was through with that?"

"That's what he said, but someone is still after him. It's probably not the Mafia but someone else."

"This sounds dangerous to me. Has he explained what's happening?"

"He doesn't know." Maxie placed her feet on the bed's sideboards and gripped her knees.

Robin placed her arm around the girl she considered as close to her as a younger sister. "We knew he had mob connections. What else is bothering you?"

Maxie shot a glance at Robin and sighed deeply. "How'd you know?"

"How'd I know what?"

"You can always pick up what's bothering me."

"Did he try to seduce you again? Is that why you're upset? You were before, but we talked it through. What's going on?"

"Yeah," Maxie agreed softly. "He wanted to sleep with me." Her face grew tense while her eyes flared with anger. "He made me touch his...you know what. He held my hand over it and said, "Can we do it?" I mean, it was so...unromantic. It's like he asked me if I'd wash his car."

"What were you doing before that?" Robin questioned. "I'm not being nosy; I'm just trying to figure out the situation before I give any advice."

"He wanted me to try on the bulletproof vest. He also had ulterior motives. I should have seen that immediately, but I'm stupid. I took my sweater off and asked him how to wear the vest, so he turned around with this huge grin on his face.

"Smooth," Robin commented. "Real smooth."

"That's Frankie," Robin agreed. "He insisted on having a kiss first before he'd show me how to use the vest. I didn't mind, I mean, I wanted to, you know." Maxie blushed at her admission, but continued. "Then things got...well...a little hot. He touched my scar and held his hand over it."

"I get the point," Robin stated as she realized where exactly that scar was located. "You don't have to elaborate."

"I liked it," Maxie said. "But he just pushes and pushes. He went too far, and I was insulted he said that to me. And I didn't like him taking my hand the way he did. I didn't want to touch him there."

"Did you discuss that?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"I was angry, acted kind of prissy," Maxie laughed. "He was upset, I was upset, and we left the woods and walked back to his car."

"Time for advice," Robin announced. She stood up and paced around the room as she thought of what to say to the younger girl who looked up to her. "First of all, if you can't discuss sex with someone, you're not ready to have it. Does that make sense to you?"

Maxie nodded.

"It takes a degree of maturity to be able to have a conversation about a topic like that. If you're uncomfortable, then you're not comfortable enough to share your body. That should be rule number one for you."

"That makes sense."

"You need to decide what your boundaries are, what types of activities you're ready for, and let him know. You have to talk about it. Otherwise, if you're deep into the woods with this boy, literally and figuratively, he might have a different impression. For all he knows, you wanted to have sex by the way you reacted to his advances. Make it clear what you want and what you don't want."

"But what if he won't go out with me anymore?"

"Maxie." Robin held her hands on her hips. "Haven't you been listening to me? The point is, it's your body. You decide what to do with it. Don't let anyone pressure you. Stand up for yourself. Yes, you like this boy, yes he makes you feel good, but be careful. Watch out for yourself."

"I'm not sure what I want."

"Now's the time to think about it and decide."

"You're right."

"Now what about these guns and bulletproof vests? Are you really in danger?"

"Maybe."

"What do Mac and Felicia say about this?"

"Don’t tell them!" Maxie shouted out in a panic.

"You're not supposed to see him," Robin guessed. "Sounds familiar."

"I can't help it. I want to be with him."

"But what if he's trouble?"

Maxie rubbed her lips together and looked sheepish. "But that's partly why I like him. He's exciting, and...cute as hell. I can't help it. He makes me tingly all over."

Robin wrapped her arm around Maxie's shoulder. "Girlfriend, we have lots to talk about this weekend."

~*~*~*~

In an underground garage, at an undisclosed location...

Agent Richards paced angrily back in forth in front of the damaged black car. He kicked the two tires that had been flattened by Frankie's bullets. "You let a pipsqueak of a kid do this to you?" he inquired with a sarcastic voice.

"He's no kid," the man in black shot back. "He's evil."

Agent Richards laughed mercilessly. "How scientific of you." He drew in deeply on his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs and let it trail out through his nostrils. "The kid is fifteen years old. He poses no threat to you."

"You didn't see his eyes," the other man in black confided. "They were so strange, like he was mad...or possessed."

"Grow up!" Agent Richards wheezed. "I want this kid in my custody. No excuses. I don't care if he's Adolph Hitler's stepson. You bring him to me. Or else."

Next chapter...