Chp 4-Stoner Alley
I do not own General Hospital or Sentinel, all rights go to their owners.
A/N: Congratulations to suerum, who totally decoded my story and summarized the (yet to written) end. Thanks for reviewing!
Spinelli fidgeted for a few minutes as Blair moved on to expound about the benefits of healthy eating, which Jim apparently did not comprehend. I don't blame him, he thought idly. Neither do I. He was starting to regret the development with Blair. Obviously they couldn't be friends-once Blair caught wind of the fact that he was close in association with the "criminal" Jason Morgan and the crime master Sonny Corinthos, Blair would want nothing to do with him. And worse, any slip up he made could be detrimental to his mentor or the organization. He shifted in his seat. Tonight he had not planned to stay coherent. That idea had a certain appeal now-he'd been clean for a few months, much to his chagrin. His hands trembled in expectation at the very thought of cargo from the drug express. Staring at his orange soda, the glazed surface reflecting the lights, he waited for a pause in his friend's monologue.
When it came, he quickly excused himself, too dazed to pay attention to his friend's curious glance. Rushing through the aisle between tables and booths he hurried out the door and turned towards the side alley. Finally concealed in the cozy interior of the narrow passage he leaned against the wall and rummaged in his pocket. The fixing's were there, salvaged from under his mattress back at home. Not my home now, he reminded himself, lighting up.
Just then there were heavy footsteps on the street outside. Shoot, he thought. That must be Blair. But he didn't have the energy to put it out and try to explain himself. He took another puff.
Then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder, making him cringe away.
"Got something good there, boy?" Asked a gruff voice. Spinelli's first thought was that it was Jason. That would be terrible-first of all, he'd left and now- but Jason wouldn't do that. He would be disappointed; he would lecture Spinelli, grab him by the shirt and tell him that he was important and shouldn't do this to himself. Even Jason, though, with his rough ways knew better than to march up and scare him like that, with all he'd been through-
Wincing, he tried to focus on the person's face, but it was too dark and his bangs had fallen into his eyes. Spinelli passed the hand with the joint behind him, still wary of giving it up lest he waste some unnecessarily. He gave a dirty look anyway, hoping to intimidate them and make them less aware of their control. There was no way to pass them to the safety beyond and the alley was seeming more like a prison, a dead end, then the comfortable hide-out of a few moments before. Trying to twist out of their grasp he felt a lump of fear build in his throat.
"Let go! Let go, let go, let go, let go, let go, let go…." His voice rose in pitch and volume as hysteria took over him. He felt his mouth go dry and his breath bursting out in short gasps. Abruptly the hand let go and he saw the figure back away as he bent over wheezing and feeling faint. There was a silence for a moment before he looked up and saw that the man had stepped several steps away, palms outstretched in a submissive gesture, though he was still blocking the exit.
"Whoa, kid. its okay, relax, don't mean any harm here." He reached out a hand towards the kid and saw him seize up apprehension. Immediately he dropped his arm down by his side again and knelt beside the doubled over youth. "Sorry, sorry. I won't touch you. You just might want to put that out, it's going to burn your leg," He gestured to the butt still burning in the other's tightly clutched hands, which were resting on his knees.
Spinelli dropped it to the ground, where it sizzled for a second and then expired on the damp concrete. Great, that's the way to do it. Just have a panic attack and the hoodlums and ghosts back off. He tried to laugh but choked, coughing again and burying his head in his hands. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for two guys, Blair Sandburg and Spinelli-, well, um Spinelli something. Any idea who I'm talking about?"
Spinelli chuckled at the irony of the situation and mumbled, Almost killed one just now, big guy.
"What was that?" asked the guy, giving him a funny look. Spinelli froze, had he heard him.
"Nothin'. Haven't seen any Spu-Spu-Spanoodle's tonight…" he faded off, feighning being stoned and collapsing back against the bricks. "Sorry," he slurred, sitting down with his feet up, grinning goofily and reaching into his pocket again. He waited for the receding footsteps signifying that the guy bought his act, but heard the stranger pause. Something warm and fuzzy was dropped into his lap, and then the intruder turned away, sighing and leaving. When he opened his eyes, he found the person's thick jacket sitting on his lap.
Jason was starting to get desperate. Nobody he'd called had any idea where the kid had gone, he'd looked for over an hour, and he was starting to worry that Spinelli was gone for good, disappeared off the planet. He marched into the sleazy bar, half-hoping to find his prodigy strewn across a stool and drunk enough to see sense, but also wishing that Spinelli would avoid a place like this at all costs. The mobster scanned the small perimeter, not finding what he looked for. A few guys laughing and talking in the corner, soused fulfilling their daily requirement, a grim bartender- a guy drinking orange soda but not his guy, so to speak. He remembered Jim and considered the patrons, but none of them fit the description.
He strolled over to the bartender, shifting the collar of his leather jacket on his neck. Where was the kid? He leaned on the counter, fixing a penetrating glare at the bartender.
"Seen two guys, short, brown hair, in their early 20s, probably getting smashed?" he interrogated intently. The guy frowned and gave him an ugly look.
"Who's asking?" Without hesitation, Jason leaned forward farther, as if to tell as secret.
"Listen, I'm Jim Ellison from over at the station. It's a tricky case; we're trying to bust some drug stuff…" He checked to see if the guy was buying it.
"Well…" the person paused. "I'd like to see an I.D. We keep a strict anonymity policy in this bar. Do you have a warrant to search the building?" Jason sighed, pushing off of the counter. The supposed dud had his act together.
"You know what, I'll come back later. They've probably moved on already, could be halfway to Mexico by now." He pushed off the counter and swung around, heading out the door into the frigid evening air. Jim was standing; arm's crossed, looking out at the sky.
"Any luck?" he asked.
"Nah couldn't get much out of him. I think we're on the right trail though. You see anything suspicious?"
"Just a stoner, that's where that strong smell was coming from."
It was only when they were in the "Mob mobile" again that Jason realized Jim no longer had his coat.
A/N: A little confusing, but it's all explained in the next chapter.