Chapter Seventy-One

Frankie stumbled out into the night when the cops pulled him from the cruiser parked in front of the Port Charles Police Department. He lost his balance as his bad leg refused to hold any weight, but the large police officers flanking him merely pulled him up and alongside them.

"Hey!" Alexis' clear voice sounded out. She rushed up behind them, having jumped out of Luke's barely stopped car. "Be careful with my client. That's a juvenile you're handling there."

The cops snickered and shook their heads at the insistent woman. They'd learned to tune out attorneys years ago in performing their duties. If attorneys had their way, all clients would be allowed to remain comfortably in the privacy of their own homes. The cops knew that being shaken up and brought into the harsh atmosphere of an active police station was an effective means of securing confessions.

"Are you okay, Frankie?" Alexis asked hurriedly, but her stepson didn't acknowledge her presence as he mechanically limped along with his head hanging down, his eyes never meeting another person's gaze.

"He didn't say a word in the cruiser if that's what you're worried about," the officer in charge sighed.

"Not a friggin' word. He's a human clam," the junior officer chimed in with more colorful language.

The cops were nearly dragging Frankie along by the time they reached the PCPD hallways, and the boy's trailing sneaker made a loud squeaking noise as they progressed to the interrogation room. Heads rose to see what the weird, high-pitched noise was. It was surprising to see a juvenile as young as this one at headquarters. Usually, the juveniles were caught red-handed shoplifting or being truant and were directly escorted to juvy.

"Dad?" Sly asked in confusion as he and Luke followed behind Alexis and Frankie. Luke held his hand up to indicate he didn't want to talk at that very moment, and Sly closed his mouth, biting his lower lip and frowning. He wondered where they were taking Frankie and if they were going to arrest him. It hadn't gone very well last time, and Sly wanted to be prepared. He'd about lost two years off of his life from the stress of seeing his brother almost kill himself last time, and he wondered who was going to prevent that from happening again.

Frankie was shoved into a seat across from the long, wooden interrogation table but took the rough handling without a comment. The cops left him and shut the door before Alexis could enter.

"I'll check with the commissioner to see if he'll allow you a few minutes with the kid," he said.

"I want to be with my client," Alexis said firmly as she stood her ground. One cop stood guard at the door while the other went in search of the commissioner. Alexis tiptoed over to the long window that spanned the length of the interrogation room. She peered in and drew in a sharp breath. Although still in handcuffs, Frankie had slid down from the chair to the floor and inched over to the nearest corner, holding his forehead against the wall as if trying to hide himself. The heavy metal handcuffs stood in sharp contrast to his small, huddled form. Oh boy, oh boy, Alexis thought frantically. I really want to get in there and try to snap him out of this before Mac comes in. He's in no shape to be questioned. I'm not sure this questioning would hold up in court anyway, but the last thing we need is for him to be repeatedly traumatized by the justice system. Mac had better have a good reason for insisting he come down here.

Luke and Sly sat down on a long bench yards away from Alexis, but Luke caught the suddenly stiff posture of his wife and was feeling a sharp sense of worry in reaction. "I hope they don't keep us here too long," Luke said softly. He extended his arm around Sly's shoulders and sighed. Sly nodded and folded his hands together. "We have school tomorrow. I can't believe they made him come down here tonight."

"It is pretty stupid," Luke agreed.

"Frankie started acting funny back at the house when the cops came in," Sly observed. "And he was just settling down and starting to have fun with us. This stinks."

"Like limburger," Luke replied wearily. He patted Sly on the head in appreciation for his son's attempts at making conversation and for defending his new older brother.

Alexis was sighing with crossed arms and stamping her foot when Mac strolled up to her. "Alexis," he said neutrally as he guided her into the interrogation room. Alexis immediately went over to Frankie, who was still sitting with his face in the corner. Mac frowned and was about to make a caustic remark when Alexis promptly maneuvered a nonprotesting Frankie over to the table.

"Have your officers remove his cuffs, please," she stated firmly.

"Okay," Mac said as he motioned toward the boy. "They were just for flight precautions." He cleared his throat as he glanced in Frankie's direction. "Given the drama of his prior arrest."

"Which was entirely preventable. Now why are we here at this inconvenient hour, commissioner?"

Frankie's cuffs were removed as she spoke, and he laid his head in his right hand, effectively cutting off his view of the two adults at the table and cop at the door.

"We're here to discuss the continuing investigations of two recent gangland killings, killings that have your client's fingerprints all over them."

"Literally?" Alexis questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Mac colored and adjusted in his seat. "No. But, his fingerprints were on items found at the scene outside the penthouse."

Frankie's hands were cradling his head with his fingers digging into his hair, but he shot a dark glance at Mac. "Just wait 'til my dad hears what you're tryin' ta do," he spit out in a spiteful yet young sounding voice. One hand fell to the table with a loud slap. "He don't like people talkin' to me like dat."

"Could I have a private moment with my client so he can collect his thoughts?" Alexis asked lightly as she placed a gentle hand on Frankie's back. He flinched away and glared at her. Frankie's voice rose in pitch and betrayed his fear. "Who are you? I want my lawyer. I want my dad. What am I doin' here?"

"Of course," Mac stated. It was obvious that Smith Junior, or Spencer Junior it was these days, was in no shape to be questioned. Mac wondered why he was out of the hospital and shook his head as he exited the door. How in the world was he going to extricate Maxie from her relationship with this disturbed boy? Sure he was cute for a kid, but Mac was far from his own teen days and didn't realize that the raw magnetic pull of this attraction between the two kids was out of his realm of understanding.

Frankie was shaking and breathing hard with sharp pants as he stared at this woman who was trying to talk to him. "Where's Harry?" he asked as his eyes roamed around the small room. He ran his palm over his forehead. "I got rights, dat's what my dad told me." He coughed harshly and held a hand to his chest. "My chest hurts. I got shot," he added with a mixture of pride and terror. "I been spending lots of time in da hospital. I wanna go home."

Alexis frowned and gave her stepson his distance. "Honey, how old are you?" she asked carefully.

Frankie's face looked startled and then beamed. "I'm ten!" he declared. "I'm a big boy. I'm almost a man."

Alexis bent to catch his youthful gaze and hold it. "Frankie, look at me closely," she said quietly. "I want to talk to the boy who is fifteen, okay? Please let me talk to him. It's important."

Frankie frowned and looked puzzled as his eyes took on a glazed aspect. He stared vacantly at the wall for a few seconds and then blinked his eyes. "Alexis?" he asked with a tired voice. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "I got a headache."

Alexis exhaled with relief. "We'll get you an aspirin in a minute. You're at the PCPD, and Mac will be back shortly. He'll ask some more questions about the gangland killings, and you remain mute until I tell you to answer, which won't be often. Think you can handle it?"

Frankie snorted. "Sure." He looked with apprehension at the cops stationed outside of the room. "Dey're not takin' me to jail, are dey? I can't do dat." He swallowed hard as his throat felt like it was closing.

Alexis laid a hand on his trembling arm. "No. No jail. Just a few questions. You know not to implicate yourself by any statements. Correct?"

Frankie smirked and made a closed key motion near his lips. "Mute. Dat's me."

"Good," Alexis said in a measured, neutral tone. "Just stay present with us while Mac is questioning, okay? No drifting off?"

Frankie looked embarrassed and didn't meet his stepmother's eyes. "I'll try. I'll pinch myself."

Alexis opened the door and spoke a few words.

"Ready for some questions?" Mac asked in a hearty voice. He needed answers, but his heart wasn't into terrorizing a vulnerable boy no matter who is deceased father was. He'd learned his lesson after his last disastrous approach. This would be by the book.

Frankie nodded and looked away. He held himself rigidly in his chair and dug into his forearm with his fingernails.

"Where were you on the morning of April 30?" Mac began.

Frankie stared at him with an impassive face and eyes that never blinked. Alexis stirred and said hurriedly, "He was at his mother's home in Wyndemere. There are numerous servants who would be able to give him an alibi." Alexis mentally crossed her fingers that Stefan had already bribed them.

"How do you know Joseph Sorel?" Mac asked as his eyes swept over the calm boy who presented no emotion.

"Who is Joseph Sorel?" Frankie answered, effectively sidestepping that he did indeed know who the man was.

"The man who you ordered brutally murdered while he was eating at his dinner table in broad public," Mac sputtered with an angry, red face. "Don't tell me you don't know the man."

"Okay. I won't."

Alexis rubbed her lips together to hide her grin. Smartass.

~*~*~*~

Half hour later...

Mac threw his folder down onto the table with disgust. He ran a hand over his brow and sighed.

"Kid didn't talk much," the cop beside him commented.

"Not much at all," Mac gritted out. "It seems like these cases will never be closed. The mayor is breathing down my neck on this. Gangland killings in a small city don't make for good press. He's trying to attract a new company to town, and they're balking at the crime rate."

The cop smirked. "Maybe the mayor should ask the kid to help with recruiting the company, as smooth as he is."

Mac shook his head. "He was cool all right. Cool as a cucumber." But deadly as a viper, Mac thought to himself. He blinked back into awareness and ordered, "Bring Corinthos back in here first thing in the morning."

"Corinthos moved," the cop explained. "We don't have a trail for him yet. He sold his property and vanished. We're not sure if he's in the city."

~*~*~*~

Alexis half carried a limping and grimacing Frankie from the interrogation room and walked him over to Luke and Sly who were sighing and staring into space, bored already with a less than active PCPD. All that moved was a fan on a nearby desk that squeaked and barely rotated clockwise.

"Frankie." Luke rose quickly from the bench and looked questioningly at his wife. "You're through here?"

Alexis nodded. "For now. We'll talk in the car. Let's get him out of here."

Luke took Frankie from Alexis' grasp and wrapped his arm around his son's waist for support. "Easy does it," he said encouragingly.

Frankie gave a brief, halfhearted smile, but his eyes were half closed with exhaustion after coming off of his adrenaline high. He stumbled, and his arm swung sharply. His flashing signet ring caught Sly's eye once again. It seemed like it was always in his face lately. "Yeah, let's go home," Sly said tiredly. "I gotta get up early in the morning."

Frankie said nothing as they led him to the car, and when they deposited him into it, he leaned his face against the window. Alexis motioned for Sly to take the front seat and joined Frankie in the back as she was worried about him after his performance in the interrogation room. She wasn't sure how he was reacting to all of this and her nerves were still on edge. Frankie had managed to keep quiet for the most part or give brief, unhelpful answers to Mac's questions, and that was good, but he wasn't off the hook yet. His fingerprints had been taken at the scene, albeit there was no murder weapon and no eyewitnesses had come forward.

Frankie moaned and adjusted in the seat, scrunching more firmly in the corner of the vehicle. His arm hung down from his side, and Alexis' eyes widened at the site of numerous bleeding marks where his fingernails had dug deeply into the flesh. "Luke? Do you have some wet napkins in the glove compartment?" she asked quickly. When Luke handed her a fresh packet, she tore it open and lifted Frankie's arm. "I'm going to clean off your arm, Frankie," she said. When she ran the soft, wet paper over his arm, he jerked it away and held it over his face. She took hold of the arm again and cleaned the wounds with a hasty motion. She looked down at the blood streaked wet napkin and felt a few tears build in her eyes. "When will we be home?" she asked with a soft voice.

"Ten minutes tops," Sly called from the front seat.

Alexis' worried eyes ran over Frankie and answered, "Good."

~*~*~*~

Sonny grimaced and bent his face closer to the windshield with his arm wiping away the condensation to make a peephole to see out of his impossibly tiny compact car. The interior was fogging up with the steady rain outside, and his defogger was either broken or nonexistent. He'd parted with a few of his dwindling dollars that afternoon to purchase cheap, used transportation that would allow him to stalk Smith Junior. Due to being a former connoisseur of hired drivers and limos, it had been at least fifteen years since he'd driven, and he found his skills with the manual transmission to be rusty at best.

Curse words flew from Sonny's mouth at a rapid pace each time he tried to shift the car and missed a gear. If Luke had had the inclination to look intently in his rearview mirror, he would have seen a yellow car following a discreet distance away, lurching with a jerky motion - leaping forward and then hanging back. Maybe he'd have assumed it was a drunk driver, or someone mentally ill, cursing at an imaginary friend in the seat beside him.

"I'm gonna find out where you live, you bastard," Sonny gritted through his teeth. A thick, black curl fell onto his forehead, giving him a winsome look that he would have despised and Elton would have adored. "I'm gonna get you if it takes every last penny of mine."

Sonny flinched as the car behind him honked repeatedly and then sped up beside him so the driver could flip him the bird before roaring off into the night. Where were his bodyguards? His flunkies? Anyone who could show and enforce respect? His eyes hardened with the diabolical plans he was hatching. His former life and glory - it was all gone now, and Smith Junior was going to pay!

~*~*~*~

10:30PM

Luke reached for the can of soda pop that replaced his ever present evening beer. He still hadn't gotten used to the lack of "kick" in the beverage, but he was making due for his son's sake. No alcohol was allowed in the Spencer household. Alexis and Sly had headed for bed, but Frankie had limped straight for the living room couch, and Luke planned to join him to see if he could help.

Luke handed Frankie a can and said, "Here you go," in a soft, undemanding voice. He sat a few feet away from his son and popped the top of his can, sighing as if he'd accomplished something significant.

Frankie rolled the can around in his hands and then placed it on the floor, ignoring it. He curled into a ball, placing a pillow over his head as if to hide his presence. Luke sat silently, glancing occasionally at his seemingly headless son. He took another deep sip of his drink and then laid it on a coaster on a side table. "Hey," he said as he shook Frankie's ankle. "Do you want to talk before you go to bed? I'm all ears. I can listen."

Frankie sat up abruptly, as if Luke's touch were distasteful, and threw the pillow away from him. He slumped over and remained uncommunicative, at odds with the world and himself. He bent over and held his head in his hands, much like he'd done at the police station, pulling and gripping hard on his hair to relieve his anxiety. Luke grew concerned when he started rocking with a slight, rhythmic motion. He placed a hand on Frankie's shoulder. "Can I talk to you?" he asked respectfully.

Frankie immediately flew to the end of the couch and crumpled into a protective posture, holding his knees to his chin and looking terrified. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled into himself as best he could.

"I know it's hard on you - the police, the questioning, and the station. Alexis said you did fine, and that's what's important. No one is going to hurt you or place you in jail. They don't know what happened, and maybe they'll never know. At any rate, it wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault. You were a pawn, an innocent victim. I know what it's like, to be afraid or concerned because you disobeyed the rules. But Frank's not here to punish you, and Alexis and I will protect you. If it gets too hot, you know that you can stay awhile on Stefan's island. You're never going to jail. We won't allow it." Luke stared hard at Frankie, trying to determine if he were breaking through to his son or if his words were mere noises floating impotently into the air and making no dent in Frankie's impenetrable shield.

"I was a bishop," Frankie said in a vague, otherworldly voice. "Frank was da king, but I was his advisor." His eyes glazed over as he stared at nothing. "I was all over da board," he whispered out. His hand made sweeping motions of the type that an active bishop did on the board of a chess game. "Dey're ain't no queen. Not allowed," he explained. "No women in da organization, just da whores." He made a choking sound and ran his hands over his face and then looked at them as if they didn’t belong to him. "Nothing's real," he said anxiously. "Nothing fits. I'm nowhere in da universe, just floating in a gray place. Maybe he can't find me dere." Frankie ran his fingers over the half moon indentations and scabs on his arm and pulled at them. He slid his index finger over the small amount of escaped blood and watched the fluid stain his skin.

"We want you here - with us," Luke said firmly as he laid a hand on his son's knee.

Frankie ignored his father and slumped back down on his side. "You can't find me," he said in a soft yet certain voice. "I’m all over da place - everywhere and nowhere."

"We're working on it," Luke replied. "We're not giving up on you."

"I give up on me," Frankie said quickly. "I'm tired of fighting."

"Then don't fight. Let us take care of you. Relax - you deserve it."

Frankie's face clouded over, and his eyes flashed. "I got what I deserved," he hinted darkly.

"You deserve a family who loves you. And now you have it."

"I don't know what love is. You're trying to confuse me."

"You're going to learn what love is," Luke said positively. "You're surrounded by it. Get used to it." He hesitated as he knew that he really hadn't addressed his son's concerns. "I know that it will take you time to absorb this, but I want you to focus on the fact that your life will get better. It will improve. We want to help you."

Frankie bit repeatedly on his thumbnail and tucked his legs back up to his chest as his face radiated worry. "What did I say, what did I say?" his distressed voice called out. "I was in dat room...and Alexis was dere, but I don't know. I can't remember." Frankie was making short work of his thumbnail as he increased the intensity of his biting.

"Apparently, you sidestepped most of Mac's questions and refused to answer the others. Alexis was pleased. You did well."

"Okay," Frankie's younger sounding voice answered. His eyes widened as he held his breath. "Dey're not coming back and puttin' dose cuffs on me, are dey?"

"I don't think so," Luke answered. "The questioning may not be over, but you're fine."

"Okay," Frankie repeated. "I’m tired," he announced as he popped up from the couch with a casual motion and promptly fell flat on his face as he'd forgotten that he'd injured his leg. "Ow," he cried out with his elbows and knees hitting the floor. He shed a few silent tears as he gripped his thigh in his hands. "Who hurt me?" he asked in a sad tone of voice. "What'd I do wrong? I didn't mean to get kidnapped."

Luke bit his lip to keep his own tears at bay and bent to help his son up. "I'll help you to bed," he said. "Try to get a good night's sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Okay," Frankie sighed as he allowed the older man to assist him in walking. He leaned the back of his head against Luke's chest. "I’m tired," he announced again with a wide yawn.

"I know," Luke replied softly. Why do I feel like we’re losing him inch by inch each day? Any progress we make is torn away by the mob or police. Taking off and running with him doesn't sound so crazy right now.

"Wash your face and brush your teeth before you go to bed," Luke instructed as he pulled down the bedspread to Frankie's bed. "You need to do that every night." It was easier to talk to his son at whatever level or age he presented himself. Luke fell quickly into that responsive pattern, and in a way enjoyed the reparenting that was necessary at these times when his son seemed young.

"Why?"

"So your face doesn't break out and your teeth don’t rot," Luke explained. "It's a good thing."

"'Kay," Frankie responded as the back of his hand brushed over his tired eyes. He stood outside of the bathroom door and then turned and beamed at Luke. "Night, Daddy," he said earnestly.

Luke kissed the top of Frankie's head and patted him on the back. "Goodnight son."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

Frankie laughed. "You're funny. I like dat."

Luke stood outside of the bathroom door for a moment, lost in thought and emotion. He smiled at his son's trusting expression of his feelings, which didn't happen often. He smiled, but then his eyes saddened markedly at the reality of the situation, the real reason why Frankie was acting the way he was. He leaned his hand heavily against the wall and laid his head down on his forearm as the sadness welled within him and threatened to eclipse the bright moment that Frankie's declaration of love had sparked in his heart only a seconds ago. How are we going to help my kid?

~*~*~*~

Next morning...

"Alexis, what are we going to do?" Luke's intense voice caught Alexis' immediate interest while she was applying her makeup and leaning in toward the mirror. She laid down her blush on the counter and stared at him.

"He hasn't snapped out of it," Luke explained. "Frankie's still acting like he's four years old. I sent Sly with him to his room to help him dress right. He was wearing two colors of socks and his shoes weren't tied."

Alexis leaned heavily against the counter and remained silent while she thought. "He's just going to have to adapt. He's going to have to learn who and what are appropriate for a given situation."

"He knows," Luke insisted. "It's this disorder."

"It's disorderly?" Alexis quipped.

Luke shot her a smile that quickly faded. "Something like that. The psychiatrist said his system is breaking down? Isn't that how he put it?"

"He has a new life, and the changes are threatening to him. As abusive as it was, he was accustomed to Frank's environment of violence and criminality. The stress of adapting to two new homes, public school, and the echoes of his past are overwhelming him."

"You sound like Laura," Luke observed wryly.

Alexis shot him a withering look. "Well, you don't have to insult me. I'm just trying to help."

Luke wrapped his arms around Alexis and gave her a conciliatory kiss. "Thank you, darlin'. I'm not trying to insult you. I'm only blowing off some steam."

Alexis frowned as she wasn't that easily pacified. "Don't be so emotional."

"Or you be so analytical," Luke shot back with a glare. Silence filled the master bathroom as neither party was ready to concede defeat.

"We're fighting because of the tension," Alexis decided.

"Yep," Luke agreed.

"We'd better not do that. It won't get us anywhere."

"Ditto."

"I'll have Sly talk to Frankie while I'm driving them to school. Maybe he can break through to him. Otherwise, Frankie will have to rough it."

"Sounds like a plan." Luke rubbed his chin. "I'm still worried about him."

"Me, too," Alexis said softly. "We're having some bad moments, but we'll get by."

"You're very capable."

"School of hard knocks."

"Best school there is."

~*~*~*~

Sonny muttered to himself as he paced around his new apartment located off of the Port Charles riverfront. He'd leased it for cheap, but he suspected that the river flooded it occasionally as the place had a perpetually damp, musty odor about it with a rising damp feeling swirling around his ankles. Gone were the expensive modern furniture items that had been promptly snatched up by a collector of the original pieces at a price half their worth. A large armchair with a cigar burn courtesy of Mr. Giovanni and a coffee table across from a big screen television comprised Sonny's entire living room. His bedroom featured a nice, new twin bed straight from Value City, which complemented his monk-like social life. Sonny's friends had lasted as long as his money and power did, and now he was left with nothing, nothing but an inner rage driving him with thoughts of revenge. His brown eyes had taken on a glint of madness, and when his eyes lighted on the pistol sitting on his kitchen table, he cackled with glee.

Marching over to the table, Sonny grabbed the pistol and squeezed it with his hand. Underneath Sonny's right eye, a small tic had taken hold and quivered in response to the tension that built up within his chest. He took in a deep breath and thrust the gun into the waistband of his pants. He wanted to feel its lethal coolness at all times to remind him of his mission. Smith Junior was going to pay.

Sonny walked to the tiny bathroom with its ripped vinyl tile dating from the late 70's and yanked open the battered medicine chest hanging forlornly on an off-white wall. The eerie fluorescent glow of the overhead lighting highlighted a package of Pepto Bismol tablets. Sonny's stomach contracted in pain, and he snatched them from the chest, wrestling with the plastic packaging between his thick thumb and fingers. Finally, he ripped open the package and deposited two pink tablets into his mouth. He looked in the mirror at his accusing reflection of pasty pale skin and dark circles. He grimaced as he chewed the hard, gritty tablets and held a hand over his stomach to will it to calm down.

Smacking his lips with satisfaction, Sonny turned off the lights and slammed the door shut behind him. Outside, his footsteps made angry strides toward the small yellow car that only appeared uglier in the daylight. When he felt the continual burn of his gut meeting the lethal cold presence of his gun, Sonny smiled broadly with eyes that remained flinty and dark.

~*~*~*~

Maxie returned her plate to the dishwasher and hesitated. Her mother was alone for once. Mac was already working, and Georgie had taken a class trip that day and had left the house early that morning. With only five minutes before the bus arrived, Maxie took her chance.

"Mom?"

Felicia turned her head. "Yes?"

"Can we have Frankie over to dinner one night? I'd like you to get to know him better." Maxie picked up her backpack and fiddled with its strap.

Felicia looked puzzled. "I thought we agreed you'd see each other at school and nowhere else for now."

"I know," Maxie's impatient voice sounded. "But don't you want to find out what he's like? I talk to him at school, and we email. We're not going to break up, Mother."

Felicia's eyebrows rose at Maxie's new usage of the term mother. She'd always been Mom or even Mommy when Maxie was younger. Why the sudden change? She studied her daughter's face and felt a twinge of sadness. Maxie was growing up and asserting her independence from the family. How they handled this Frankie situation might make or break their relationship for years to come. She had better tread carefully with her daughter's feelings. "Let me talk to Mac tonight," Felicia said breezily.

"You know what he'll say."

"Maxie," Felicia answered with a warning tone. "Be respectful."

Maxie turned her back and made a mocking face. She picked up her backpack and slung it dramatically over her shoulder. "Why should I? No one respects me."

Felicia let the insolent reply go in favor of not making a scene. "I'll think about it. That's all I can promise. You know that Mac is protective of you. But maybe we can work something out. I'd like to get to know Frankie since he's so special to you."

Maxie's eyes twinkled as she felt that she now had a toehold into her mother's good graces. "Okay," she said happily as she bent to kiss Felicia's cheek. "Bye, Mom."

Felicia crossed her arms and leaned back against the countertop. What was that? Have I been had? My daughter is becoming a master manipulator. She shrugged and started the dishwasher with a sigh. Just like her mom and dad I suppose.

~*~*~*~

"Stop kicking," Sly complained as Frankie waved his feet up and down while bouncing on the edge of the bed. "I'm trying to tie your shoes."

"I'm happy!" Frankie announced. "I'm goin' ta school."

"You've been before," Sly observed. "I thought you said you were too smart to go."

"I'm smart," Frankie agreed with a nod. "What if I have to go to the bathroom when I'm there?" His face took on a tight, worried expression as that possibility hadn't occurred to him until that moment.

"They have restrooms. One for the girls and one for the boys."

"I don't like girls," Frankie confided. "I won't talk to dem."

Sly snickered and shook his head. "I need a tape recorder. This is a classic." He stood up and admired his handiwork. "No, Frankie, you live for girls."

"Do NOT!" Frankie protested loudly. He leaped up, shoved Sly and drew a fist.

"Learned early, huh?"

Frankie huffed and puffed as he glowered. "I will beat you up if you say dat again."

Sly held his ground. "You have a girlfriend. Her name is Maxie. You've professed your undying love for her. You'll see her at lunch. We all eat together every day. You, me, Emily and Maxie."

Sly suddenly remembered the favor his mom had asked of him. She wanted to see if Sly could bring back Frankie to his fifteen year old self so he could handle school. It didn't seem like a bad idea since Frankie had acquired amnesia concerning the opposite sex, and Sly had no idea how Maxie would handle it. He bent down at the waist so he could look directly at Frankie, who was seated again on the bed. "Frankie," he said in a calm, firm voice. "You need to be fifteen. We're almost ready for school. I know you want to see Maxie." He held Frankie's gaze, took him by the arm and shook it. "Frankie? Frankie," he said with authority. "I'm fourteen, and you're fifteen, remember?"

Frankie's face had gone blank and stayed that way for brief moment before reforming in front of Sly's eyes. His face suddenly didn't look as soft and seemed more angular with more prominent cheekbones. Frankie peered down at his shirt and looked aghast. "What is dis shit?" he complained. "I look like a dork. Did you spike my soda pop? Am I on LSD? Geeeez. Somebody just shoot me, why doncha?"

Sly smiled. Yes! I did it! "Mom said we leave in five minutes. You have that much time to change."

~*~*~*~

Sonny squinted as he tried in vain to correctly aim his gun. His driver's side window was rolled halfway down, and his arm uneasily rested on top. I almost got him, but that other kid keeps getting in the way. He glanced down at the silencer he'd bought. Better use this. He hurriedly screwed it on while his eyes never left Frankie's back.

Frankie had insisted on using his crutches that day, and it was slow going from Alexis' car to the entrance of the school. Sly respectfully walked beside Frankie at a slow pace and carried both of their books. Frankie had forgotten that Sly would need to accompany him to his classes since he couldn't operate his crutches and deal with books at the same time. Tomorrow he'd use the wheelchair again or maybe bring a backpack. It wasn't fair to his brother to make him wait on him.

Frankie made a few whistling noises between his teeth as they progressed on the sidewalk. It strained his arms to pull himself along, and today his leg was not cooperating at all. It seemed to be worse on the day after therapy. Whatever.

Sonny's hand began shaking in anticipation of killing Smith Junior. He let out a tense giggle. Almost, almost. Damn! That kid with the books was in his sight again. He didn't fancy killing kids - only Smith Junior who didn't count.

Sly opened the door for Frankie and waved at Alexis to let her know they were safely inside.

Sonny let his hand fall from the window and in frustration growled in a low, guttural tone through his clenched teeth. His mouth remained the same, but his eyes grew twice their normal size when he first heard and then felt the swift, slicing sound of his gun firing by mistake.

Sonny's eyes bugged and his tongue stuck out of his mouth when he looked down and saw a hole in his floorboard and what looked to be a bloody toe lying beside it. His shoe filled with blood as his forehead wrinkled. Sonny quickly rolled up his window and let out a high pitched scream as he fell over on his side, banging his temple on the emergency brake.

~*~*~*~

Two men dressed in black suits looked at each other with disbelieving eyes. They were parked in an unmarked...repaired...black vehicle one block away from the school.

"What the hell is up with the retard in the tweety bird car?" the driver asked incredulously.

"Was that a gun I saw him with? I was ready to aim mine and take him out."

"Too many weirdos in the world today," the other man said, shaking his head. "They target kids."

"I would have shot him dead before I let him kill Smith Junior."

"Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior," his partner reminded him.

"Yeah," the man answered with a sigh. "That's him."

"I'm going to call the boss and recommend we activate our alternative plan. This needs to happen ASAP or someone else is going to nab the kid."

"Didn't the Mafia try to off him a few weeks back?"

"Sure thing."

"We need plan B," his partner nodded. "I agree."

Next chapter...