Chapter Three
Insistent, perky rays of bright morning sunshine pestered him, needling into his consciousness and making their presence known. Luke groaned and pulled a pillow over his head as he rolled over with his back to the window. The shade provided by the pillow was a welcome relief, but the lack of air reaching his nose caused Luke to swear and throw the soft nuisance across the room. He rose to a half sitting position on his elbows and looked down at the clothes that he’d worn yesterday, and now, today. A sharp stab of pain in his skull reminded Luke that $500 brandy could lead to a five million-dollar hangover. After Alexis had left, he’d consumed several more shots of whiskey and then graduated to her gift of brandy. Why? Why? he moaned to himself as he fell back into a prone position on the bed and tried desperately not to move a single muscle. His head felt so bad, he imagined space aliens drilling into his skull and infiltrating his swollen, aching brain, all for the purposes of weird science. Luke smacked his dry lips and pondered the rotten brandy taste still coating his tongue. While the antique liquid had been a smooth distraction the night before, now it took on a funkier, grittier dimension. It isn’t doing me any good to lay here, thought Luke with determination. I’m getting up!
Luke shot to his feet in one rapid, rhythmic motion of legs, hips and arms, but staggered and grabbed hold of the bedpost for support. As he took a step forward, his knee cracked ominously, a reminder that old men shouldn’t overindulge. He creaked out into the kitchen, going through the rote, mindless motions of accessing and brewing full strength coffee. While the coffee was brewing, Luke reached for a carton of orange juice, and bent his head far back, drinking deeply without the aid of a glass. "Ahhh," he exclaimed as he folded the carton top back in place and redeposited it into the avocado green refrigerator. Next, Luke padded down the hall to the bathroom. He glanced into the mirror before swinging it open to reveal the medicine chest hidden behind it. Bad mistake, he thought grimly when he caught the view of a full grown man with short, spiky hair fluffed up like an enraged chipmunk, all on end and every which way. The puffy, red rims around his sunken eyes only accented the red veins around his brilliant blue orbs, and the pallor of his skin recalled visions of the undead. Luke quickly shook out four aspirins into his waiting palm, and swallowed them without the aid of water. He grimaced briefly and sought out his first cup of coffee for the day.
With only his coffee cup for a companion, Luke sat down heavily on a chair beside the tiny kitchenette table. He sighed deeply and became lost in his thoughts as he watched the silky brown liquid in his cup swirl into a pattern of lighter and darker shades of brown.
*** It was about 7:30PM on a warm evening in a small, coastal town on the gulf side of Florida. They’d lived in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of town for only a month. Usually, it took Frank Smith at least six weeks to catch up with them after a sudden move in the middle of the night. Laura had suggested that they put Lucky down for an early evening and take the baby monitor with them out onto the porch to sit and catch the sweet breezes.
Luke and Laura laughed and snuggled closer together as they listened to the monitor’s reports of Lucky’s pseudo-conversation with himself in his infant’s nonsense language. "That one is quite a talker," teased Luke. "He gets it from his mother." Laura put on a surprised face and lightly punched her husband in the arm. "And this from Lucas "the mouth" Spencer," she chuckled.
"This is real nice, baby," Luke sighed as he nestled closer to Laura on the white porch swing. Husband and wife moved their legs in a languorous, smooth motion, rocking the swing in a gentle, peaceful rhythm and smelling the fresh coastal breezes blowing off of the ocean. "I love you," replied Laura as she looked up into her husband’s eyes and leaned in for a kiss.
As Luke and Laura relaxed, a car with blackened windows pulled up near the house, hidden in the woods edging the property and parked far enough away for secrecy and the element of surprise. Three large men exited the vehicle soundlessly, and one motioned toward the small, white clapboard cottage in the distance. Each held a drawn gun in a tense hand and marched relentlessly and stealthily toward their destination and ultimate mission. One man held a small bundle wrapped in black cloth. This was an unusual order from the top boss himself, and there was no room for slip-ups. It was a life or death mission – they complete it successfully or lose their lives in payment.
Luke gazed into Laura’s eyes for several minutes while he absentmindedly twirled her silky blond hair and stroked it with his long fingers. "Why don’t we make another baby?" he whispered in a suggestive voice, inclining his head toward the area of the master bedroom.
"What?" asked Laura in a bemused voice. "One is not enough for you?"
"Once is never enough for me," replied Luke with a lazy smile.
Laura reached her hand up to caress Luke’s cheek, and the two kissed again for long minutes. Their kiss was interrupted by the violent sound of smashing glass. One goon had thrown a Molotov cocktail into the back bedroom, the room that functioned as Lucky’s nursery. He rounded the house with a short, purposeful stride, quickly throwing flaming cocktails into each successive window.
Luke and Laura jumped to their feet. Laura looked terrified, and Luke looked determined as he drew the handgun from the back of his waistband. He grabbed Laura’s hand tightly and held her close to him as he moved silently toward the end of the porch and briefly stuck his head around to look in the direction of the loud noise. By this time, flames were shooting out of the small bedroom where their son was sleeping. The weathered old cottage was at least 100 years old and very flammable after a long, dry winter. Luke raced over to the window with bulging, shocked eyes and an enraged cry of fear. There was no way that he could enter the window with its imposing wall of flames, and he ran with Laura back to the porch to enter the house by the front door.
One goon with a drawn and pointed gun was waiting for them when they rounded the corner. Luke immediately rushed the large, muscle-bound man and was rewarded with a vicious pistol whip to the head. Luke’s neck snapped abruptly to the left when his right temple absorbed the blow with a soggy crunch. He crumpled to the ground like a tossed out piece of paper. Laura’s eyes flashed with the violent determination of a mama bear defending her cub, and she leaped for the gun. The goon grabbed her tightly on the wrist and twisted so that she cried out in pain and fell to her knees. "Move and I’ll blow both your brains out," he gritted angrily. Luke lay unconscious and bleeding on the grass, and Laura shook and screamed in horror as images of her desperate, crying baby assaulted her mind. In her mind’s eye, she saw Lucky in his crib, jumping up and down, crying hopelessly and reaching out tiny hands for his nonexistent mama as copious tears rolled down his reddened, frantic face.
When the second goon walked toward the man aiming his gun at Laura, he motioned toward the woods, and the two men ran off. By this time, the house was totally engulfed in a fiery inferno, and the roof was beginning to collapse with massive thudding timbers igniting new flames. Laura fell back onto the grass in shock, powerless to do anything other than weep brokenheartedly. Luke finally woke up groggily to the sight of flames shooting up in place of the roof and only two walls of his former home standing. His mouth hung open in shock and horror, and he reached for his wife with shaking arms. ***
Luke took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee, then raised the cup to completely drain it. He ran a weary hand over his face to brush away several stray tears. His eyes continually moistened, and he sniffed repeatedly as he sat in his kitchen in a near daze. He rose from the table, placing the cup in the sink, and he headed back for the bedroom.
Luke stood in the doorway, surveying the small room. There was a double bed with no bedspread, covered with only an old quilt. White plastic miniblinds covered the windows, and an old dresser and nightstand were the furniture complements. No decorations littered the room, but plenty of dust did. How long has it been since I’ve had a woman in this room, pondered Luke. Must be over two years, he decided. Not since Sly came. Luke walked over to the bed and sat down on its edge as he picked up the phone on his nightstand. He pressed the first speed dial button and waited. The numbers sounded their tones in his ear, and then the phone began ringing.
On the fourth ring, a woman’s firm voice commanded, "Alexis Davis."
"Darlin,’" Luke replied in a soft, happy voice.
"How’s Luke?" asked Alexis.
"All in one piece…I think," said Luke dryly. "Aliens have invaded my head again, but I’m trying to blast them out with aspirin and coffee. What I really need is the company of a mighty fine woman," he added.
"Have any in mind?" teased Alexis.
"Only the finest attorney in Port Chuck will do," replied Luke. "May I request your company this evening, say six-sh?"
"My condo?" asked Alexis.
"Do you still have that wonderful tub that does that whirly-swirly thing?" Luke questioned seriously.
"You’re only interested in my tub?" pouted Alexis. "I can do the whirly-swirly thing, too."
"I’m counting on it," whispered Luke before he hung up the phone.
~*~*~*~
Frankie followed Sly carefully around the cafeteria, grabbing a tray when the younger boy did and loading up with identical utensils. He’d never visited a cafeteria before, and this was sure one weird way of eating. As the boys neared the serving line, Frankie crinkled his nose at the odors of the steamtable food. Yuck, he thought. This is the equivalent of donating your body for science. Who knows what they put in this stuff? Frankie had only dined out with his father at select restaurants, ones that catered directly to his father and provided parking spaces next to the front door for Frank’s Silver Cloud Rolls Royce. And they certainly never ate anything until their bodyguards had eaten it first – and survived. Frankie’s brow creased as he remembered the one time his father’s bodyguard began gasping and turning red in the face after sampling a slice of roast beef. His body had fallen to the floor and finally stopped thrashing after ten minutes. Man, his face was still and white.
Frankie made the identical food selections as Sly. He decided that he’d watch Sly eat first, then he’d try the food. Frankie sighed as Sly made haphazard selections of spaghetti, mashed potatoes with gravy, and hashbrown casserole. At the cashier, Sly motioned to his tray and Frankie’s. "Two," he directed as he pointed at the two trays. "Your first day is on me," Sly said to Frankie with a big smile. "Welcome to PCHS." Frankie blinked rapidly at Sly with his mouth hanging slightly open. "Uh, thanks," he said quietly when he recovered. No one had ever done something like that for him.
"I want you to meet my friends," said Sly as they neared a table with a lone girl seated there. "Hi, Emily," said Sly. "This is Frankie. It’s his first day at PCHS. Frankie, this is Emily Quartermaine." Emily looked up with big eyes and a wide grin. "Hi!" she said brightly. "It’s nice to meet you. Hope your first day is going okay."
Frankie shrugged. "I almost had to put out a contract on my locker. Your friend Sly saved my behind."
Emily laughed delightedly. "Where are you from?" she asked quizzically. "You don’t sound like you’re from around here."
Frankie looked up quickly. "Philadelphia. I moved from Philadelphia," he replied. Good, stick with the story, he thought.
"I’m originally from Arizona," said Emily. "But I don’t think I sound so different. I like your accent. It’s neat. Sounds sort of tough guy or something."
Frankie’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. He liked being compared to a tough guy.
"Are you a freshman?" asked Sly as he dug into his mashed potatoes.
"Sophomore," answered Frankie gruffly as he surveyed the room out of the corner of his eyes. He watched Sly swallow, then cautiously reached his fork into his potatoes.
Sly laughed. "No offense, man. We’re both freshmen," he indicated with a finger pointing towards Emily and himself. "Can you stand to hang out with lowly freshmen?"
Frankie ignored him in favor of staring at a very pretty blond girl seated by herself two tables away. Man, she’s fine, he thought. So she’s going to this school. Cool. Frankie shifted in his seat and eased his pants. "Why is that girl sitting by herself?" questioned Frankie.
Sly and Emily looked in the direction that Frankie pointed. Sly flushed when he saw that Frankie was talking about Maxie Jones. Emily tittered. "That’s Maxie Jones," she said. "Her dad’s a WSB agent, and her stepfather is police commissioner. Everybody is afraid of her I think. They don’t want to get busted for something. She has a reputation for being a stuck-up goody-goody, but I don’t think that’s fair. It’s probably because of her two dads. She’s a sophomore."
Frankie nodded as he twirled his spaghetti on his fork, pausing to watch Sly slurp his up.
"Why did your family move to town?" asked Sly.
"I’m staying with my uncle," Frankie replied. "He has business here for a couple of months, so he took me with him and enrolled me here. My father is occupied at the moment."
Sly frowned lightly at that odd answer. "What about your mom?"
Frankie colored briefly. "Dead," he said flatly.
"You’re at the right table then," replied Emily sadly. "Both Sly and I have deceased mothers."
Frankie felt his eyes moisten, and responded by setting his face to stone and purposefully ignoring them, concentrating on his lunch instead. Emily looked over at Sly who shrugged. I’ve only been here for three hours, and I don’t know if I’m going to make it through the day, thought Frankie.
~*~*~*~
"Did you contact Chicago?" asked Frankie tersely as he slid into the front seat of the Cadillac.
"Yes," replied Johnny. "Gregory will arrive in Port Charles tomorrow evening, as you asked." Johnny hesitated, then continued. "How was your day, boss? Did you like school?"
"Sucks," said Frankie sullenly as he slumped down in his seat and crossly folded his arms. "Let’s get out of here so I can get down to real business."
~*~*~*~
Frank Smith sat back in his black leather executive chair with a satisfied look on his face as he waited for his son’s phone call. He laced his fingers behind his mane of silver hair and sighed contentedly. "Revenge is sweet," he said aloud. Fourteen years. He’d been waiting to strike for fourteen years, all the while planning and scheming, teaching and instructing. Spencer won’t know what hit him. And the great irony will be the final blow that comes from none other than his beloved, dead son.
~*~*~*~
"Oh, baby," Luke moaned as he sat in front of Alexis. "If you ever grow tired of the law, you can become my personal masseuse," he declared. "Where did you learn how to do that?" he asked, closing his eyes in ecstasy.
"I took notes from the master," she whispered in his ear before nibbling on it.
Luke held out a hand and swept it through the bubbling water in Alexis’ heartshaped whirlpool tub. "This is better than the Poconos," he commented. "A heartshaped tub in the privacy of your own home."
Alexis picked up a bar of soap and began sudsing up Luke’s back and arms. "With all the money that you make at that bar of yours, you could live wherever you want."
Luke shook his head. "I’d have to clean it up and keep it tidy. It’s easier with a small place. Laziness wins out every time." Luke opened his eyes and laid his head back on Alexis’ stomach to look into her eyes. "How long have we been together, darlin’?" he asked.
Alexis’ warm brown eyes looked down into Luke’s blue orbs. "Ever since I first arrived in town and had that difficult case that gave me an awfully powerful thirst. So….it’s been five years I guess."
Luke smiled broadly. "Smooches," he demanded as he reached up his lips. Alexis bent over to plant a big one on his waiting mouth.
Alexis pulled back and gave Luke a look of concern. "How are you doing honey, really? Tell me the truth. You can’t lie to an attorney, you know that."
Luke laid his head back on Alexis’ chest and sighed. "It’s hard," he said simply. "I can’t get that final day out of my mind. The day where I should have fought off Frank’s men and rescued my son. Instead, I got clobbered and my son died. End of story," he added with a tear-choked voice. "I’ll never stop feeling like it was my fault. I let the person who meant the most to me in the world die a horrible death."
Alexis gently stroked Luke’s hair and placed several kisses on his head, but said nothing, letting Luke talk out his grief.
"I want my son. I want him with me – forever. I’ll never stop feeling that way. I miss him, Alexis. I miss my boy, my Lucky. He still means the world to me after fourteen years gone from the earth."
"Has raising Sly helped you with your grief?" asked Alexis tentatively. "He’s a sweet kid. I really like him a lot."
"I see Sly as a completely different situation," explained Luke. "He’s separate from Lucky. I enjoy having him around, living with him. I never had the chance to know my half-brother very well. We didn’t grow up together, and my mother kept my older brother a secret since he was born out of wedlock when she was a teenager. I never met him until a few years ago. But, after his death, I feel like raising Sly helps me to know Bill better. I worry sometimes that I’m not a good enough father figure to Sly since I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, but he seems okay. Do you think he’s happy with me?"
Alexis smiled. "Very happy," she agreed. "He really admires you, I can tell. He’ll take whatever you have to give him."
~*~*~*~
"How was school today?" asked Bobbie as Sly helped her set the dinner table.
"Interesting," replied Sly as he placed the forks, spoons and knives to the sides of the plates. "I think I made a friend today, he’s a new kid."
Bobbie raised her eyebrows, and her eyes twinkled. "Oh?" she asked. "How did you meet him? What’s his name?"
"I met him by our lockers. He had trouble with his combination lock, and I fixed it. His name is Frankie DeMarco. He’s from Philadelphia originally. Hey, do you think I could invite him over for dinner one night?"
"Sure," said Bobbie brightly. "You can ask him to dinner either tomorrow or Wednesday if you want."
Bobbie walked over to Sly and gave him a hug as she rubbed and patted his shoulder. "You’re such a nice boy, looking out for others. I’m proud of you."
Sly looked up at his aunt and smiled. Now I just have to get him to come, he thought.