Here's a picture of the leading male character, Jack (Tom Welling):
Chapter One For most of my life, the only name I had was Jack. Simple, plain, Jack. No middle name. No last name. And for seventeen years of my life that's how I liked it. That's what was familiar to me. But once I found out that I had a middle name and a last name, it seemed my entire world had been turned upside down. I guess it just wasn't the name that had changed, I changed along with it. I guess the best way for you to understand, is to hear my story from the beginning, and that's where I'll start.
Boston Massachusetts. That's where I had been born. Or at least I thought I was born there. Well, actually I really don't know where I was brought into the world, but I do know that when I was a month old that's where I had been dumped at. I was left at some crappy adoption home, with a whole bunch of other kids.
I hated that place. I hated the cold floors. The used toys. The tasteless food and the hammy down clothes that were too big for me. I hated watching kids getting taken away by these warm faces, who scooped them up and told them how much they loved them.
There was only one thing I liked about the place. There's only one good memory I have of it. I met my bestfriend. When I was eight years old I remember walking into the playroom and seeing this tall, gangly, nine year old standing up on the table and shouting out to everyone in the room. "I'll sell ya my, juice box and cookies for two dollars! Who wants it?!" he shouted. "I've got two dollars, do I see two dollars, fifty cents?"
His name was Tom. He had been at the adoption home longer then I had. He had this sandy blonde hair and freckles. I was happy to have a friend, and he didn't have any so eventually we were like two peas in a pod. He called me his partner in crime. As a matter of fact, for quite some time I was. The two of us were unseperable. Of course until that one day. One day I won't forget.
I was twelve years old, when a happy looking pair entered the adoption home. They kept scanning all of us kids, something I had gotten quite accustom to. I remember Tom standing real close to me, as the woman kept pointing to him. And then before I knew it, Tom had to pack his bag and leave.
Before Tom left his spot on the bottom bunk where he slept, he gave me one last hug. "We'll always be best friends." he said. "And I promise we'll see each other again"
I nodded my head, watching as he left with his friendly looking new parents. I remember I laid on the top bunk that night staring up at the ceiling. I didn't cry. In fact for seventeen years of my life I don't think I had cried a single time, not counting when I was born. Instead I was hurt, and a little angry. Why didn't anyone take me? Why didn't anyone want me?
And that's when I made a decision. That's when I rolled off of my bed and yanked my pillow case off and filled it with a few shirts and a pair of jeans. I slipped on my heavy brown boots and laced them up the best I could. I grabbed my oversized black jacket and a flashlight from under my mattress. In my time at the adoption home I had collected some money, thirty-four dollars and fifty-eight cents. Shoving it into my pocket I quickly headed toward the bathroom.
Breaking open the window I climbed out and ran for my life.
I never turned my head back. Never even thought of it. And no one ever found me. I remember hearing people call my name, but I kept running. The rain was pouring down, soaking my dark brown hair and clothes, but I didn't stop. I passed through ally ways I didn't know existed. I found people standing on the street keeping warm from bonfires inside rusty metal trashcans. I saw shady looking people getting shoved into police cars and homeless men and woman sitting on the street.
Too be honest, I wasn't afraid of the night life. I wasn't afraid of the people of Boston. In fact when I was a kid I had this amazing quality, it was called being fearless. I guess I would find in the years to come, I was afraid of a lot more things then a thought.
So there I was, a twelve year old, stummbling around Boston alone, with a pillow case and thirty-four dollars. That's when I spotted a building with lights on. It didn't look like a office building. In fact it looked like an okay place to stay. So I found myself walking inside. Within seconds I was greeted by a round, african american woman, in a pink sweater.
"Can I help you baby?" she asked me.
For a moment I just looked at her a little confused. In fact I didn't even bother to open my mouth. Then finally I forced myself to. "I-I'm looking for somewhere to stay"
She looked at me curiously. I could tell she wanted to ask where my parents were. I knew I would end back up at the adoption home. But she suprised me instead. "There's an empty room upstairs with your name on it, honey"
And for the next five years that room, was indeed mine. There were five rooms being rented out in that house and six people living in them. And for five years those people felt like some sort of weird family.
I started every morning rolling off of the tattered matress inside the room and throwing on a pair of jeans. Slipping on my black boots and a jacket I headed out. "Morning, baby, you want breakfast?" Mrs. Harris would ask. I had told her my real name about after a week of staying there and had asked her numerous times to stop calling me baby. She never stopped.
"No thanks Mrs. Harris. I'm gonna be late for work" I said.
"You just a boy, you shouldn't be working" she grummbled. She shook a finger at me. "You better not be working with that shady Max fella. I don't like him one bit."
I gave a small smile. "I'll be back for dinner" I told her.
"Good, cause I be spectin' ya home" she said. "We be having lamb for dinner"
After Mrs. Harris had told me what was for supper that evening, I left the building and found myself out on the cement sidewalk. Usually it was overcast skys, the sun fighting to break through the thick clouds, and when it did barely gave a pale light on us Bostonians. I wrapped my jacket tight around me and weaved my way through people. I walked five blocks, until I reached a place call Joe's Auto Mechanics. It was some little garage that looked more like a dump.
"Glad ta see ya show up for work" Joe greeted in his thick Boston accent. He wore a worn blue jumpsuit and was always wiping his hands on a dirty red rag, even though no matter how hard he tried they were black with grease. It was all over his face as well.
"Morning Joe" I said. "What do you need me to do?"
"What do I need ya ta do?" he repeated dramatically. "I need ya to get workin' on that engine to Mr. Capelli's car"
"Will do" I told him heading over to the work bench the engine was on. Joe Zimbino used to be a big name in the Boston mafia. He worked as a hit man for Pepper Cortaveli, until he was caught stealing from the mob boss himself. Now he just worked on cars and bikes in some crappy old garage with a spanish speaking lation named, Roberto and me, the cocky seventeen year old kid, as he called me. In fact most of the cars we worked on were those of Boston's mob bosses and because of that little factor, I found myself getting into things I maybe shouldn't have been in.
"Hey, Roberto, how's your spousa?" I asked him as I worked on the engine.
Slowly Roberto slid out from under a car, in his blue jumpsuit with a red bandana tied on his bald head. There was a tattoo of the virgin mary on his right arm and he had a little goatee coming down his chin. "Bien" he answered as he grabbed a wrench.
"That's good. What about . . . what about pequinto Roberto?" I asked trying to speak the best spanish I could.
"Bien" he answered again.
"Hey! Dumb and dumber! I don't pay you two ta talk!" Joe yelled at us.
Roberto looked at Joe strangely, obviously unaware of what he was saying. Joe angrily glared at him. "Stupido! You stupido! Go to work!"
Roberto got it this time and quickly slid back under the car he had been working on. Joe quickly snapped his head over in my direction. "Hey! What are you doing?!"
"Nothing" I answered.
"Exactly! So go back to work!" he screamed angrily. Grabbing my wrench I turned back to the engine as Joe started to mummble to himself. "What do I got myself here? A fuckin' lawn mower and a cocky shit kid . . . ya screwed it up, Joey. Ya screwed it up."
My shift was from seven o'clock in the morning to two o'clock in the afternoon. I got to listen to seven hours of Joey's angry yelling and whining for seven days a week. Then when I left I got to hear even more anger spat from his mouth. "Where the hell you going? There's work ta be done here kid. Just cause your shift is over don't mean your done. You keep that up, you never get through life."
"I got other business to attend to" I told him.
Joe's face expression changed and he nodded his head. "You meeting that Giambetti guy again?"
"I'll see you tomorrow" I said to him.
"That's right you see me tomorrow! And you better be one time, ya little smart ass punk!" he screamed as I slammed the door behind me. "Roberto! Get your brown ass back to work!"
Once leaving the hot, smelly garage, I lifted the worn and faded Boston Red Sox's hat off of my head and wiped my sweaty forehead. My nearly black hair, was stuck to it from the wetness and I slowly set my hat back onto my head. Shoving my hands into my pockets I took my time striding down the street. So far I had made twenty-eight dollars today. Joe paid me and Roberto four dollars an hour, and working forty-nine hours a week I would eventually have one hundred, ninety-six bucks to add to the tin can in my sock drawer.
After about five minutes, I found myself standing in an empty warehouse. It was full of crates and empty cardboard boxes. I paced back and forth in the empty room. There wasn't anything to really look at except the four matching concrete walls. Then suddenly I heard a familiar voice. "Jack." the cold tone said. I jumped a little not expecting anyone to be behind me. I slowly turned around.
"Max, you startled me" I breathed out.
"Sorry" he apologized. He slowly walked toward me. He wore an expensive black suit with a pale green tie. His shoes were worth more money then my entire wardrobe. He gave a sleek smile. "So what have you been up to?"
"Nothing" I answered. "Just the same old stuff. Working a shift down at Joe Zimbino's and taking night classes down at Franklin High School."
"I don't know why you're even bothering to get a degree" Max said shaking his head.
"Because there's more to life then the mob and if I want a chance at a normal lifestyle, I need to graduate from high school" I told him.
Max sighed. "Going to school doesn't get you paid"
"But it might one day" I said.
"One day, but today, I'm the one whose putting money in your pocket" he told me as he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a white envelope and handed it to me. "Five hundred dollars for the past two months"
My eyes widened. I slowly opened up the envelope to find five
perfectly crisp, one hundred dollar bills. I slid the money into my jeans pocket. "Thanks" I said.
Max raised his eyebrows. "You've done a good job for me Jack, but I think it's time you've moved onto something bigger." he said. "It's time you made your mark on the business. I want to promote you"
"To what?" I asked.
"To a hitman" he told me.
"A hitman?" I repeated my eyes widening. "Max, I may own a gun but
I've never killed a man. Those are two completely different things. I deliver packages and make deals. I lie and steal. But I've never killed."
"And that's all about to change" he said. "You want to make it big? You want to make money? You want a life outside of the shit hole you live in? This is how you do it. You kill Jason Morgan"
"Jason Morgan?" I repeated. "Who the hell is he?"
"Another hitman in Port Charles, New York." he answered.
"Max are you sure I'm ready?" I asked. "What if I get caught?"
"Have you gotten caught before?"
"No." I answered. "But that was stealing and-"
"It's not different. You're just taking a step farther. Instead of sneaking around to get what you want you're doing it up front. You're killing the person instead of just threatening to. And you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, they'll kill you instead" he answered.
I tried to keep my heart from racing. I felt goose bumps crawling up my arms. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. My hands were starting to shake. Slowly Max continued. "And if you do this. If you can kill Jason, there's a reward. For two thousand dollars."
My eyes widened. "And there's more where that came from. You do this, you will become my professinal hit man. You will be the biggest name in the mob." he told me. I was still speechless. I think Max knew I was too. "If you decide this is what you want, get to Port Charles in the next week. If Jason isn't dead by Friday I'll assume you're out. If you need an extension once in New York, call me. But if you decide to stay here . . . I wish you all the luck. And hope you make it big at Joe's place."
With that Max, slowly turned on his heel and left. I listened to the door slam behind him and heard the silence ringing in my ears. I just stood in the warehouse for a moment. Was Max serious? I had seven days to decide my future? Continue living in a shit hole and work for an jack ass or take a risk, kill a man,and make money I've only dreamed of.
After leaving the warehouse, I had continued down the street. It was nearly five in the evening as I recall and at this time I passed a small little house on 42nd street. I can still remember that place. The scent. The sounds. Sitting on the front porch in an old wooden rocking chair was James Hallaway. "Jack. Come and sit with me." he would say that every day as I passed.
"I've got to get going, Mr. Hallaway" I said to the old man. Sometimes he would let me go if I was lucky, but most times he'd shake his head.
"No, you come and sit down. You need to respect your elders for one goddamn minute"
Almost always I'd give in. Pushing open the gate of the picket fence, that's white paint was peeling off of the wood, Mrs. Jane Hallaway came out. "Oh Jack dear" she'd smile. "I'm glad you're here. I just made some cookies and lemonade"
"Really, I can't Mrs. Hallaway, I'm gonna eat dinner in-"
"None sense. You're here, so you might as well eat" she said before going inside. I sighed as I sat across from old Jimmy on the rusty metal chair.
"So what have you been doing?" Jimmy asked me.
"Working. Going to school." I told him.
"When I was your age, I was being drafted for World War II" he grummbled. "I left home when I was eighteen and went to go take down some goddamn Nazis bastards!"
"James Hallaway!" Jane scolded angrily as she set down the tray of cookies on the wooden barrel. She handed me a glass of lemonade as she glared at her husband. "You know I don't like that foul language."
"Oh for god sakes woman, I'm nearly eighty years old and I'll say whatever the f-"
"Thanks for the lemonade Mrs. Hallway" I said butting in.
"Oh it's my pleasure, Jack." she said with a warm smile. "You know, me and Jimmy don't get any visitors anymore. But you know, you never know when our son and his family will stop by."
"You've been saying that for twelve years. Face it, the boys not coming" Jimmy growled.
"You don't know that. That's why I have old Cody Jacobs go to the store for us. We never know when we're gonna miss them"
Poor Mrs. Hallaway, was convinced that there son Roger and his wife Diana and two kids Sara and Jordan were going to come knocking on the door any day. Unfortunately it hadn't happened. And I didn't suspect if ever would. It kind of made me mad. This Roger guy, had two great parents who obviously loved him to death and never showed up for one visit.
"You know, maybe when it gets warmer I'll re-paint that fence for you guys" I said to Jimmy and Jane.
"The goddamn fence isn't the only thing that needs fixing around here" Jimmy said bitterly.
"Well, one of these days I'll get around to fixing this place up." I told them.
"Yeah and one day Roger is going to show up" Jimmy grummbled.
I gave a small smile. I grabbed a cookie from the plate and drank down the last of my lemonade. "Thanks Mrs. Hallway." I said. "I'll see you later Jimmy"
"Damn right you'll see me later. You drink my damn lemonade, and eat my cookies, you better be sure to come back." he told me as I left.
When I reached my building, I pushed open the heavy red door and made my way inside. "You're late for dinner!" Mrs. Harris yelled at me. I could hear her from the kitchen and slowly made my way inside. She was serving the five people who sat at the long table, and shifted her eyes up to me. "Where were you?"
"Work" I answered as I took my seat inbetween Ben Miller and Mr. Peters. Ben was a guy in his late twenty's, had this Lincoln like beard, and always wore a Boston Red Sox's t-shirt. Oh and did I mention, Ben was a crack addict? Yeah, every once in awhile I'd catch him in his room. But don't get me wrong, Ben was a great guy otherwise.
Mr. Peters, who always sat on the right side of me was this old school teacher. He had to be near his mid sixties. Always wore some sweater and had this gray slicked back hair. You could hear classical music coming from his room during mid-day and he was always reading some old dusty book. Every once in awhile he'd help me with my school work, or invite me into his room and teach me something new. The guy was really smart.
Across from me were three other people. One of them was Sara Samms. She was another twenty-some year old living in the house. She worked at Starbucks, working to get an art degree. She wasn't too bad, but way too old for me. She was always doing anything to be a pain in Ben's ass. Most of the time she succeeded.
Next to Sara was Mrs. Johnson. She was the cute old lady with curly gray hair. She seemed like the perfect little grandma you wanted to squeeze. Then again that all changed when she pulled out her liquor bottle and started cussing up a storm. That's what I loved about the people I lived with, they were so unpredictable.
On the other side of Sara was the only normal person in the house.
Her name was Kathy Dorado. She was this round woman, with glasses, and red hair. She was probably in her thirties, and was very single.
She worked as a teller at the bank, and was always so nice. She didn't drink, didn't do drugs, didn't even curse. Too be honest I didn't even know why she lived at the house with all of us. She was like the weird step-child who didn't fit in.
"Hey, Ben" Sara said looking up from her plate. "The cops stopped by today. They were looking for you."
Ben's eyes widened. "What did they want? They want my stash?" he asked quickly. He was always really paranoid. The drugs pretty much had him wired all the time.
"What else do you think they want Benny? You're brains?" Mrs. Harris asked as she took her seat at the head of the table.
"What did you tell him?" Ben asked nervously.
"I told them that you weren't home and that they should come back tomorrow. I suggested they bring some dogs with them too-"
"You bitch!" Ben yelled at her. "You're such a goddamn-"
"Please lower your voices" Kathy asked softly. I could barely hear her which made me assumed Ben and Sara couldn't either.
"Hey guys, cool it." I said to Ben and Sara. Sara was now laughing uncontrollably and Ben was grinding his teeth.
"How about a poem?" Mr. Peters suggested.
"Oh Larry, no one wants to hear one of your faggot poems" Mrs. Johnson told him as she pulled out the small liquior bottle from her sweater pocket. She started to pour some into her coffee as Sara burst out into laughter.
"Larry are you gay?" Sara asked.
"Mr. Peters has a real name?" I heard Ben whisper to himself.
"I am not gay!" he shouted.
"Right,and Kathy smokes pot" Mrs. Johnson snickered.
Ben reached out his hand and gave Mrs. Johnson a high five. "Hey can I have some of that?" he asked pointing to her tiny bottle of liquor.
"Help yourself" she encouraged. "Anybody else want some? Jack?"
"Not thanks Mrs. Johnson" I said.
"Oh, I've got a question" Mrs. Harris said. "Who the hell keeps drinking all the damn budweiser? I went to have one can last night and-"
"Sorry" Sara apologized. "I had a few guests over."
"You know the damn rules about guests. Supply them your own damn beer" Mrs. Harris scolded.
"Kathy, how was your day?" I asked as she picked at her food.
"It was fine, thank you for asking"
"Yo, Kathy, when was the last time you were laid?" Ben asked.
I smacked him in the back of the head and he smacked me back. Sara quickly took some of her food and flicked it at him. "You're such a dick" she spat at him.
"Don't call me a dick!" Ben shouted grabbing an even larger handful of food and tossing it at her.
"Please, don't fight" Kathy begged.
Before I knew it, food was starting to fly across the table. Sara had hit Mrs. Harris with a piece of lamb, and she was immediately in the middle of it. Following was Mr. Peters who got hit by Ben, and lastly I decided to join in. Kathy stayed sitted, sheilding her face and hair when suddenly a loud gun shot made us all stop.
Looking up we saw smoke, flying out of Mrs. Johnson's pistol. "Sit down, so I can enjoy my goddamn meal!" she shouted. We all went silent quickly going back to our dinners.
Most nights after dinner, I changed out of my work clothes, and headed to Franklin High School. I was taken some night courses, and was close to getting my degree. But tonight was different. I had a lot on my mind. There was no point to going to class, since I wouldn't really be able to focus. So instead I laid on my bed staring at the ceiling. Too many questions raced through my mind. Could I really kill a man? Did I really want to leave Boston?
I rolled off of my bed and decided to go to the one person who seemed to always have the answer. Walking out of my room, I headed down the hall and pounded on the door on the other side of Kathy's.
"Jack?" Mr. Peters said. "Why aren't you at class?"
"Too much on my mind." I answered. "I was hoping we could talk."
"Of course." he said. "Come in"
As he opened the door wider, I slowly headed inside. "So what do you need?" he asked as the door clicked behind him.
"Well . . . advice mostly." I answered.
"I think that's something I can give you"
"That's good to hear." I said as I took a seat down on his bed. He slowly moved to the arm chair directly across it and looked to me.
"So what's the problem?"
"Well . . . I just got a job offer." I answered. "And I'm not sure if it's what I want to do."
"Well, you're going to be the one doing it, so the only person to make that decision is yourself." he told me.
"You're right . . . but you see this is a big opportunity. I could finally get my life going. I could get money and get out of here." I said and slowly let out a sigh. "I'm just not so sure I want to. This is my home. This is where I've grown up."
Mr. Peters nodded his head, obviously pondering the thought. "You see this fish?" he asked.
I nodded my head, my eyes roaming over to the round fish bowl, seated on the small stand next to him. "Yes"
"For this fish to get bigger, it must move to a larger tank." he told me. "But if he stays here, in this tiny bowl, he'll stay the same size."
Here's another picture of Max Giambetti, who will become a bigger part of the story later on. 
