Chapter One
Frankie exited the white Cadillac Fleetwood and slammed the door shut. He walked over to Johnny’s black BMW 328i. Johnny opened the electric window, and Frankie crossed his arms to lean on the door. The BMW had been Frank Smith’s birthday gift to his fifteen-year-old son.
"How do you like trading cars?" Frankie asked conversationally as his blue eyes continually moved to survey his surroundings. "You have a very nice automobile," stated Johnny respectfully. "It was a pleasure to drive."
"Yeah, well, I kind of like the older cars, that Cadillac of yours was a real peach," Frankie sniffed. "I felt like I owned the road, you know?" Frankie straightened up and said decisively, "Let’s park the vehicles over by these docks. That diner over there seems like a dive, but sometimes the food’s better at those places. Let’s try it out. Oh, yeah," he said, removing a large roll of bills from his wallet and pulling off multiple bills to hand to Johnny. "You’d better pay, seeing as you’re my uncle and all," he smirked. Frankie walked away, but stopped and went back to the BMW. He knocked on the window that Johnny had already rolled up. "Better lock it up good and use the alarm," he advised. "This place doesn’t look too hot. Don’t want anyone messing with my wheels."
~*~*~*~
Luke was sitting on a stool at Kelly’s counter with his chin resting on his hand. He looked wistful, and his eyes blanked out as he stared down, lost in memories. Ruby walked up and plopped down a large coffee in front of her nephew. "Where’s Sly?" she demanded.
Luke stirred and blinked away his pensive mood. He gripped the coffee in his hands, almost as if to warm them up. "Sly is staying with Bobbie this weekend," he explained in a flat tone of voice. He took a sip of the coffee, made a yuck face, staring down into his cup and shivering as if he had a chill.
"Have you talked to your nephew about why you want to go off by yourself?" Ruby questioned. She gazed at Luke with uncompromising purpose.
"Sly’s just a kid," Luke said softly. "He doesn’t need to know about these things."
"And you think he doesn’t already know about pain and loss, Luke? Why don’t you open up to him more? It might do both of you some good," said Ruby, shaking her head. "You and your bottle. When are you going to break off that love affair?"
Luke brightened a bit at his aunt’s baiting banter. "When hell freezes over," he said, grinning.
"Luke, I’m sorry about the loss of your son. I’m sorry about Lucky," said Ruby in gruff sympathy.
"Me, too," replied Luke with eyes shining and a catch in his voice. "Time to go, thanks, Ruby," he said as he stood and laid a dollar on the counter for his coffee and stretched to kiss his aunt’s cheek.
"You take care, Luke," ordered Ruby, her worried eyes watching Luke’s back as he walked away.
Luke gave his aunt a backward wave as he exited the door. He headed toward the docks, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a 1978 white Cadillac Fleetwood in immaculate condition. Luke let out a low whistle as he ran an appreciative hand over the front grillwork. He didn’t notice that its occupant slid out of the driver’s seat and stood looking at him with his right hand on the top of the door and a disgusted look on his face. Frankie slammed the car door, startling Luke, who jumped slightly.
"Nice car," said Luke conversationally. "Where did you find a beauty like this? These are hard to come by."
Frankie stared at him with dead eyes, but took his time responding. "Are you always in the habit of touching things you don’t own?" he asked coolly. "This is private property, man."
Luke’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the young punk with a thick Jersey accent and equally thick attitude. "I’m complimenting your good taste," he replied easily. "No need to work yourself into an uproar," he added, looking Frankie directly in the eye and holding his gaze. This kid is a major pain, he thought. Why am I bothering talking to him? He seems familiar, but how can he be? I‘ve never met the little turd.
Frankie’s eyes flashed darkly. "No uproar," he said evenly. "You’ll know one when you experience it."
"You’re not from around here," observed Luke casually, his eyes capturing Frankie from head to toe and catching on his flashy gold ring. "Are you passing through?"
Frankie quickly sized up Luke and snorted derisively. "Who are you, Marshall Dillon? Shove off."
Luke quickly tired of the game and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood today for tangling with brats, not when his whiskey and grief were calling him. "Anyway, nice car," Luke said, getting in the last word as he turned and walked away. Frankie stared after him for a minute, his brain going a mile a minute. Johnny strolled up to him and looked down at his fingers as if inspecting them. "Trouble, boss?" he asked lightly. "Not for me," Frankie replied with a wicked grin.
~*~*~*~
Ruby looked up from the counter as the ringing of the doorbell alerted her to the young man entering the diner with a tall, well-dressed gentleman following closely behind him. The young man was good looking with classic, even features, striking coloring and eyes, on the short side, slight, but he moved with an unusual grace and command, and the smooth motion of his hips and legs indicated a cocky attitude combined with the almost athletic elegance of a dancer. Ruby frowned lightly. Something about him caught her attention and tugged at her heart. Shaking her head, Ruby reprimanded herself for being dreamy, and swiftly walked around the counter carrying a new set of menus in her hand.
Someone else noticed the interesting young man and quickly darted her eyes in his direction from behind her menu. Maxie Jones was dining with her stepfather, Mac Scorpio. Mac had just finished his latest father/daughter one-way discussion about curfews and the consequences of violating them. This new guy took her breath away. He seemed so together and those blue eyes were to die for. Lunch might be interesting after all.
Here comes trouble, thought Mac as he watched Frankie enter the diner and sit down. That’s an odd couple, he noticed. The age difference spoke of a father and son relationship, but the older man clearly was following the kid’s lead. Weird.
Frankie and Johnny seated themselves at an empty table, and Frankie leaned slightly toward Johnny and whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Don’t look, but that’s the local head of the flatfoots sitting over there." Frankie was nothing but thorough in his research, and he had photos of each Port Charles notable resident carefully downloaded to the data base on his laptop, which was stored in the trunk of the Cadillac. Frankie also couldn’t help noticing the pretty, blond teenaged girl sitting with the police commissioner. He slid his eyes to his right, hoping to scope her out a bit more thoroughly. His heart jumped, and his cheeks flushed when her eyes caught him with a steady focus aimed in his direction. Johnny noticed the hormonal interchange and chuckled to himself. Boss is still a teenager on the make.
He’s so hot, sort of mysterious, thought Maxie. I wonder if he lives around here?
Ruby approached the table. "What can I get you today?" she asked briskly and pleasantly. Frankie glanced up and said heavily, "What’s your special today?"
"Ruby’s homemade chili," she stated without hesitation.
Frankie shifted in his seat and snickered, looking at Johnny with amused eyes. "Oh yeah, and who’s this Ruby? How do I know she makes good chili?"
"You’re lookin’ at her," said Ruby tersely. "You don’t like my chili, you can eat for free and leave for free," she challenged.
Frankie took another look at the large, imposing woman before him and backed down. "Oh, well…um, yeah," he stuttered. "I’ll take a large bowl of chili and a draft beer," he ordered.
Ruby laughed merrily. "Will that be Coke or Pepsi?" she shot back.
A river of electricity rose up Frankie’s spine, and he straightened his posture in response. Damn, I forgot I’m in plebe territory. He’d been drinking beer since the tender age of nine. His father Frank always said no son of his would be a soda pop drinker. If he wanted bubbles, he could drink beer.
"Coke," Frankie replied sullenly.
"And you, sir?" asked Ruby, directing her attention to Johnny. "Same," he said definitely as he placed his menu on the table and took in another protective survey of the room.
"Coming right up," replied Ruby, placing her pen behind her ear with a swift motion of her hand. She looked over at Frankie one more time, and his blue eyes met Ruby’s. He gave her a small, tight smile. Ruby’s face betrayed her confusion as she walked back to the kitchen. What is it about that kid? It’s like there was a magnet that pulled him to her interest and concern. He looked like a tough kid, and that accent, oh boy. Ruby shook her head. But there’s still something there, she wondered.
~*~*~*~
Sly stepped off of the school bus and shifted his backpack with irritation. Why did he always carry every single schoolbook home at night? This was torture, almost 20 pounds worth of books hanging from his thin, gangly frame. Sly was in the midst of a serious growth spurt. His was the type of physique that received all of its height first and then filled out years later. Luke had reassured him that he’d looked quite similar when he was fourteen, and Sly had felt a little better hearing that since his uncle Luke was a decent looking guy, lean yet muscular, with lots of lady friends. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Sly knew that he’d never get a girlfriend if he couldn’t work his nerve up to talk to girls in general – ones that weren’t his friends like Emily. There was always that hope during home ec or algebra, when he thought that a cute girl was smiling at him, but then he’d turn and discover that the smile was for someone else. The only girl that took a semi-aggressive interest in him was Lisa Gilmore. But, Lisa was desperately after somebody, anybody. She was a very homely girl with a strange personality, and even Sly felt like he could do better than that.
Sly actually had a huge, secret crush on Maxie Jones. When he stayed with his aunt Bobbie, they rode the same school bus together. Sly’s was the last stop, and Maxie was always seated on the bus near the front with her books on her lap, looking out the window. Once, Sly was fortunate enough to obtain a seat directly behind her. He had leaned his face against the window, his nose only inches away from her beautiful, long blond fragrant hair. His hand yearned to reach out and stroke the silky strands, and he reflected that he was only inches away from destiny. But, Maxie was fifteen and a whole year ahead of him in school. Sophomore girls definitely did not date freshmen boys. They all seemed to run after the upper class guys, especially the cool, good-looking jock types. Sly wasn’t the athletic type – too short for basketball, too small-boned for football, too slow for track. Instead, he kept scores for various teams, a boring task, but a way to feel a part of the action.
He sighed as he walked slowly toward the school entrance. There was Nikolas Cassadine, parking his sports car near the front of the school. How much money did his father have to spend to give him that exclusive parking space? Heaven forbid he should walk a couple of yards. He might mar his expensive loafers. Sly snorted when he saw three beautiful girls hovering around the Big Man on Campus. Nikolas was very good-looking and assured with his dark, Mediterranean features and muscular build. He was a star soccer player as well as a state tennis and golf champion. A junior in high school, Nikolas seemed to have it made. Money, looks, women, brains. What more could someone want? Sly adjusted his backpack again and looked down at his pants. They were rising up above his shoes again. Time for a new pair or two. He wondered when Luke would complain about the expense. He hadn’t said anything yet, but sometimes Sly worried about things like that.
When Sly rounded the corner and passed by Nikolas and entourage, he was lost in his thoughts and didn’t pay attention to where he was headed. His large feet caught on a raised piece of concrete and sent him crashing to the pavement with a humiliating, bruising thud. He landed half on his back and on top of his books. He looked directly up into the eyes of Nikolas, who offered him a hand up. "Thanks, man," muttered Sly as he turned bright red. The pretty girls behind Nikolas tittered and whispered. Sly brushed himself off and acted like nothing happened, but he cursed his fate all the way to homeroom.
~*~*~*~
Frankie whistled and sang under his breath as he positioned his key in front of the keyhole of his new apartment. He’d had the good luck of chosing a diner that had two available rooms for rent. Frankie had almost laughed out loud when the potential landlady, Ruby Spencer, quoted him the price. Bubble gum change, he’d thought. What good luck that his bodyguard Johnny was right next door.
Frankie eyed the room with a tight face. Man, this is grim, he thought morosely. What I won’t do for the sake of the organization. He sighed and laid his black, leather suitcase on top of the impossibly thin mattress of his new twin bed. This place better not have bugs, he mused with a tense expression on his face. He eased his laptop out of its carrying case and plugged it into the wall. After turning it on, he reached for several CD’s that were packed with the laptop. He inserted one marked PCProfiles. He smiled broadly when the files naming numerous Port Charles citizens began lining up on the laptop monitor. He first clicked on Joseph Sorel.
Frankie laughed when the balding man’s beady eyes stared out from his photo. Sorel is a weak player, he thought. Take him out quickly, and the matrix of his organization will rapidly crumble. I’ll quickly snatch up his employees and dispatch of any particularly loyal personnel. We’ll get Gregory to come over from Chicago to do the job. No one knows him here, and since we have no presence in Chicago, thanks to La Cosa Nostra, they’ll blame them for the hit, not us.
Frankie clicked next on Sonny Corinthos. He frowned as he looked at the man’s face. Sonny was more of a problem. He walked the line between mobster and respectable businessman, and half of the PCPD was on his payroll. Since he handled no illegal drugs, the Feds weren’t particularly interested, and he remained basically untouchable. Frankie decided to leave him alone for now and avoid interfacing with the man. He’d set up the intricate web of his own network, and then when it activated, Sonny wouldn’t know what hit him. The rug would be pulled out from under his business, and he’d go bust. Frankie would swoop down and gather up the spoils, effectively securing a major port for illegal activities. Yes, Frank Senior would be very pleased.
Finally, Frankie clicked on Luke Spencer’s file. Funny that he’d run into the man first thing upon his arrival in Port Charles. Luke owned one of the most successful bars in town. Cash flowed through that joint like water in a river. Luke’s would be the first point in Frankie’s money laundering scheme. If he resisted, well, too bad. Frankie knew how to twist arms.
~*~*~*~
Luke sat alone in his bar. There was a sign on the door, Closed For Business, Reopening on Wednesday. He sighed and poured himself another shot of his best whiskey. The better stuff mellowed him out, but helped him keep his faculties. Luke needed to think, just a bit maybe. It definitely beat feeling. When he looked up into the mirror that hung behind the bar, he saw a man with a drawn, sad face and eyes that betrayed tears and grief. He looked back down to the worn, wooden surface of the bartop, and ran his fingertips over the curves and whorls of the polished wood. Lucky would have been fifteen now, an older brother for Sly. Luke imagined the two of them interacting, playing touch football maybe and taking hikes in the woods. He sighed and drained his shot glass, reaching for the bottle to fill it up again.
Luke didn’t hear the woman tiptoeing behind him. She wrapped her hands over his eyes and whispered into his right ear, "I have a present for you." Luke smiled since he knew that voice intimately. "What kind of present do you have in mind?" he replied lazily.
"This," she said, producing a rather ornate bottle of brandy. "I know this is your drinking time, and I thought you’d enjoy a $500 bottle of booze."
"You’ve always been a class act," Luke said merrily as he turned on his stool, ran his eyes over her trim figure and grasped her tightly around her waist. "Why don’t we get married?" he jested.
Alexis Davis’ warm brown eyes bore into Luke’s dreamy blue ones. "Because that’s not in the rules," she reminded him. "Remember," she said, counting off her verbal points onto her outstretched fingers. Number one, no commitments; number two, sex, frequently; number three, don’t ask don’t tell; number four, let’s keep it to ourselves; number five, space, LOTS of personal space."
"Only five?" questioned Luke with one raised eyebrow. "I thought we went higher than that," he commented. Luke pulled Alexis close and gave her a long, deep kiss. When Alexis surfaced, she smiled with dimples displayed. "Again?" she asked breathlessly.
"Always," replied Luke silkily. Luke leaned back against the bar, and Alexis fell almost on top of him while they hugged and kissed repeatedly.
Alexis pulled away and stroked Luke on the chin. "Space?" she asked softly.
"For now, darlin’," replied Luke sadly as he turned and downed another shot glass.