What Happens in the Penthouse Stays in the Penthouse
A/N: I have no rights or affiliation with the characters presented within this piece
What Happens in the Penthouse Stays in the Penthouse
Chapter 3: The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth
Once more Spinelli and Jason found themselves driving out into the country, but this time they were carrying twice the cargo. The journey for Jason was unadulterated torture, while for Spinelli it was unmatched elation.
He had taken his mentor's comment that he should keep him awake and alert to heart. Spinelli had so many divergent interests and pursuits but Stone Cold never seemed to have the time or patience to listen to him expound upon them. Yet, on this most extraordinary and troubling of evenings, his Master had actually requested that Spinelli regale him on any or all of those topics closest to his intellectual heart.
Spinelli suspected that his interpretation of Stone Cold's off the cuff comment might be a little erroneous, but he was an eternal optimist as well as no fool. In his opinion, this was definitely a defining carpe diem moment in the Master-Grasshopper dynamic, one that he would not let be wasted.
He planned to start small, holding onto the big guns until he had Stone Cold mesmerized with his brilliance and erudition on lesser topics. When the time was right, he would then share nothing less than the secrets of the universe with his mentor. Who, he was sure, would then regard him with awe and thank him for all his tutorial efforts.
"Think nothing of it, Stone Cold," he envisioned himself saying offhandedly. "After all, you have often and freely shared your knowledge and abilities in the arenas of fire power, battle strategies, and winning over the fairer sex with your humble acolyte. Just think of this as a small return for all that invaluable knowledge you imparted to the Jackal."
The visualization of this exchange between a grateful Jason and a condescending Spinelli was so real, that it took him a moment to realize that Stone Cold was actually saying something to him. "Uh, what Stone Cold, were you speaking to the Jackal?" he asked, trying to cover his temporary lapse into a private fantasy land.
Jason gave him a peculiar sideways look, "I said, 'Are you okay? You were mumbling something about the universe and the fairer sex.' I know tonight has been tough, but I really need you focused right now, Spinelli."
"Absolutely!" Spinelli said flustered to have been caught daydreaming. "I was just mentally perusing which topic I should initially hold forth on in order to maintain Stone Cold's mental acuity for the duration of the evening's events.
"I see," Jason said drearily, wondering how someone as uncommunicative as himself ended up residing with someone so thoroughly vocal.
"Well," said Spinelli excitedly beginning, "I am thinking about enrolling in the winter term at Port Charles University. They are offering an upper level seminar on death imagery in the poems of Emily Dickinson. I must say, Stone Cold, I truly feel this might be a once in a life time opportunity for your grasshopper to gaze pensively into the long dead soul of the most magnificently introverted poetess known to Western literature."
"Death imagery, Dickinson, literature," Jason repeated obediently to show he was listening, as he contemplated the incipient beginnings of a headache at the base of his skull. At least he could see the usefulness of death imagery tonight, he admitted to himself.
"Yes, I agree, an opportunity not to be missed," concurred Spinelli happily. "Now, in a few days we all will be getting ready to vote in one of the most pivotal and historic presidential elections to ever occur in this country. Be it known that the Jackal would never presume to inquire into Stone Cold's political affiliations." Although, Spinelli did indubitably believe that his Master, who wasn't much of a joiner, must be registered as an independent. "He does feel it incumbent," he chuckled quietly to himself at such witty, timely and political humor, while altogether missing Jason's not so quiet responsive groan, "upon him to urge his Master to be timely in his visit to the polls. Absentee ballot, early voting, doing the deed on election day-all are equally acceptable. The important thing is that we all walk out proudly wearing that most prestigious emblem that our republic bestows on its every citizen."
"Huh?" Jason asked bemusedly. He had been following his own train of thought as to whether he had ever, even once, even as Jason Quartemaine-voted in any election. He was pretty sure the answer was no.
"Why, the 'I Voted' sticker in the proud tricolors of our country's ensign," Spinelli responded in an injured tone. Surely, Stone Cold must not have been paying apt enough attention, for how else could he have possibly not comprehended such a crystal clear elucidation.
"Well," Spinelli reflected forgivingly, "he knew that Stone Cold would surely step up and do his civic duty, and really, some people weren't crazy about little stickers-that was okay."
Jason, was thankful for the brief interlude of silence, "If only," he thought wistfully, "I had some duct tape…"
"So, anyway," Spinelli started up again, "the Large Hadron Collider, as I am sure you have read, is down for the season, but come next spring they will have it up and running again. Then what unparalleled knowledge will spring forth from that twenty-seven kilometer wide circle deep under Europe's soil. Why they might finally observe the God particle!"
"The God particle?" Jason couldn't help himself, he knew he would regret it, but he had to ask.
"Why, yes, the Higgs boson particle. It is theorized to exist but it has never been observed. The theoretical groundwork explaining the role of this particle in nuclear forces has been extensively analyzed and supported mathematically. This has lead to a unifying linkage of the weak and strong nuclear forces combined with electromagnetism. Alas, that troublesome outsider-gravity has yet to be included. Thereby, the unifying theory of all forces still remains a tantalizing goal for some lucky future Nobel recipient."
He did, he utterly did regret asking! There was now a full fledged painful pounding in his brain, and they still weren't at the quarry. He wondered darkly if Spinelli knew how to swim…
"Then don't even get me started on dark matter and dark energy."
"I didn't!" Jason thought plaintively at the unfairness of it all. "I didn't get you started."
"They think," Spinelli continued, oblivious to his Master's physical and mental suffering, "that up to 96% of the universe consists of these undetectable factors. That means that only 4% consists of what we consider to be ordinary, measurable matter. And, Stone Cold, it is thought that there are actually as many as eleven dimensions rather than the more commonly perceived three plus time model. This is of course where string theory comes into its own.
"Of course," Jason said dully, for the first time entirely comprehending the definition of hell.
"Which reminds me!" Spinelli said even more animatedly, "The new James Bond movie has a wonderful title-The Quantum of Solace and it stars Daniel Craig as the newest Bond. I find him quite reminiscent of you, Stone Cold, though not nearly as effective in his role as an angst ridden anti-hero. He frequently is captured and often tortured by his arch nemesis, before finally dispatching him. Still, he does have the coolest gadgets and cars; and he always gets the girl. Well, not the first girl, regrettably, she invariably is sacrificed on the altar of necessity in order to act as spur to get Bond fully committed to the pursuit of the evil mastermind."
"Finally," Jason thought perking up as they turned onto the track leading to the quarry, "he is talking about something both interesting and understandable. It has been a long time since I have seen a Bond movie." He mused, "Maybe, when this is all over the kid and I can go see it. Surely, even he knows better than to talk during a movie. That alone would be worth the price of admission."
By the time they reached the quarry, Spinelli had fallen silent. All his chatter had enabled him to forget the morbid nature of their nocturnal trek, but now harsh reality had once again intruded. Reluctantly, he disembarked from the SUV and proceeded to help Jason find large stones to weigh down the bodies. Then silently, with what was becoming a practiced rhythm, they swung each corpse over the edge of the quarry.
This time Spinelli didn't take a moment to memorialize either man. From what he had understood from Jason, there was no point in asking for John Smith's redemption. To the extent he felt he was capable of doing so with regard to a stranger, he had already privately eulogized Louie back at the Penthouse.
Almost as soon as they were back on the paved road heading towards Port Charles, Spinelli was again asleep. Jason looked worriedly over at his friend, he knew his excessive sleepiness was a defense mechanism against the traumatizing events of the evening. Unfortunately, given his twitches and murmurs of distress, he didn't seem to be finding any escape in his dreams. Jason sighed unhappily, he fervently hoped their next destination might help cheer him up.
Spinelli opened his eyes blearily as the SUV engine was turned off. At first he thought they were back at the Harbor View Towers, but then he realized this was a different parking garage. "Where are we, Stone Cold?" He queried, wondering why Jason would take a detour on tonight of all nights.
"We're at the Metro Court," Jason responded as he climbed out of the vehicle, while indicating that Spinelli should do the same. He was gratified to see Spinelli's expression immediately change from sleepy confusion to uncomplicated joy.
"Maximista!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Does this mean that the Jackal has his Master's leave to go visit his fair one?"
"Yeah," Jason responded gruffly, trying not to show how touched he was at Spinelli's reaction. "You can't stay long though," he warned, "we should leave in about twenty minutes or so."
Spinelli turned in search of the elevators that would carry him to his cherished prize. Jason called to him, "Hey, you're forgetting something."
Spinelli looked at Jason in puzzlement and then recognized what he was holding out to him. From the brown paper bag at his feet, he had extracted the jacket and fedora that were needed to complete Spinelli's costume.
Spinelli shrugged into the jacket while Jason held it for him. Then, smoothing back his hair into some approximation of what it had been a million years ago at the penthouse, he placed the hat on his head at a cocky angle and grinned at Jason. "How do I look?"
Jason reached out and smoothed down his collar and tugged at his tie. "You'll do," he said with rough affection. "Don't forget this," he added as Spinelli once again started to leave. Spinelli gazed in wonderment at the little gift wrapped box Jason was holding out to him. "It's Maximista's birthday gift!" he said in amazement. Then looking up at Jason with awe bordering on reverence, he said simply, "Thank you, Jason."
"Don't forget," Jason reminded him, "you only have twenty minutes."
"What will Stone Cold do while the Jackal is occupied with the beauteous Maximista?" Spinelli inquired.
"This and that," Jason replied vaguely. The truth was he planned to scavenge the Metro Court janitorial closets for materials that might be needed if any more bodies showed up. He would replenish them later and he keenly hoped that it was only a precautionary measure. Yet, something told him that there might be more unpleasant surprises this evening, and he grimly intended to be prepared for any and all eventualities.
Spinelli waved farewell to his Master and headed off to the Crimson Halloween Gala. Jason watched him depart and turned to canvas the bowels of the hotel for what he needed.
When the elevator doors opened onto the top floor Sky Lounge, Spinelli took a step back as the noise and light assaulted him. It seemed as though he had been dwelling for an eternity in a dark cave with dead bodies and a somber Stone Cold as his only companions. It took him a moment to adjust to the sights and sounds of a large boisterous group of people celebrating a commercially prostituted pagan holiday.
As he stepped out of the elevator, he felt a sense of surrealism over take him. It was clear that there were two main distinct themes in costume choice at this celebration. The first were those outfits of a political nature. He counted five Hilaries, eight Obamas, three Bidens, two McCains, and an unbelievable ten Palins-in his short journey towards the main ballroom.
The second overwhelmingly popular costume choice was the result of the most recent Batman movie. His head spun as he contemplated a myriad of Dark Knights, Harvey Two-Faces, and, of course, a multiplicity of Jokers.
He briefly pondered the idea of writing a psycho-social opinion piece on the phenomenon of costume choice as an expression of socio-cultural manifestation. Then he saw her, and his brain was suddenly wiped clean of all thought except how gorgeous she looked.
It was as though the room had been cleared of everyone but the two of them and she was standing in a circle of light that seemed to radiate from within her. Her costume was the matching yin to his yang. She was dressed in a maroon suit with a fitted jacket that ended in a flared peplum over a tight fitting skirt. The jacket had three oversized black velvet buttons and a matching velvet collar. Perched on her blonde hair, which had been fluffed and curled for the evening, was the most adorable wisp of a maroon chapeau he had ever seen. The outfit was further enhanced by silk stockings with black seams running up them. They encased her shapely legs in a most enticing manner. Finally, she wore blocky high heels that matched the color and style of the suit right down to the black velvet bows on the heels. Maxie was in a word-entrancing.
She was animatedly speaking to a mixed group of superheroes and politicians and one oddly placed Donald Duck. Suddenly, as though feeling his adoring gaze, she stopped, turned and saw him. "Spinelli!" she shrieked, running across the room towards him. "You're here, you're here!" she cried giddy with happiness. When she reached him, she flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly and then kissed him on his cheek, leaving a bright smear of scarlet lipstick to mark her territory.
"Maximista is a vision to behold. She takes the Jackal's breath away." Spinelli told her, feeling unaccountably shy.
"Thank you," she said twirling around at the end of his hand, allowing him to once again inspect her outfit. "Did you notice how I meshed the two costumes so that we would complement each other?" she asked eagerly.
"Indeed, the Jackal is aware of the most careful thought and care that Maximista put into the choosing of tonight's mutual ensembles. He is most grateful to be the recipient of such kind consideration."
"I wanted us to have an evening to remember, Spinelli." Maxie said with a wistful smile, "and then it was all spoiled when I thought you weren't coming-but you're here now!" She grinned at him gleefully.
Spinelli felt a pang for having misled his paramour and felt it incumbent on him to explain the temporary nature of their reunion. Before he could say anything, the orchestra, which had been on a break, started playing "Embraceable You".
Maxie tugged at his hand, leading him onto the crowded dance floor. When they had claimed their own space, she turned smiling at him and moved into his arms, nestling her head on his shoulder. Crushed together by the other dancers, they swayed as one, lost in each other. Spinelli realized that this was literally his dream from earlier come true, except that it had lacked the olfactory component of the wonderful medley of scents coming from Maxie's hair and neck. He couldn't remember ever being happier than he was at this moment.
The band finished playing and, after a round of enthusiastic applause, they segued into "Every Time We Say Goodbye"; this time accompanied by a husky voiced singer lingering over Cole Porter's evocative lyrics. Spinelli's contentment continued unabated for a further few moments as they again danced. Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Jason looking apologetic, standing at his shoulder.
Surprisingly, Spinelli realized that Stone Cold didn't look out of place amidst all the costumed partygoers. His usual uniform of t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket all conspired to make him look like a world weary James Dean. Therefore, on this one occasion, his daily attire permitted him to fit into a high society soiree without awkwardness. Still, Spinelli was for once not best pleased to see his mentor, since he knew it meant his time with Maximista must come to an end.
Maxie knew immediately that Jason had come to claim Spinelli and all her revitalized hopes for the evening came crashing down. "Do you have to go?" she asked Spinelli pleadingly.
He could not bear to look into her eyes, which had grown shiny with unshed tears. Instead, he looked down at his shoes and mumbled with heartfelt anguish, "The Jackal regrets he must leave his Maximista in such a rude and untimely fashion. Were it in his power to stay, nothing would dissuade him. Unfortunately, the Master requires the aid and succor of his grasshopper this evening."
Then looking up directly into Maxie's face he said clearly and distinctly, "I am truly sorry, Maximista. I hope you will allow me to make up the ruination of this evening in the near future."
"I'm holding you to it." Maxie said with a twisted smile, recognizing that whatever was happening, it was important and Spinelli and Jason had to go. She didn't want him to feel guilty or to be focused on anything but what he needed to do. "Jason," she glared at him accusingly, "remember your promise!"
"I will," Jason said soberly as he put his hand on Spinelli's shoulder in order to get his reluctant friend to leave. Dragging his feet, Spinelli walked slowly away with Jason, casting frequent sad glances over his shoulder at Maxie, who stood in desolate abandonment on the dance floor.
Suddenly, Spinelli remembered something he had to do. "Just a minute, Stone Cold," he turned and ran back to Maxie, pulling the small package out of his jacket pocket. "Here, a small memento in honor of your birthday," he said handing it to her with a bow.
"Oh, Spinelli," she sighed, the tears starting to fall in earnest now. "Thank you, so much, I'll treasure it!"
"Spinelli," it was Jason, his tone brooking no argument, "time to go."
Spinelli gave her a lopsided grin and ran to join Jason who was already striding away across the ballroom. Maxie stood there watching Spinelli's retreating back until he was lost to view amidst the crowd of revelers.
Feeling lost and alone and suddenly disliking the crush of people, and even the music, she hunted for some place to be by herself while she opened her gift. Maxie found the perfect spot, a hidden alcove with a love seat near a window that showed the sparkling lights of the city below.
Sitting down felt good, she hadn't realized how sore her feet had gotten wearing these vintage heels. She contemplated the box for a minute, guessing what was inside. For many years now, at every birthday, Maxie had inevitably received one or more gifts of jewelry.
When she turned ten, her mother had taken her to get her ears pierced, and as a special surprise had given her a pair of opal earrings. So, what started as a thoughtful gesture on the part of her mother continued over the years. After Felicia left, and the girls were for all intents and purposes motherless, Mac attempted in every way he knew how to compensate for her absence.
In Maxie's case, one way he did that was to commemorate her birthday each year with an opal in some setting. Georgie and Robin observed this tradition as well, and so it continued. Over the years, Maxie had been the recipient of opal earrings, bracelets, pins, pendants-you name it, if it was jewelry and it had an opal in it, she possessed it.
Besides the lack of suspense associated with her birthday gifts, there was one other major problem with this annual situation. Maxie hated, absolutely despised, opals. She ardently wished that she had been born in April, diamonds-now that was a birthstone a girl could get behind! Opals were opaque and they didn't look good with her skin tone and she was just so tired of receiving them.
Unfortunately, she wasn't as cruel as people made her out to be. She knew that she could never tell her loved ones how she truly felt about their enthusiastic contribution to what they assumed was a cherished tradition.
Well, now it looked as though Spinelli had jumped onto the opal bandwagon. She had visions of endless years of receiving more of the pallid stones in a variety of settings. Meanwhile, each time, she would have to feign smiling with enthusiasm as she opened another box containing disappointed hopes.
"Might as well get it over with," she thought wearily. At least she didn't have to fake a joyful response until the next time she saw Spinelli. She tore off the wrapping paper and opened the lid. When she saw what was inside, she gasped in surprise and delight. She had heard about them, but no one in her family was particularly adventuresome and so, she had never received one until now.
Carefully, she pulled out the pendant nestled in the box. The stone was a brilliant dark maroon. It actually was the perfect color match to the suit she was wearing this evening. "How did he do that?" she thought in bemused wonderment. The stone was pear cut and dangled at the end of a lovely filigreed platinum chain.
She knew that it was a Mexican fire opal. They had been the only version of her birthstone to ever intrigue her. Until tonight, she had never seen one. After tonight, she knew she would never possess any other kind of opal. The light in the alcove reflected off the stone and cast a ruby glow on the opposing wall.
Nearby, there was a mirror over a small table with a floral arrangement on it. While getting up to go put the necklace on and admire her reflection, she dislodged the gift box and it fell to the floor, spilling out a small white piece of paper.
Maxie bent down to pick it up and saw that there was stylized writing on it. It was a note from Spinelli:
The fiery beauty of this stone is but a pale reflection of she whom it adorns, lucky be the gem that hangs upon such a column of pure radiant alabaster-Always and Forever Yours, Damian Spinelli
She sat back down stunned, never in her entire life, had she been the recipient of such an entirely romantic gesture. Spinelli had somehow taken something mundane and disliked and turned it into an unforgettable moment. Brushing at her cheeks, she was unsurprised to find them wet, crying seemed to be the order of the evening, but this time they were tears of joy.
She made it to the mirror and put on the pendant. She stared at her reflection, it was perfect and he was perfect. Maxie thought she might never take it off. The next time she saw the Jackal she would have to find a way to show him her heartfelt appreciation…
Spinelli had been silent on the trip back home. Covertly observing him, Jason wasn't able to tell if the stop at the Metro Court had helped or hurt his roommate's spirits. Allowing him to see Maxie to only have her literally ripped out of his arms might not have been the brightest move on Jason's part.
Sighing, he wondered what they now might be facing on their return to the penthouse. He wasn't only concerned about how much more Spinelli could take; he knew he was feeling the strain as well. He hated feeling as impotent as he had all through this evening. He and Spinelli had only been reacting to events, trying to perform damage control. So far, they hadn't even taken one step towards determining who was behind the bizarre ongoing events. Jason didn't have a clue as to why this was happening and his frustration showed in the fact that his usual iron clad self control was becoming more and more frayed.
They stood wearily in front of the elevator, each hoping that they would find nothing untoward when they arrived back at their shared domicile. Maybe they could both get some much needed rest and deal with the situation from the fresh perspective of a new day.
The elevator announced its arrival with a cheery ping and Spinelli hopped into the car. There was already another occupant huddled up against the railings on the opposite side of the small space.
Jason had yet to enter and Spinelli turned to urge him in, "Stone Cold, let's go, I want to get out of this suit and try to…" He trailed off as he realized Jason wasn't paying any attention to him. Instead he was staring intently at the other inhabitant of the small space.
Spinelli followed Jason's gaze towards the tall, gangly man who was leaning at an unnatural angle in the opposite corner. "No! No! Not again, no more!" he knew he was yelling, almost screaming, but he really couldn't stand this for one more second.
Spinelli's outburst penetrated Jason's own shock, he simply could not believe the audacity of whoever was responsible for all this. He had escalated to leaving bodies in public places where anyone might stumble upon them.
"Spinelli!" he said in an attempt to prevent a full blown hysterical outburst or collapse or whatever other reaction might consume the younger man. "It's all right, you're all right, I am here, we can deal with this, but you need to calm down, now!" He barked the final word, hating having to talk to Spinelli like that at this moment but knowing he had no other option.
It worked, years of responding to Jason when he was in his authoritarian mode connected with something primal in Spinelli's core and he stopped dead in the process of melting down. "Jason," he groaned pleadingly, "how many more, how many more?"
Jason blew out his breath and looked at Spinelli, he shook his head, "I don't know. I have no idea who is doing this or why. Until we have some idea, then he or they have us where they want us. They do what they want and all we can do is respond to it." Jason sounded out of his depth almost defeated.
His master's uncertainty was almost more terrifying to Spinelli than being exposed to his fourth corpse of the evening. Jason always knew what to do in any situation. That was just one of the immutable laws of the universe and Spinelli believed in natural laws above all things. After all, the apple never flew up from the ground and reattached to the tree.
So, he determined, this simply could not be, even if he had to do something about it himself. Laws were laws and this particular one wasn't going to broken tonight, not if the Jackal had anything to say about it. "We will," he said with such total and complete confidence, it was difficult to imagine him as the same lost boy of a few moments ago. "You and I, together, we will solve this. We will find the fiendish architect of all these heinous and uncalled for murders and we will prevent him from succeeding at whatever nefarious plan he has devised. Together, you and I, Stone Cold and his wingman, we will prevail over any temporary obstacles that are placed in our path and in the end we shall vanquish this evil."
Jason was dumbfounded, he had never seen Spinelli like this-so calm, so certain, so full of belief in their ability to conquer anything if they simply worked together as a team. This time around it was Spinelli who brought Jason back from the brink, who let him know that his faith in him was unshaken, whole and shining.
Jason actually felt purpose flowing back into his veins as he nodded at his fr…no brother, he amended to himself, "You're totally right, we can do this, we can and will find whoever is doing this and stop them. When I meet up with him…" Jason growled, imagining the certain outcome of that particular encounter. Spinelli knew at that moment that his mentor was fully back in the here and now and prepared to engage in battle.
As though performing a now familiar ritual, Jason and Spinelli turned in unison to study the newest body to find its way into their orbit. Even though he was slumped against the wall of the elevator, it was clear he was very tall and extremely thin-"a cadaverous cadaver," Spinelli couldn't help thinking to himself.
He had reddish brown hair that curled down shaggily over his collar, sideburns and a handlebar moustache. His hairstyle and moustache combined with the three piece tan polyester suit he was wearing all conspired to make him look like a refugee from the seventies, or perhaps an extra on the new TV series "Life on Mars". Spinelli definitely felt that tonight couldn't be any stranger even if he actually found himself on the red planet.
"Stone Cold," he prompted, "seen him around anywhere?"
Jason nodded and sighed, "Yeah, he is small time all the way. Steals cars and sends them to chop shops. I think he gets arrested more than anyone else in Port Charles. He's Scottish, I believe, has that accent-name's Ian Donaldson. He drank, a lot."
Indeed he had, drunk, a lot. It was clearly visible in the network of broken veins on his once broken nose and across his cheeks. His grey eyes were open and staring rather balefully, as though he could still see the individual who had the audacity to end his existence.
Spinelli found himself spontaneously saying, "Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, and pierc'd my darling's heart; and with him all the joys are fled, life can to me impart."
He looked at Jason apologetically, "It's Robert Burns, Scotland's national bard, it just seemed appropriate."
Jason had been examining the body more closely and found that Spinelli's brief burst of commemorative poetry had been more on the mark than he knew. He pulled something out of Donaldson's neck, it was tiny and he lost his grasp on it. The object fell to the elevator floor, rolling towards Spinelli's feet. Jason said sharply, as he bent to retrieve it. "Don't! Leave it alone, I think it's poisoned."
Spinelli froze, his fingers inches away from the minute dart. He remembered the handkerchief in his breast pocket and using it he cautiously picked up the small but lethal weapon. He handed it to Jason, who carefully placed it in an interior pocket of his jacket. They were each aware that they had discovered their first real clue and both were equally determined that nothing would happen to it before they could analyze it.
Jason had long since wedged the elevator door open with a nearby trash can. Turning to Donaldson, he lifted the dead man's arm across his shoulder while wrapping his own arm around the other's waist, and prepared to move him out of the elevator and towards the SUV. "At least there weren't any stairs involved this time," he thought bleakly.
Suddenly, a clarion call sounded across the parking garage, "Hold it, hold the elevator, please!"
Jason and Spinelli stared at each other with dismay. Their luck had finally run out. All this moving of bodies from the penthouse to the SUV and they hadn't seen a soul. Now, when their destination was a few feet away from them, they were cornered and by the worst possible person-Louise Murphy. She was the resident gossip and know-it-all of Harbor View Towers. She headed up the building neighborhood watch and had often tried to get Jason to join, totally oblivious to the irony involved in that request.
Now she was approaching the elevator and there was no time and no place for them to flee. Jason could do nothing, entangled with Donaldson as he was. She was upon them and in her arms was her constant companion, her little chocolate colored miniature pinscher-Perkins.
Jason and Mrs. Murphy had only tolerated each other in all the years they had been co-residents at the Towers. Their relationship had dramatically altered into mutual dislike four years ago. It was the first day that Perkins and Jason "met". Mrs. Murphy had been waiting for the lobby elevator when Jason came in and stood silently next to her. Suddenly, hearing a distinctive, recognizable sound he looked down in disbelief at his feet. There was the smallest puppy he had ever seen, lifting his leg and peeing on Jason's boots and jeans.
The little dog proved to have excellent reflexes as he skipped nimbly out of the way of Jason's well aimed kick. "Really, Mr. Morgan!" Mrs. Murphy exclaimed glaring at Jason, as she protectively scooped a victorious Perkins up into her arms. "He is just a little puppy and isn't quite housetrained yet. How could you!" Her bust was heaving with indignation, while Perkins grinned happily at his new best enemy.
Jason ungraciously accepted defeat in this round and muttered an insincere apology. Then, choosing to fight another day, he took the stairs. From that day forth, he and Perkins had a simple, satisfying relationship built on hate. Whenever they saw each other, which fortunately was infrequently, each campaigned to sabotage the other.
Perkins left dead rats outside the penthouse door, while Jason repeatedly encouraged Perkins to vacate the building by leaving the lobby door open, especially on snowy days. Whenever Perkins saw Jason, he growled and snarled and barked as loudly as possible which often nullified Jason's proudly held ability to move as soundlessly as a cat.
Jason, in turn, found the largest alley cat he could and brought it to live in the building, ostensibly as a mouser. He secretly hoped that the outsized, semi-feral animal would teach Perkins a thing or two about the world outside his comfortable fiefdom of the Towers. Instead, within the week, the cat had been driven out, hissing in frustration and fear. Perkins celebrated by somehow depositing a very large and decaying rat smack in the middle of Jason's bed. Of all the adversaries Jason had ever faced, Perkins was the one he most held a grudging respect for, but it did nothing to alter his determination to win their ongoing game of wits.
Even tonight, with all that was at stake, the minute Jason's and Perkin's eyes met each curled up a lip in a silent snarl of greeting. Mrs. Murphy, by this time accustomed to their enmity, paid them no mind and instead focused on the trash can blocking the elevator door. "What is this doing here?" she demanded imperiously, "Damian, remove it at once, so we can ascend!"
Spinelli long inculcated in the act of responding obediently to anyone who ordered him around; moved the trashcan away from the door while frantically rolling his eyes at Jason from behind Mrs. Murphy.
Once the elevator doors closed and the ascent began, Mrs. Murphy turned her attention to the fourth dweller of the car. At first her glance was casual but then it sharpened as she took in the peculiarity of it all. "Who is this, Mr. Morgan, and why must you support him? Is he drunk?" she said with the disdain of the life long teetotaler for the inequities of those less strong of character.
Before Jason could reply, Spinelli jumped in with both feet. "No, no Mrs. Murphy, he's not drunk, this…" thinking rapidly, "is my cousin Ian from Tennessee and he suffers from narcolepsy."
Jason couldn't help himself as he grunted with laughter that he quickly changed into a coughing fit, "Narcolepsy!" he thought to himself, "Could this night get anymore surreal?"
"Narcolepsy?" Mrs. Murphy queried, "What is that?"
"Oh, it is very regrettable malfunction within the brain that causes the sufferer to spontaneously fall asleep anywhere, anytime. Poor cousin Ian has an especially extreme form of the condition." Somehow Spinelli managed to deliver this complete fabrication with both a straight face and total sincerity.
The effect was almost destroyed as Jason, not able to help himself, continued to snort and cough and choke as he tried to suppress gales of laughter.
"Is this condition contagious?" Mrs. Murphy asked looking with alarm at Jason's contortions.
"Not at all," Spinelli reassured her, while glaring at Jason, "Stone Cold simply has a tickle in his throat."
Mrs. Murphy stared at Ian who was leaning comfortably against a still shaking Jason, "His eyes are open," she observed curiously.
"Indeed," Spinelli responded a little desperately, "that is a distinctive feature of Cousin Ian's particular version of this affliction. It has proven very valuable on social occasions and at work, when everyone is unaware of the fact that he is sound asleep."
As he finished speaking, Spinelli reached up towards Donaldson's face and, making a moue of distaste, ran his hand over the dead man's eyes to close the eyelids. He was trying to make him look more naturally asleep. It had the opposite effect as only one eyelid closed, and Ian continued to stare unseeingly out at the world through his remaining open eye.
The effect was quite unnerving, but just at that moment they arrived at Mrs. Murphy's floor. Perkins who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the ride, decided to inform his arch enemy that he wasn't fooled in the least as to the truth of the matter. He let out one sharp, piercing bark as if to say, "Narcolepsy, hah! You've got yourself a dead one there and I should know…"
Jason, no longer laughing, looked into the little dog's eyes with his best icy cold steel blue intimidating glare, which failed utterly. Perkins yawned, bored with the whole exchange, he barked to be let down and trotted off to his apartment. He was entirely unimpressed with the booted one's attempt at portraying an alpha male.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Murphy cast one more concerned glance at Spinelli's putative sleeping relative and said, "Well, Damian you must bring your cousin over when he is…rested." Maybe that wasn't the best choice of words, she thought to herself. "When you have had a chance to catch up with one another, we'll have tea. Now, don't forget our standing Mahjong game on Thursday, the girls and I want a chance to win some of our money back from you."
Spinelli was so relieved to have survived the last few minutes with their secret seemingly intact, that he chirped a bright, "Yes, ma'am, I look forward to it!"
Ignoring Jason, Mrs. Murphy bestowed a vivid smile and a farewell wave on Spinelli. She turned towards her apartment door where an impatient Perkins was waiting for her.
As the elevator door closed, Jason could finally release all the pent up laughter that had started building up again upon hearing Mrs. Murphy's plans for a tea party with a corpse. He gasped almost incoherently, "Tea, rested, Mahjong!" This last word seemed to be the catalyst to restart the entire cycle and he almost lost his grip on Donaldson as he swayed and tears formed in his eyes.
Spinelli frowned at him entirely unamused. He had tried his best to formulate an appropriate response to an untenable situation and what had Stone Cold done to help-nothing! As a matter of fact between his uncharacteristic laughing fit and his perennial silverback contest with that little ratter, he had put them both in serious jeopardy. Then on top of it all to impugn an ancient game of strategy and skill, well, it was simply too much.
"The Jackal would have Stone Cold know that Mahjong is an antique and renowned game of skill and ability that takes years to become adept at and, much like bridge or golf, one can always hone one's facility at play." He spoke with a quietly injured dignity. Then he reached over and pushed the elevator button to take them back down to the garage.
The ride down should have taken no more than a few minutes and then they would have been able to store Donaldson in the SUV. Unfortunately, as they descended, the elevator stopped at the fifth floor. Jason groaned, his levity of moments ago all but forgotten, "This is why we don't take the elevator!" he hissed at poor Spinelli, as the doors slid open once more.
One of the things that had initially appealed to Jason when he took up residence in the Towers was the fact that the majority of the inhabitants were elderly, retired, and respectable. This suited him on several counts. Surrounded by a large group of upright senior citizens, his own questionable activities were less likely to undergo scrutiny. Also, any intruders or people intending him or his harm, tended to stick out from the regular occupants. Finally, and this spoke to his personal preferences, he anticipated neighbors that would lead quiet existences much like he did when he was at home.
Each of these tenets had been proven to be true. No one did expect a mob connected enforcer to be actively residing at Harbor View Towers. Anytime someone strange to the occupants of the building entered, it was always noted, either by a video camera or by the elderly security guard that manned the desk on weekdays. Moreover, Jason had found the noise level to even exceed his demanding expectations. The inhabitants of Harbor View Towers did not go in for loud celebrations at any time.
Yet, there were several pertinent factors to residing in the Towers that Jason had failed to predict. Since, the majority of the tenants were retired, they had plenty of free time on their hands. Said time hung heavily and the favorite activity of most of the residents was to stick their noses into their neighbors' business.
Jason worked hard at being inconspicuous and turning away any attempts at socialization. Naturally, this simply further encouraged his neighbors' curiosity. The result of Jason's standoffishness was a continual barrage of invitations, spontaneous visits and home cooked meals dropped off for the "poor boy".
Still, over time, his implacable resistance to all such overtures had paid off. Even the most intrepid do-gooder finally grew weary of an unreceptive Jason standing four-square in his doorway, refusing entry and the offer of food. Eventually, everyone gave up on getting to know Jason or even seeing the interior of the penthouse. He simply became their most eccentric resident, one who had inexplicably made them all feel safer in the years he had lived at the Towers.
Tonight though, had reminded him of one more drawback to having elderly neighbors-almost every one of them seemed to have trouble sleeping. He often thought that they should form a self help group for insomniacs. No matter how late, or how early for that matter, he would come and go from the Towers; he would invariably run into another resident out walking, visiting a neighbor or simply putting out the trash. These people never seemed to sleep!
Unfortunately, this Halloween evening was proving no different from any other night at the Towers. Jason barely had time to rearrange his supportive grip on Donaldson before the doors opened and an elderly couple stepped in. He was somewhat reassured to see that it was retired Colonel Brock Hunter and his wife Mimi.
He respected the Colonel a no nonsense, taciturn man. While his life's service had been diametrically opposed to the morality of Jason's chosen path, in all other essential ways they were actually kindred spirits.
Jason couldn't say the same for Brock's spouse-Mimi. She was a tiny white haired woman, as fluffy and superficial seeming as her name would imply. Since, he, Jason, would never have picked a woman like that for his life's companion-he simply couldn't comprehend the Colonel's choice in the matter.
"Evening," the Colonel said brusquely as he and Mimi entered the car.
Jason sometimes wondered what Spinelli's grandmother had done to imprint such reliable manners into her grandson. Despite the turmoil of the evening and his recent pique at Jason's behavior, he responded civilly, "Good evening, Colonel and Mrs. Hunter. How are you tonight?"
"Just fine, Damian dear," Mimi said, smiling fondly at him.
The Colonel, on the other hand, sharp-eyed as ever, had turned his attention to Jason and his undesired companion. "Looks like you have your hands full, Morgan!" He barked, "I suppose he was over imbibing for the holiday. Difficult that."
Jason was in fervent agreement with the Colonel's assessment of the situation. One of the things that he found so restful about Brock's company was that he knew a simply manly nod of acknowledgment was all that was required in response. If only all of Jason's communications could be handled in such a succinct and effective manner, he would be a very content man.
While Jason, Donaldson, and Brock all stood in companionable silence, Mimi and Spinelli made up for it by chattering about an amazing array of topics during the short journey. As the elevator doors finally opened to reveal the long awaited parking garage, Mimi stepped out still talking. "Now don't forget, dear, we have the salsa class at our place Tuesday night. You do plan on attending, don't you? We need all the men we can get, you know." As she said this, she looked spculatively over at Jason. Yet, even Mimi Hunter couldn't envision Jason Morgan at a mixed social, learning how to salsa from their dance coach Raoul.
"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Hunter. It's a high point on the Jackal's social calendar," Spinelli assured her.
"Come along dear," the Colonel shepherded his wife neatly away from the elevator, it was obvious he had years of practice in detaching her from endless farewells.
Jason looked over at his roommate in mystification. He couldn't believe how unaware he had been of Spinelli's involvement in the heretofore unsuspected social whirl of Harbor View Towers. He played Mahjong on Thursday and took salsa lessons on Tuesday. Jason wondered what he did the other nights of the week that he didn't see Maxie.
He felt a pang of remorse that he never inquired into what Spinelli did with his free time. For that matter, he could have made it a point to spend some evenings with the kid, rescuing him from the company of the geriatric set. He knew how happy Spinelli would be to simply spend time with Jason outside of their work association.
So, Jason formed about his tenth resolution of the evening concerning an alteration in his relationship with Spinelli. Yet, until there were no more corpses to contend with, and the person or persons behind this grisly state of affairs had been made to pay, all plans were indefinitely on hold.
Once Brock and Mimi had entered their sedan and driven out of the garage, Jason half dragged and half carried Ian Donaldson over to the SUV. He was grateful for his foresight in getting supplies while he was at the Metro Court. He had gathered up every drop cloth and tarp that crossed his path. He had also gotten several rolls of duct tape and more rope. In addition, he had found a supply of bricks that he included in his haul. He didn't intend to have to search anymore in the darkness around the quarry for random stones to act as ballast.
With Donaldson safely wrapped up and stored away, Jason decided to once again head up to the penthouse. They had spent a lot of time dealing with the body in the elevator and he was uneasy considering what mayhem might have occurred in the penthouse while they had been gone.
"You should go, Stone Cold and the Jackal will stay with the vehicle to make sure no further complications arise."
Jason shook his head in negation, "Sorry, Spinelli, I don't care what happens down here-a dead body, a vehicle, they don't matter to me-you do. I don't want you out of my sight."
Spinelli was touched at Stone Cold's concern for his safety. For some peculiar reason, until Jason had pointed it out, he hadn't thought that the perpetrator was most likely still in the area and perhaps spying on them at this very instant. The idea sent chills up and down his spine. "Stone Cold is correct, the Jackal will go with him to act as back up, in case the evil doer is still in situ," he said magnanimously.
Jason's lips twitched. He understood that Spinelli's declaration was a cover for his sudden realization that they weren't just dealing with a multitude of corpses, but that they themselves might be targets as well. He regretted scaring the young man, but thought it was just as well if it induced caution in him and kept him where Jason could watch over him. "Thanks, let's go," he said heading for the elevators.
The ride up was a peaceful interlude for both of them. They were each beginning to feel the effects of such a rollercoaster evening, swinging between the somber effects of disposing of the bodies and the adrenalin rush of dealing with the unknown that seemed to lurk around every corner. Jason knew they couldn't go on like this indefinitely…
When the elevator doors opened, Jason motioned for Spinelli to stay back as he pulled out his gun and edged forward to look towards the penthouse entrance. When Jason tensed, Spinelli realized immediately that something else was wrong. It took every fiber of his self control to not start babbling questions and warnings at his mentor, and instead to just stay silent until Jason asked him to do something.
Jason sighed heavily and looked back at Spinelli, "It's another one," he said with quiet gravity.
"Where?" Spinelli asked incredulously, as he sidled up beside Jason and looked out at the penthouse door. Jason was right, it was another body, sitting with his legs out and his back up against the front door. The sheer brazenness of it was astounding.
They exited the elevator and walked towards their newest morbid visitor, while Jason constantly scanned the hall for signs of danger. Everything was quiet, most especially the dead man. This time even Spinelli recognized him, anyone living in Port Charles for the last six months and in possession of a television would have known him.
His name was William Fitzgerald and until recently, he had been a respected member of the upper echelons of Port Charles society. He was the president of a locally owned bank who had just been indicted on charges of fraud and embezzlement.
Ever since the FBI had arrested him at the bank, half a year ago, Fitzgerald had been all over the local news. It wasn't just the shock of a prominent member of the community being arrested and charged with stealing money from the bank's investors that caused such a public fascination with him. It had also been suggested that he had ties with one or more of the local criminal organizations and that he had laundered money for them.
He certainly had nothing to do with Jason's operation. He knew better then to place his funds in any American bank. It was rumored that Fitzgerald had worked for Anthony Zacchara. Yet, he had remained resolutely silent in the face of both the media, and the District Attorney's offer of a reduced sentence if he would turn state's evidence and testify against Zacchara. Jason presumed that it was more than likely, given what he knew of Zacchara's methods, that his family had been threatened if he said or did anything to compromise the Zacchara family concerns.
If Fitzgerald had been the lone corpse that he and Spinelli had stumbled across this evening, Jason would have readily believed it was a mob hit, and that Zacchara was trying to implicate him as the icing on the cake. Unfortunately, given the variety of victims, it was unlikely to be such a clear cut scenario as all that.
Fitzgerald was a tall middle aged man with iron gray hair and an affected van dyke beard. A broken pair of granny glasses dangled off one ear, indicative of a struggle. His left hand lay flaccidly across his lap and in the palm was a tiny clear bottle with a rubber flap across its neck. Leaning in more closely, Spinelli was able to read the miniscule print on the label of the bottle. "Insulin," he said in a hushed voice as he looked up at Jason wide eyed.
Jason simply shrugged his shoulders, not understanding the implications of what Spinelli had discovered. "Stone Cold," Spinelli tried to explain, "insulin is a hormone that regulates the sugar levels in our blood. Diabetics can't make insulin, so they inject it. If a healthy person is injected with insulin it drops their blood sugar levels so low that their entire system goes into shock and they die."
Jason's head spun, so far their killer had strangled, knifed, poisoned, and injected his victims with insulin. The list didn't even include Smith who had no overt cause of death to add to the inventory. He had no idea how to contend with a foe like this,
Jason was a simple shoot first and ask questions later kind of guy. That methodology had served him well over the years. Still, it had done nothing to prepare him to face a psychopathic madman with an unclear agenda and the facility to move in and out of his living space with complete ease.
Jason knew what he had to do next, he had to check the penthouse. He was conflicted about whether he should take Spinelli in with him or leave him with Fitzgerald. On the one hand, he dreaded having Spinelli out of his sight even for an instant. Yet, if the perpetrator was inside he could act more freely if he didn't have to worry about protecting his brother.
"Listen to me," he said having decided. "I want you to stay right over there," he pointed to a little alcove off to the side of the hall. "Stand with your back to the wall in the corner. If you see anyone or hear the elevator-you call for me as loud as you can. Is that clear?" He looked directly into Spinelli's eyes as he spoke, trying to convey confidence and a sense of security that he wasn't even sure was his to offer.
"Yes, Stone Cold." Spinelli replied mutedly, his usual effusiveness dampened under a continuous assault of fear and uncertainty. "The Jackal hopes that his Master will take care in his reconnaissance of the penthouse. If he should encounter any difficulties a simple summons will bring his trusty grasshopper rushing to his assistance…"
"I know that," Jason said gravely, as he turned to enter the penthouse. "I'll be right back."
Spinelli stood obediently in his corner waiting anxiously for Jason to return. He found there to be more sound in silence than he had ever imagined. Each beat of his heart was amplified tenfold and every breath he took sounded like the rasp of a pair of bellows. Five agonizing minutes passed which then stretched to ten, just as he was getting ready to disobey his mentor and go in pursuit of him, Jason stepped through the doorway.
"All clear," he said, his arms full of sheets that were obviously intended for Fitzgerald. "Let's wrap him up and get him down to the garage.
Together they picked up the mummified body and headed to the familiar stairwell. Spinelli no longer looked on the elevator as a possible transportation option, as usual Stone Cold had known best.
They made it down the stairs and out to the SUV without further incident. As they were loading Fitzgerald's body into the rear of the vehicle next to Donaldson, Jason looked up and froze. Spinelli followed his line of sight to the driver's seat and saw it too.
Closing his eyes in despair, he leaned against the SUV and thought, "It's endless, they're everywhere! This night will never be over, I will never walk into a room, an elevator car, a vehicle without finding a body slumped over or staring at me…"
Jason, stiff legged with fury, walked up to the front of the SUV and opened the door that had been securely locked when they had parked it here barely an hour ago. Reaching in, he grasped the hair of the head of the man slumped in the driver's seat and pulled him back from the steering wheel over which he had been slouched.
He instantly recognized the man as one of Karpov's bodyguards who seemed to accompany the Russian mob boss everywhere he went. He was relatively young, in his late twenties or early thirties. He had the squashed nose and cauliflower ears of a boxer or at least a bare knuckle street fighter.
Jason remembered him as a hulking presence, with barely restrained aggression emanating from him in waves. Now he was just a husk, a shell from which all animation had fled. He had been shot with a small caliber weapon, the entry wound over his left ear was clearly visible but there was no exit wound.
Jason blew his breath out in frustration, no matter what Spinelli and he did, the person tormenting them and killing these men was always ten steps ahead of them. He had no choice but to keep disposing of the bodies with Spinelli's help.
They obviously couldn't go to the police because they would lock them up and throw away the key. He couldn't involve anyone else from his organization because he couldn't trust that they hadn't been compromised. These murders were all over the map and that meant he could only rely on himself and Spinelli, period.
With resignation, he turned and walked to the back of the SUV where Spinelli was still slumped with his eyes closed while he muttered to himself. "Spinelli?" Jason queried tentatively. Spinelli's eyes flew open, the brilliant green overlaid with a shiny sheen of tears. "Can you give me a hand, it's another Russian and he's big…" Jason hoped if he treated the moving of yet another corpse as a regular chore rather than the gruesome act it was, they both might survive this evening.
"Certainly, Stone Cold," Spinelli said hoarsely. "Indeed the Russians are the largest by far of our various deceased visitors this evening. The Jackal can't help but ponder why that is, diet or genetics, it always comes back to nature versus nurture, doesn't it?" He faltered, turning his head away to wipe at the tears he was ashamed to be shedding in front of his stoic mentor.
Jason bit his lip, he couldn't remember the last time he wanted to hug anyone except Elizabeth or Jake. Right now he would have given anything to reach out to Spinelli and embrace him and tell him that everything was fine and that they would get through this. He knew better though, if he gave into his feelings-his pain, his sorrow, his fear; he would be unable to function, to do what needed to be done to ensure not only his and Spinelli's safety but their very survival.
So, instead, he reached out and grasped the young man's shoulder in a comforting grip, "Let's go then," he said gently.
Reluctantly, Spinelli followed Jason back to where the newest body sat staring vacantly out the windshield. He wasn't quite as big as the Slavic unknown but it was a close contest. This time Jason didn't waste any effort wrapping the corpse in a tarp. Together, breathing strenuously, they managed to heft him up and into the cargo bay, where he lay at an awkward angle across Donaldson and Fitzgerald. Jason slammed down the hatch with an air of finality. He was definitely getting rid of the SUV after tonight.
The drive out to the quarry was the grimmest one yet. Neither one said a word, the only sound came from the tires skimming along the tarmac. When they reached the water filled pit, they worked with a practiced efficiency that helped compensate for tired muscles and spiritual exhaustion. Jason hoped that the quarry was deep enough to absorb its sixth body of the evening. He would have to come back in the daytime to make sure they had left no tell tale signs to indicate what had happened.
He had hoped that Spinelli might again sleep on the way back to town. Yet, every time he looked over at him, he was simply sitting up staring straight ahead, lost in thoughts Jason didn't even want to guess at.
They arrived back at the Towers two hours after they left. They waited edgily for the arrival of the elevator and when the doors opened they peered in cautiously to ascertain it was empty. Sighing with relief, they stepped in and hit the button for the Penthouse level. Each was hoping that all the unpleasant surprises of the evening were behind them. Perhaps then they could get a few hours sleep before once again tackling the puzzling and unpleasant situation.
Jason took point upon arriving at the penthouse floor. As he, gun in hand, guardedly checked the hall in both directions, everything appeared quiet. He gestured for Spinelli to join him and they both turned towards the front door of their home. Jason checked the door knob, but it was still locked as he had left it. He pulled out his keys and opened the door. Stepping inside he felt for the light switch and clicked it on.
As Jason looked into the living room, a shocked gasp escaped his lips. He immediately turned back to try and prevent Spinelli from seeing, but it was too late. Spinelli took one look at the ghoulish tableau and felt his knees buckle while a merciful darkness rushed up to greet him as he crumpled to the floor senseless.
A/N Reviews and perceptions are appreciated