Chapter Seventeen
After catching nothing during two hours of fishing in the depths of the deep blue Aegean, Nik and Sly decided to take a break and let Luke to cuss all on his own for awhile. The two boys walked down the beach to a wooden pier that had weathered a silvery gray from years of exposure to the salty sea spray. "Watch your feet," Nikolas warned. "I’ve gotten splinters from this wood before." Sly gingerly tiptoed to the end of the dock and peered over the edge. "How deep is the water here?" he asked. "It’s over your head," replied Nikolas. "Maybe 10 feet deep. But I wouldn’t go diving off of the dock – that’s a good way to break your neck. The water may be shallower now depending on how much it’s rained lately. You never know."
Sly nodded. "Thanks for the tip." Sly glanced over at Nikolas, who by then had shed his clothing and emerged in a close-fitting black swimsuit. Sly removed his teeshirt and felt a bit self-conscious next to Nikolas, who had a very muscular physique. Sly inwardly bemoaned his current lack of musculature and definition. Uncle Luke had told him that he’d fill out later, after his growth spurt was over, but how long would that take? He looked down at his bony knees and his perilously white legs, another set of genetic maladies inherited through the Spencer/Eckert line. Rather than expose his thin frame any longer to the light of day, Sly chose to jump off of the dock and sink into the warm water. He delighted in the way that the gently swirling warm waves enveloped his body, and he sprang up from the water with a big grin as he huffed and puffed and shook his drenched head. Nikolas was sitting on the edge of the dock, dangling his feet and appeared to be lost in thought. When he saw Sly swimming out further into the ocean, an urgent thought ran through his mind, and he jumped to his feet, frantically waving his hand and cupping his mouth to call out a warning to Sly.
Sly heard a commotion behind him and immediately assumed the worst when he saw Nikolas jump up and call to him with a worried look on his face. Nikolas gestured repeatedly to the water, and Sly panicked.
*** Several months ago, Sly and Luke had contentedly settled into the living room couch with a big bowl of buttered popcorn separating the two. Both were looking forward to viewing the original Jaws movie on the channel 9 Friday night horror festival. Sly slowly sipped his Coca-Cola and watched intently as the townspeople began to suspect that something terrible was happening in their previously tranquil shoreline. He shook his head. Why were townspeople always so stupid? They were always getting picked off in horror movies – it was almost as bad as being a red-shirted Star Trek security crewmember. When the shark began to pull people under the water, killing them anonymously and efficiently, Sly tensed and gripped his can of soda pop so tightly that the beverage began seeping over the top of the can, trailing foamy, wet bubbles onto his hand. Luke looked over and briefly tapped Sly on the shoulder. "Better release that death grip," he advised as he pointed to the miniature Mount Vesuvius overflowing in his nephew’s hand. Sly looked down sheepishly and drained the can to prevent further nervous eruptions.
Sly had never seen the movie before, and it had been twenty years since Luke had seen it, so neither anticipated the next scene. Luke sighed and gripped the popcorn bowl as he dug a large hand into the snack and promptly removed about a fourth of the contents. Sly noticed that he’d better start eating quickly or risk losing the opportunity altogether. Both had their hands on the bowl and mouths full of the popped confection when Mr. Jaws reared from the water to snap at the men shoveling fish offal from the boat as bait for the beast. Uncle and nephew cried out in unison as they both jumped from the couch, throwing popcorn three feet high into the air and coughing and choking on the snack. They both looked at each other and cracked up laughing. "I think this is a no-snack zone movie," commented Luke as Sly wisely nodded in agreement. ***
"Ohmigod!" thought Sly. "There’s a shark in the water. Nik’s pointing at the water. Something’s after me." Sly moved his thin arms and legs faster than they’d ever stroked and paddled before. His eyes widened with fear, as he frantically made for the shore. The swishing motion of the waves against his legs and trunk reminded him of the force of the shark plowing through the water after him. "Ahhhh!" he yelled soggily as he gulped a mouthful of water. Nikolas stopped pointing and calling and rested his hands on his hips, bemused by Sly’s behavior. Finally, Sly felt the firm sand of the beach and crawled out of the water. He stood up and shakily turned around to see what was in the water as he rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm. Nikolas sauntered over to Sly and asked, "What was that all about? Are you going to try out for the swim team back at PCU?"
Sly pointed a trembling finger toward the water. "Shark!" he exclaimed. "You were warning me." Sly paused when Nikolas didn’t reply. "Uh, that’s what you were telling me, isn’t it?"
Nikolas shook his head and cracked up. "No!" he said. "I wanted to tell you not to touch the ocean floor with your feet when you’re near the docks. Sometimes there are sea urchins living close by, and you don’t want to step on one and get a spine in your foot. They hurt real bad, and sometimes they’re dangerous if they become infected." He lightly punched Sly in the shoulder. "So you thought the Great White was after you, huh?"
A nonchalant look passed over Sly’s face, and he sniffed. "Not necessarily. I was just taking precautions."
~*~*~*~
As Sly and Nikolas walked back together to the house to search for food, the two boys began talking about their social lives. "So do you have a girlfriend?" Nikolas asked casually as he swept the long beach grass with one hand.
"I don’t know. Sort of," Sly replied. "I’m kind of going with Emily Quartermaine," he said. A secretive smile crept across Sly’s face as he remembered their practice sessions on the Eckert/Spencer sofa. "What about you? I bet you have lots of girlfriends." Nikolas shook his head. "Not really. At least not in Port Charles," he added mysteriously. Nikolas recalled seeing Sly walking next to Maxie Jones after deboarding a school bus. "Do you know that Maxie girl?" he asked cautiously. "You know, the pretty blond girl. I think she’s a sophomore."
Sly nodded. "She’s a goddess," he blurted out. Nikolas laughed merrily. "Well, she is pretty." Sly looked curiously at Nik. "Why did you ask me about her?"
Nikolas blushed. "I was thinking about asking her out," he replied. "I just wondered if you knew anything about her."
A scary thought crossed Sly’s mind, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Nikolas stopped and looked behind him. "What’s up?"
"Uh-oh, Nikolas," said Sly seriously. "Maxie is dating somebody right now. Someone we both know."
"Oh, yeah?" Nikolas asked curiously. "Who?"
"Frankie DeMarco," stated Sly with dread tingeing his voice. When he saw the scowl on Nikolas’ face, he said, "I didn’t think you’d like it."
"What’s she doing with that nutcase?" growled Nikolas. "How’d he get in good with someone like Maxie?"
Sly shook his head. "We had a big fight about that," he said seriously. "Frankie’s a mover. He knows A LOT about girls. Unbelievable. He just doesn’t know how to chat with them. So we were exchanging tips. You know, tips on how to talk for, uh, er, tips on how to...um…romance a girl. Frankie just moved in on Maxie and took over. They had a fight or something on their first date, but they’re still together." Sly stopped his mouth from running as he realized that he was talking too much, giving out too much information on his other friend, Frankie.
Nikolas glowered as they walked along. "We’ll see about that," he hinted ominously.
~*~*~*~
Later that night…
Luke, Alexis, Nikolas and Sly were seated at an outdoor table with lights all around, illuminating the dark and creating an intimate setting with the warm Mediterranean breezes swirling around them and accenting the easy mood. A night bird called out somewhere near the ocean, and the sounds of the waves gently crashing onto the shoreline filled the night.
Luke leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly. "What a perfect way to end a perfect day," he commented. "Granted, the pickings were slim on our fishing expedition today, but the swordfish that your staff prepared was heavenly. How do you ever get the motivation to return to Port Charles?"
"We don’t," said Nikolas. "I never want to leave."
"Duty calls," stated Alexis. "Actually, I prefer the quicker pace of
Port Charles. It makes me feel alive. A person could sleep away their days on this
island."
"Ahh," commented Luke. "Then let me sleep away the rest of my days." He leaned in closely to kiss Alexis on the lips and give her a devilish grin.
"I’ll be spending the morning with Athena," Nikolas announced casually. "Sly, I can introduce you to some of my cousins tomorrow afternoon."
"Cool," agreed Sly. "That’ll be fun."
"And how is Athena?" asked Alexis with one eyebrow raised. "You keep in close contact with her, don’t you Nikolas?"
Nikolas looked down at his plate and fiddled with the unused spoon beside it. "We make phone calls and exchange emails," he stated while shrugging. "Athena’s doing well. She’s kind of anxious to get off the island and go exploring – run off to Europe for awhile or something like that. You know how she is – she’s impulsive."
"Yes, she is," agreed Alexis. "And so are you," she added knowingly.
Sly frowned, confused at all of the innuendoes sweeping around him. He looked over at his uncle, who winked at him.
Luke stood up and stretched. "I say we call it an early night," he said. "We’re still recovering from jet lag. Let’s go, Sylvester." Luke reached out a hand to his nephew, pulling him from his seat. "What time’s breakfast?" Luke asked Alexis.
Alexis folded her napkin and placed it to the side of her plate. "The buffet is out from 6AM to 9AM, so it accommodates early as well as late risers. We can all meet up there tomorrow."
~*~*~*~
Each traveler had his or her separate room in the Cassadine mansion, but the adults’ rooms were purposefully chosen for their relative distance from the kids’ rooms. Luke decided to take a shower after his long day with surf, sand and worms, and he left a trail of discarded clothing from the bedroom to the bath. He ran the water in the shower and stuck a hand in to check its warmth. While waiting for the hot water to kick in, Luke leaned into the mirror and inspected his face. No sunburn, that’s good. Luke ran a hand over his cheeks. Not too badly wrinkled for a man my age. Wrinkles give a man character anyway. He fluffed his hair and lamented his receding hairline. Some women find balding men sexy, he reassured himself. It means we have more testosterone.
Luke stepped into the shower and leaned his head back into the pelting stream of water, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the warmth. His startled eyes opened swiftly when he heard the rings on the shower curtain run over the metal curtain rod. His expression immediately softened when he saw that Alexis was the welcome intruder. "It’s my Island Girl," he said happily as he handed Alexis a bar of soap.
"Shut up and kiss me," Alexis teased as her brown eyes wandered approvingly over Luke’s lean physique.
Luke wrapped his arms around Alexis and drew her sharply to his drenched chest. The shower sprayed continually as the couple mingled arms, lips and other body parts. Alexis laughed while they were kissing when Luke began rubbing the bar of soap on her back.
"Trying to tell me something, big guy?" she asked innocently. "Too much
island funk for your sensibilities?"
"Oh, yes, you require a really fine Spencer scrubdown. Leave it to the master,"
he whispered in her ear as she giggled and accidentally stepped on his wet foot.
~*~*~*~
Luke and Alexis lay warm and clean, nestled on top of his bed. "Having fun?" Alexis asked softly.
"Oh, yes, darlin," Luke replied lazily. "The best of times." His eyes twinkled playfully as he stroked her face and looked into her eyes. "I love being with you," he said. "Lying here, not thinking of much, hanging out. It’s nice.
"We don’t spend enough time together in Port Charles," agreed Alexis. "I’m wrapped up in my career, and you have odd hours with the bar. I miss my man." Alexis lovingly rubbed Luke’s bearded chin between her thumb and forefinger.
"We’ll just have to remedy that situation when we return," declared Luke as he sat up in bed. "My time is yours."
Alexis smiled. "How is Sly doing? He seems to be getting along with Nikolas."
"Sylvester is perfect," commented Luke. "I’ve never seen him so relaxed. It’s been good for him to get away from Port Charles and some of the bad memories. He needs to see that there’s a whole world out there waiting for him." Luke frowned lightly. "Your nephew Nikolas seems sort of lonely for want of a better word. What’s the story with him?"
Alexis sighed as she lay her head on Luke’s chest. "Nikolas is starved for attention from his father. He and Stefan are close, but Stefan has been so involved in the business of running the Cassadine Empire, that he spends little time with the boy. I think Nikolas secretly resents it even though he puts up a brave front. He spends a lot of his time alone, riding horses. Sometimes I worry about him. He needs to get out more, date some girls, socialize."
"I thought he was a Big Man on Campus, a sports hero," said Luke.
"He is popular," agreed Alexis. "But he doesn’t let anyone in. He holds other people at arm’s length – as if he’s afraid they’ll leave him or reject him." Alexis looked bemused. "It’s as if he’s a different person when he comes to the island, though. He’s much more secure. He has a ton of cousins, and they get along quite well."
"Sounds like we need to bottle some of this sand and sell it back in the
States," said Luke.
It’s magic."
~*~*~*~
Frankie pressed the "Enter" key on his keyboard with a jaunty forefinger and giggled so hard that he slipped off of his leather couch and hit the floor with a thud. He continued to laugh and fell over on his side with the merry effort of it. Finally, Frankie sat back up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I LOVE dis!" he shouted out to no one in particular with a waving fist in the air. "Gotcha!" he said with a low, purposeful voice as his eyes narrowed and darkened.
Frankie had worked late into the night gathering intelligence information on Jason Morgan. Emails flooded his inbox, and his cell phone rang continuously. Apparently Jason kept to himself. There were no friends that he appeared to hang out with, no family interactions and no broads wrapped around his finger. Jason was leading a fairly solitary life in the service of Sonny Corinthos. That would make a set-up so much easier – Jason would have absolutely no one to provide him with an alibi when his boss came calling. He’d be caught red-handed stealing valuable merchandise from a shipment that Sonny was eager to receive. Sonny had a zero tolerance policy for betrayal, and Frankie knew that Sonny would take care of Morgan for him. Morgan would be found floating face down in the harbor – or more likely become a fixture buried deep in the cement of a new highway project. No matter, Frankie’s hands would be clean. Frankie looked down at his hands. He flexed his palms and stared. Nah. He was okay. No twinge of conscience was going to stop him from making his dad proud. Frankie couldn’t wait to give Frank the news.
Frankie had only taken a two-hour nap late in the night and was feeling the effects of nearly no sleep. He yawned loudly and looked around the living room. It was littered with empty pizza boxes and close to 12 beer cans. I gotta cut down, Frankie reminded himself as he grimaced and placed a tentative hand over his still-sore kidney. But I’m glad I got dis out of the way. I want Frank to be happy so I can talk him into letting me hire back Johnny. I need Johnny for da mission. Thoughts of the mission and Port Charles sent Frankie abruptly to his feet. He walked around the room, collecting his mess of cast-off cans and placing them in a black leather trash can.
Frankie peeled off his sweats and strolled naked into the bathroom. He bent left and right in front of the massive mirror covering one wall, inspecting his wounds. The kidney looked slightly better, not as red and swollen, but the harsh bruising remained a tangle of black, blue and yellow. The stitches on his right side were a long zigzag – threaded black reminders of his mortality. The wound still hurt fiercely, but Frankie had earlier bypassed the painpills in favor of alcohol. Frankie hissed with pain, and now he strongly regretted his beer preference. The wound was still red and swollen, and in several places the skin was separated in spite of the stitching. Frankie reached for the bottle of antibiotics that the mob doc had given him. He swallowed the prescribed amount of pills and stepped into the shower, which was a massive black and gray marble affair with six showerheads. Frankie turned off the side showerheads to protect his wounds. He stepped into the shower and sighed with relief as the steam and heat relaxed him and set his mind at ease.
~*~*~*~
Frankie wore a navy blue sweater and matching dress trousers. He was sprawled out on his bed studying a frayed notebook. He looked pensive and paused every so often to make another notation with his pen. Frankie glanced at his bedside clock – 10AM. Yes, it wasn’t too early to call. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the number that he’d memorized by heart. He held his breath nervously and wiped the sweat from his palms as he waited for the phone on the other end to ring.
A little girl’s voice answered. "Hello?" she said brightly. "Scorpio-Jones residence." Frankie blinked in surprise until his brain kicked in. It was Maxie’s little sister, Georgie. He remembered her peeking around a wall to stare at him when he’d picked Maxie up for their date. Maxie had complained once that her little sister was a pest, always following her around.
"Hi, dis is Frankie DeMarco calling. May I speak to Maxie please?" The little girl laughed. "I know you," she said conversationally. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You’re the guy that Maxie is crazy about. She talks about you to Robin. They don’t know that I listen, but I do. I’m smart."
Frankie laughed delightedly. "You’re Georgie, right?" he asked. "Uh-huh," the small voice replied. "You make a very good spy," he complimented. "Do you want to work for me?"
"Yeah," Georgie breathed happily.
"Okay," said Frankie. "You can keep track of how many times Maxie says something nice about me. Number them – one, two three. But don’t listen to nothin’ bad. Understand?"
"Yes," Georgie said intently.
"Next time you see me, have that paper ready with the numbers on it. Be real quick and give it to me without anybody seeing you. Can you do dat?"
"Yes," Georgie stated confidently. All of a sudden there were rustling sounds and what sounded like a short argument.
"Hi," said Maxie. "I caught Georgie talking your ear off. Sorry about that."
"No problem," stated Frankie. "Georgie’s cool. We have an understanding."
"So where are you calling me from?" asked Maxie curiously.
"Home," Frankie replied casually. "I’m talking on the phone in my bedroom." Frankie’s eyes rapidly surveyed the sheet of tips that he’d gleaned from Sly to check if talking about bedrooms was an off topic.
"I’m so glad you called," said Maxie. "I missed talking to
you."
Frankie sighed and leaned back against his pillows. "Me, too," he said. "You don’t know how much," he added as almost an afterthought.
Maxie smiled and squirmed on the other end of the line as the shivers of electricity hit her stomach. Frankie was so hot. "When are you coming back to Port Charles?" she asked.
"I’ll be back before school starts again," he replied. "Probably on Saturday." Frankie tapped his leg repeatedly with his hand as he tried to think of what to say next. This talking stuff wore him out. "Hey, Maxie, what do you chicks like to talk about?" he blurted before he could connect his mouth with his brain. Frankie immediately hit his forehead with his hand several times. Dumb, dumb, dumb, he berated himself.
Maxie blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. He’s so nice. He wants to know what I like, she thought. "Well," she said with a pause. "We like to talk about people, what they’re doing. Like at school. Um, we like to talk about what’s on television or the radio – music and stuff." She laughed. "I don’t know what else. Whatever comes to mind."
"I like Frank Sinatra," Frankie mentioned.
"Is that who you’re named after?" Maxie asked.
"Sorta. My father’s name is Frank, but yeah, Frank Sinatra, he’s cool, like a friend of da family."
"You met him?" Maxie asked incredulously. "He’s famous!"
"Yeah, he kinda connected with my father’s business occasionally," Frankie said evasively.
"Do you know anyone else famous?" Maxie asked excitedly. "This is so cool."
"Oh, most of dem entertainers, like da Vegas type acts," Frankie stated. "I met dem."
"How did you meet all of those people?"
"My father’s business," Frankie evaded.
"What’s he do exactly?" Maxie asked, her curiosity overtaking her.
Frankie became uncomfortable and paused. "I can’t talk about dat," he said flatly. "It’s against da rules, ya know?"
"Oh," replied Maxie in a disappointed tone. "I’m sorry."
"No prob," Frankie drawled out in his heavy accent. "Hey, Maxie, whatcha wearin’? I kind of miss seein’ you. I need somethin’ for the imagination."
Maxie tittered. "Well I’m still in my robe. I’m lazy today."
"Ah-ha," stated Frankie. "What color is dis robe? See? My imagination isn’t too good." Frankie smiled wickedly.
"It’s sort of pink with white stripes," said Maxie. "With matching slippers."
"I bet dat looks real pretty with your blond hair," Frankie said seductively. "Would you wear it on our next date?"
"Frankie!" protested Maxie. "You’re so bad. You’re teasing me."
"Yeah, I’m bad," Frankie agreed. "But you can reform me."
"I think I’ll have to," laughed Maxie.
"Okay," said Frankie, sitting up on the edge of the bed and placing his feet on the floor. "I just wanted to call so I could hear your voice. Can I call you again? And how about we meet up for dinner on Saturday night, around 6:00?"
"Sounds great, Frankie," Maxie quickly agreed. "I’ll see you then. And, call anytime you want to, okay."
"Bye," said Frankie contentedly.
"Bye." Maxie laid the phone on the kitchen counter and squealed as she jumped up and down. "I’ve got another date!" she yelled to no one in particular. One small girl peeped around the corner with a rainbow pad of paper in one hand and a sharpened pencil in the other. "One," she marked on the paper and slinked off to her bedroom to hide her covert activities.
~*~*~*~
Frankie stood in front of the door to the modest house with flowers in his hand. Helga the maid had kicked him out of his suite an hour ago, and so he’d decided to pay someone very special a visit while he still had some free time.
The front door opened, and a dark-haired, middle-aged woman stared at the young man standing before her. "Frankie!" she shouted happily as she threw her arms around him and crushed the flowers against his chest. "Hi, Mrs. DeMarco," Frankie mumbled against the embrace of her generous bosom.
"It must be five years since I’ve seen you," she said with amazement as she ran her eyes over Frankie and ran her hands up and down his arms. "Come in here, come inside," she motioned as she stepped back over the threshold.
"Dese are for you," Frankie said as he handed the wilted flowers to the matronly woman.
"Oh, Frankie! Always so sweet and considerate," praised Mrs. DeMarco as she filled a vase with water and deposited the flowers. "How come we haven’t seen you in so long?" she asked softly.
"I had an accident about five years ago," Frankie explained. "My father, he started havin’ da bodyguards watch me from dere on out. Dey did a good job, but I missed you, Mrs. DeMarco," he said sadly. "You were my favorite family."
Mrs. DeMarco’s eyes saddened. "Dey took my Joseph away from me, dat mob," she said bitterly. "He’s been gone now for four years. He’ll never see all of da lovely grandbabies dat we have now." She sniffed and used the edge of her apron to dab at her eyes. She reached into an apron pocket, drew out an embroidered hankie and blew her nose.
"I know," said Frankie sympathetically. "I’m sorry ‘bout dat."
Mrs. DeMarco shook off her melancholic mood and walked into the immaculately kept, museum-like living room with Frankie following close behind her. "Come look at all of dese beautiful pictures," she stated proudly. "Look at dat wonderful family. Dere’s Angela, and Michael, over dere’s Joseph Junior and Maria. And, here’s a very special one." She lifted down from the fireplace mantel a large, gold-framed photo of six identically dressed boys standing in line from the tallest to the shortest. The shortest boy had blondish brown hair and bright blue eyes. "Dat’s my boys," she said proudly. And dere you are, my little Frankie." She ran her index finger over Frankie’s smiling face. She smiled happily at Frankie. "I got me so many kids, grandkids and whatnot all droppin’ by the house all hours of day and night." She fingered her apron and laughed. "You wanna help me bake some cookies, like old times?"
Frankie nodded and laughed. "Sure," he agreed. Mrs. DeMarco removed her apron and wrapped it around Frankie’s waist. "Don’t wanna spoil dose nice clothes," she said in a parental tone.
~*~*~*~
Frankie smiled as he munched on homemade chocolate chip cookies. Mrs. DeMarco had insisted that he take a dozen with him on his way home in case he got hungry – as if that could ever be the case with all of the goodies that he’d consumed at her house. Mrs. DeMarco was always a fervent believer in the sacredness of food and stuffing guests full of it. Frankie glanced down at his dress trousers and tan leather seats, which were littered with cookie crumbs. He was feeling fine and didn’t care about a little mess.
Frankie adjusted his rearview mirror and stole a peek in it while frowning. The hair on the back of his neck prickled in warning. Hadn’t that car been behind him five miles ago? Frankie patted his trousers to locate two of his loaded pistols. He needed to know exactly where they were just in case.
Why hadn’t he pulled on his new bulletproof vest before leaving the estate? It was lying right on the leather couch, but he’d been in a hurry to leave after being surprised by stern Helga. She always was angry if he were still in his rooms between eleven and noon – her one hour per day to clean up after the untidy boy. And Frank would have a cow if he knew that his son had left the estate without at least one bodyguard.
Frankie winced when his hand came in contact with his stitched side. Mrs. DeMarco was also a firm believer in bone crushing hugs, and he swore that she’d popped several of his stitches with her parting embrace. He felt a little liquid on his sweater and groaned when his fingers came back tinged with blood. While Frankie was mesmerized by the slick, red liquid marring his fingertips, he suddenly cried out in shock as he felt something ram into the back of his car. Frankie’s eyes shot to the rearview mirror, and he saw the large Mercedes behind him that had obviously tailed him. The vehicle was ominous-looking with its large black car body and tinted windows.
Frankie quickly drew a gun from his waistband and pressed the electronic button to roll down the driver’s side window. Frankie’s body shot forward, slamming into the steering wheel, when the Mercedes rammed into the BMW again. He glanced down at his cell phone, but there was no time to call for backup. Frankie made his decision and pressed hard on the accelerator as he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned close to the open window. With lightening speed, he rose from his seat and whipped his arm out of the window, using the driver’s side mirror to gauge his shots. He rapidly fired five bullets precisely, meeting his mark in the two front tires of the Mercedes, and he also placed three bullets in the windshield of his enemy. Breathing quickly as his blood shot full of adrenaline, Frankie grabbed onto the steering wheel of his car, desperately trying to bring it back into control while he steadily floored the vehicle, bringing it up to a speed of over ninety miles an hour.