Chapter Eighteen
Frankie’s white knuckles held the steering wheel in a death grip as he jerked it back and forth, trying to bring his car under control at the racing speed of 95 mph. The highway had been relatively deserted at 3PM, but now he was running up on the back end of an automobile-carrying semi that was only going 50 mph. Graced with the quick reactions of youth, Frankie instantly moved the steering wheel slightly right to switch lanes. The tires of the BMW squealed loudly in a rubber tread-removing skid. The smell of burnt rubber entered the vehicle, and ironically, the desire for Nikolas Cassadine’s Jaguar shot into Frankie’s mind as he struggled to control his nonsports-like, stately sedan.
Still on the road by some miracle, Frankie gradually eased his foot off of the accelerator and let the BMW cruise along at a more normal speed of 60 mph. He took the next exit and left the highway. After driving about five miles, Frankie pulled off at a gas station and jumped out the car. He felt nauseous with his heart feeling like it would leap from his chest. He paced back and forth alongside the automobile, shaking and panting from the sheer force of adrenaline invading his body. Suddenly, he started jumping up and down, making shadow boxing movements and talking to himself as his fists furiously punched the air and his legs made swift karate kicks. "You…can’t kill…me," he shouted. "I’m a SMITH! I’ll take you OUT!" Frankie’s face turned beet red, and he began feeling dizzy from his exertion. In a final gesture of rage, he raised his fists into the air and then slammed them down while screaming, "AHHHHH!"
Vern the elderly gas station attendant watched Frankie’s tirade from the window of the gas station, making a mental note to add this escapade to his memoirs. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement. Every day – it’s something different, he observed as he tapped his age spotted hand on the cash register.
~*~*~*~
Frankie pulled his bedraggled-looking BMW onto the Smith estate. The guard at the entrance made no comment but actively wondered at what had happened to the vehicle. A long scrape marred the length of the trunk, and the crumpled bumper hung on seemingly by one bolt. It dragged onto the ground, making a plinking metallic sound like a fallen muffler. The extremely tense look on the boss’s face prevented the guard from asking any questions.
Johnny was trimming the hedge by the back entrance to the garage, and his jaw hung down in shock at the sight of Frankie’s car. He promptly dropped his trimming tool and walked into the garage. When Frankie exited the car, Johnny was beside the door waiting for him with a concerned look on his face.
"What’s up with the car?" asked Johnny. Fear shot into his heart when he saw the expression on Frankie’s face. "What happened?" he questioned in a hushed voice.
Frankie looked at Johnny, and let his guard down. He started trembling, and soon his eyes pooled with tears. "Somebody tried to kill me again – on the highway. I shot ‘em and got away. They rammed my car. They ruined it." Frankie began sobbing, and Johnny walked up to his former boss, pulling him into a hug and rubbing his back to try to calm him. "It’s okay," he reassured Frankie. "We’ll fix it."
Frankie broke the hug and stepped back. "Frank’s gonna kill me. I left without a bodyguard," he said fearfully. "And he gave me dat car for my birthday. He’s, he’s gonna lose it!"
Johnny walked behind the car and studied it while stroking his chin thoughtfully. He joined Frankie by the side of the car and flinched when he saw his boss’s face. Frankie’s face was flushed and sweaty, and his eyes had a glazed, stunned appearance. "Sit down," he instructed Frankie, pulling open the car door and depositing him onto the seat. "Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll have the usual repairman come in and fix the automobile. Frank will never know what happened, okay? And I want you to go straight to your rooms and hit that bed. Don’t come out of it for the rest of the day. I’ll contact the appropriate people so Frank knows you’ll be staying in. I’ll have the kitchen send you up some food and assign a bodyguard to stand outside your suite. Sound like a plan?"
Frankie nodded wearily in agreement. "Thanks, Johnny."
~*~*~*~
"So what are we going to do about Frankie?" Bobbie sat down on a stool at the counter in Kelly’s Diner.
"I thought you were researching any possible records associated with Frank Smith Junior in Atlantic City," commented Ruby as she poured a cup of coffee for her niece.
Bobbie sighed and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. "Ruby, I spent seven hours on the Internet last night. There are absolutely no records on the kid. It’s like he doesn’t even exist. I worked with a guy in the GH computer department, a real bonafide computer hacker type geek. He came up with zero – no school attendance, no medical records, no social security number, no work history, nothing. Is that even possible?"
Ruby’s face looked grim. "It’s possible if you’re Frank Smith’s kidnap victim, someone that he wants to hide awfully bad. I’ll bet he’s purposefully isolated that poor child, kept him away from the general public. But you know what puzzles me?"
"What’s that Ruby?"
"Why was Frankie in Port Charles of all places – and by himself? What is Frank up to? This stinks of him and his kind. Rats – that’s what they are," she muttered angrily.
The phone rang, and Ruby reached over to pick it up. "Kelly’s," she announced in her characteristically gruff voice.
"Hiya Ruby!" the bright voice greeted on the other end of the line.
"Frankie!" answered Ruby in a surprised tone of voice. "How are you? Or should I say, where are you?"
"Oh, I’m at home," answered Frankie. "I just felt like calling."
Ruby looked over at Bobbie, whose eyebrows raised at the mention of Frankie’s name. Ruby nodded her head to indicate that she was indeed talking to the boy. "I’m always glad to talk to my favorite tenant," kidded Ruby. "When are you coming back to Port Charles?"
"Saturday," answered Frankie. "I’ll be back dere maybe noon? I plan on leaving by eight or nine, so dat should give me enough time."
Ruby mentally calculated the amount of time it would take to arrive at Port Charles from New Jersey versus Philadelphia – and New Jersey fit. "Have you enjoyed your school vacation?" she asked conversationally.
"Oh," Frankie hesitated. "Oh, um…I guess. I dunno."
Ruby noted that Frankie’s voice sounded sad. "Are you getting along at home?" she asked tentatively. "You sound kind of down."
Frankie remained silent for several long seconds. "No, not really, I’m okay," he lied. Frankie paused again. "Ruby?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever felt trapped, like you were in a bad situation and couldn’t get out or nothin’?"
"Lot’s of times over the years," she answered. "Things usually work out over the long run," she added optimistically. "Are you having problems?" she questioned. "Maybe I can help."
Frankie sighed and held a hand to his forehead. His face reddened with his efforts at fighting off his tears. "No, there’s nothing I can talk about," he stated resolutely. "I gotta make my own way, take care of things." He sniffed and wiped a few tears from his cheeks. "I miss you guys," he said. "You and Sly and Bobbie and Maxie—oh yeah, and dat Lucas, too, even if he grabs my leg and won’t let me out of his sight." Frankie laughed brittlely and then sighed again. "I guess I should hang up. I’m tired," he explained.
"Well, okay," replied Ruby. "You take care of yourself, and we’ll look forward to seeing you on Saturday. You call me back anytime, day or night, if you want to talk. Is that a deal?"
"Dat’s a deal," Frankie replied brightly. "Bye Ruby."
Ruby hung up the phone and turned to Bobbie. "Something is very wrong with him. I can sense it," she said. "And it’s odd. He complained of being tired, and it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon."
"Uh-oh," said Bobbie. "It’s that famous sixth sense again."
"And that sixth sense has saved your hide more than one time, Barbara Jean," reminded Ruby. "We must get Luke on our side with this and set out to prove that he’s Lucky. We have to snatch him away from that horrible Frank Smith."
~*~*~*~
Frankie sailed along the cool marble tile of the bathroom floor in his white-socked feet, wearing only his briefs and a Jon Bon Jovi concert teeshirt –not that he’d ever been to a rock concert in his lifetime. "Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame! Darlin’ you give love a bad name!" Frankie held an imaginary microphone in front of his full lips and sang his heart out. The huge bathroom served as an echo chamber of a sort, and Frankie’s voice bounced off the walls. He laughed and washed his face. Dat Ruby – she always makes me feel better," he thought. Frankie reached into a drawer and pulled out his pain med and antibiotic bottles, unscrewing the caps and shaking out several pills. He gulped them down with water and smiled at the mirror. "Okay," he said out loud, "Here goes nothing." Frankie pulled the teeshirt over his head and turned his side toward the mirror. He gulped when he looked at his ravaged side. The stitches had torn loose in several places, and the resulting bleeding had left scabs. In some places, the wound continued to seep blood. "Dang," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe it’ll get better if I sleep some more.
Frankie trudged back into his bedroom and slipped between the cool sheets. He gripped a pillow under his head and became lost in his thoughts. I hope Johnny can take care of my car. No way Frank can find out about dat. Dat was stupid, even for me – I never should have left without a bodyguard. Frankie swallowed futilely, trying to bring back moisture into his dry mouth. But what could a bodyguard do if dey ran us off da road? Shit, I gotta start carryin’ some more firepower. Dey can’t bring me down dat easy. Frankie’s eyes widened when he considered the possibilities. If dey want me dat bad, dey can get me, he realized. Who wants me dead so bad? A troubling thought surfaced in his mind. He shook his head roughly as it lay against his pillow. Nah, No. He loves me. I’m his son. He wouldn’t do that…would he? Frankie reached under his pillow and gripped tightly the small revolver that he had hidden there. He closed his eyes and began drifting off to sleep with a loaded gun nestled firmly in his hand.
~*~*~*~
Frank leaned back in his executive chair, lost in thought. He reached out a hand to grasp a portrait of his son. It was one of Frank’s favorites. Frankie was three years old and standing on top of a table, supported by his father who looked up at his son with a big smile on his face. There were bright lights all around, the trappings of Vegas, and Frank Sinatra supported Frankie on his other side. Frankie beamed and sparkled with the merriment of the young and innocent. Frank sighed and tapped his index finger onto his lips. Frank laid the picture back down, turning it over so that the photo faced downward. He remembered the first days when he’d brought Frankie into his life. The story had been that Frank had unknowingly impregnated a beautiful showgirl who later died in a tragic car accident. The showgirl had named Frank as the father in her will, so the authorities called up to deposit his son on his doorstep. Frank had enjoyed being a father in those days when he had still dated "normal" women, the hottest actresses and starlets of the time. Frankie with his pretty looks and sparkling personality had entranced the women, and they marveled at how great Frank was at fatherhood. When Frankie had quickly displayed his innate intelligence, the men around Frank became impressed as well. "He’s going to follow in your footsteps for sure," they’d say in admiration.
Frank had been hot in those days. A tall, good-looking man with a forceful personality and equally forceful intelligence, he had grown and ruled his empire under an iron fist. And, likewise, Frank had never forgotten his original intent in kidnapping Lucky Spencer – to make his father pay as hard a price as any man could be expected to endure, to see his own demise at the hands of his son and to witness the death of that son as well. It was the ultimate revenge, and patience over time only served to harden Frank’s heart ever more. Soon, nothing but the business mattered to him anymore, and he’d left the bulk of his son’s childrearing to servants and associates in an attempt to distance himself from the child that he intended to sacrifice. Father and son began to drift further apart emotionally as their business partnership grew. It was a strange set of circumstances, and Frank wondered how and if it could ever change. He hadn’t counted on the strength of his bond with this foster son of his. It was as if they were living a Greek tragedy that would end as most did – in death, despair and heartache. Frank sighed. Maybe that’s the way it should be, he reflected. The Smiths were certainly larger than life.
~*~*~*~
"No! It’s not possible, No, Benny." Sonny paced back and forth in his living room, uneasily gripping a whiskey in his right hand. Sonny stopped and glared at Benny, the unfortunate bearer of bad news.
"I’m sorry, boss," Benny stated with a chagrinned look on his face. "I didn’t want to believe it either. I know this is a bad blow to you."
"How do you know what my feelings are about this!" Sonny interrupted with a growl. He looked down at his drink and let it sail across the room, the cocktail glass shattering brutally against the brick fireplace along the far wall. "You said what you came to tell me, now LEAVE!"
Benny nodded wordlessly and hightailed it out of Sonny’s penthouse. At the door, he said, "Let me know what you want me to do."
Sonny turned around slowly, and Benny gulped and ducked out the door at the sight of Sonny’s enraged face.
Sonny finally stood still in the center of the room with his shoulders slumped down. How could he do this? he thought. I loved Jason like a brother. I trusted him with my life. He knew how much this shipment mean to me. It’s the worst way to stab me in the back. I can’t bear it. What am I going to do? Do I have to kill the man that I love like a little brother?
Sonny’s head flew up when he heard a knock at the door. "I told Benny to get the hell out. What’s he want me to do? Chew his head off and spit it back at him?" Sonny marched over to the door and swung it open with a violence that made the petite girl in the doorway gasp wide-eyed in surprise.
Sonny’s face immediately softened in expression, and he smiled broadly, his dimples showing deeply in each cheek. "Robin!" he said happily. "What a surprise. I never expected this visit." Sonny reached over and drew Robin into a big hug, Both Sonny and Robin closed their eyes with the intensity and memory that the company of the other engendered. Sonny sighed and ran a hand over his face when they separated. "And to what do I owe your wonderful presence?" he asked.
Sonny closed the penthouse door when Robin entered. "I had a few things on my mind that I wanted to talk to you about," she explained, "but I also wanted to just stop by and say hi. It’s been a long time," she said sadly. "So, how are you?" she asked.
"Oh, I’m holding my own," Sonny laughed. "Got some problems, but what’s new, right? How about you? You said you had something on your mind?"
Robin nodded. "You know me and my intuition," she laughed. "I just have this funny feeling about some guy that the girl I consider to be my baby sis is dating. You remember Maxie Jones?"
Sonny nodded wordlessly.
"She’s dating some kid that, well, he seems like a hood of some sort. He talks with a strong New Jersey accent, yet claims he was born and raised in Philadelphia. He has a ton of money, his own BMW, yet he’s living in one room over Kelly’s. Something’s not right," she stated firmly. Robin shrugged. "So I thought you might know. Are there any fifteen year old crime figures around that we need to watch out for?" Robin laughed again. "I know – it’s stupid. But I want to look out for Maxie. She’s young and a little naïve. I don’t want her to get hurt."
"Hmmm," Sonny said as he pensively captured and pulled his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. "Fifteen, you say? A possible mob figure from New Jersey?" Sonny remained silent for a minute as his mind churned. "The only person that I can think of that would fit the bill is Frank Smith’s son, Frank Junior. He’s fifteen and his father’s right hand man. Strange situation, a grown man using a teenager as a full business partner. I never expected it to last. There’s a lot of dissension in his organization. A mutiny ought to handle that one. That’s why I was never too concerned about them."
Robin’s face paled. "Sonny!" she exclaimed. "Maxie’s boyfriend is named Frankie. Frankie DeMarco he calls himself. Do you think there might be a connection? Are these the same two Frankies?"
Sonny didn’t say anything, but his brown eyes locked into Robin’s as the two stared at each other with a growing intensity.
~*~*~*~
Robin shook her head as she entered the parking garage attached to the penthouse building. Sonny hadn’t been firm that this Frankie was actually Frankie Smith, but he didn’t rule out the possibility either. What should she do? Got to Mac? Robin shook her head. Maxie would never forgive her if she did that. Robin opened her car door and slipped inside, lost in her thoughts. She didn’t have time to scream as she placed her key in the ignition and turned. The hand grabbed her over the mouth from behind the driver’s seat, and she was unable to make a sound. Robin’s heart raced with fear as she looked into her rearview mirror and saw possibly the most intriguing blue eyes that she’d ever encountered.
~*~*~*~
Sly’s hand felt the heavy weight of his loaded down breakfast plate piled high with the best of American and Continental cuisine. He had selected a croissant, muffin, bagel, five slices of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage, and a blob of sticky oatmeal. Luke walked up to Sly and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Those growth spurts are hell, aren’t they buddy?" he teased good-naturedly. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that the island breezes have stirred up your appetite."
Sly blushed and stammered, "I can put some of it back. I didn’t mean to take so much."
"Sylvester, did you see how much food was on that buffet? Eat as much as you need and want." Luke warmly met his nephew’s gaze, and Sly immediately relaxed.
"Where were you this morning?" Sly asked. "I knocked on your door but no one answered."
Luke’s face pulled in surprise. He and Alexis had decided to retire for the night in her suite since they could leave the balcony door open and catch the sweet breezes there while sleeping in the bed. Luke had left her suite at about six-thirty AM, but apparently Sly had risen even earlier.
"Oh, you must have knocked when I was out for my morning constitutional," Luke commented nonchalantly.
"What’s a constitutional?" asked Sly.
"A walk, Sly, a walk," Luke replied a bit more abruptly.
"You never take walks," Sly commented.
"Well, maybe I do on the island," Luke countered.
"I went back half an hour later," said Sly. "You weren’t there then either."
"I must have been in the shower," said Luke.
"I didn’t hear any water running," Sly said quickly.
"Perhaps it was a very quiet shower," Luke sniffed. "Why the fifth degree?"
Sly shrugged and his eyebrows rose when Alexis joined them at the table and leaned in to kiss Luke on the lips. He noticed Luke’s hand lingering over her posterior for five long seconds before they all sat down. A wide grin escaped on Sly’s face, and Luke looked over at his nephew, blushing ever so slightly and then winking at him knowingly.
"Nikolas has already eaten and left for the morning," Alexis announced. "We’ll meet up with him again at lunch."
~*~*~*~
Sweat glistened off of Nikolas’ tan, athletic shoulders, and he made a few noises that registered somewhere between a moan and a growl. His body pumped faster and faster until his face contorted and then relaxed entirely. He sighed deeply and rolled off of Athena. The two lay naked, side by side with the afterglow of sex shining on them. Nikolas leaned in and kissed Athena soundly on the lips. "Maybe your parents should have named you Aphrodite," he teased with sparking brown eyes. "And you should be Hercules," Athena replied. Nikolas ran his hand down the side of her face in gentle admiration. Athena looked so lovely to him with her wide, green eyes, long black curls and soft skin toned somewhere between tan and ivory. Her slender, aquiline nose led into an enchanting cupid’s bow of juicy red lips. Nikolas kissed her again, and the two intertwined their arms and legs in another torrid embrace.
Athena sat up in bed after their kiss and smiled at Nikolas. "Perhaps we should run away to Monaco and spend some of your father’s money," she teased with dancing eyes. "It must be much more fun there than spending time in this abandoned fisherman’s hut. Let’s get married! I want an adventure!"
Nikolas’ gaze softened and he looked down. "We’re only seventeen," he reminded her. "We’re much to young to marry. In fact, I think we should both date other people before making such decisions." Athena’s face colored. "And what if I were pregnant?" she asked haughtily, her feelings hurt by his suggestion.
Nikolas laughed, "No way, not possible," he exclaimed. "You’re on the pill, and I ALWAYS use a condom. Nah, won’t happen."
Athena punched him lightly in the arm. "I know, silly. But what’s wrong with marrying me someday. We’re both wealthy Cassadines, AND we’d have beautiful children, you and I."
"Maybe someday, Athena," Nikolas said distantly. "But we have a lot of living to do until that point. My father is now teaching me about the business. I need to focus on my studies. And, I know how your mother feels about education. I’m sure she already has you enrolled at the Sorbonne or Oxford."
"Cambridge, actually," Athena sniffed as she tossed her hair. "Boring Brits."
Athena rolled Nikolas onto his back and climbed on top of him, straddling him over his lean hips. She bent down and ran her hair softly over his chest and then lightly kissed his lips. "It’s our anniversary, you know," she said. "It’s been one whole year."
"I know," Nikolas replied. "And I didn’t forget you. I have a surprise for you later!"
"Ooooo," I love surprises," Athena cooed.