Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: AC for language, Sk/Co-ish, gen
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the characters.
Summary: Family ties can choke...and yet sometimes, they're all you have.
Note: Coleman Radcliff. Kyle Radcliff. Coincidence? I think not!
His brother's boy had sex on the Internet with the police commissioner's
hot little daughter.
When he heard that, he toasted, with a shot of his best top shelf whiskey, to another generation of fucked-up Radcliffs.
"To Kyle, may you own a chain of titty bars and have a liver transplant
before you're thirty."
He's not allowed to see Kyle, but he remembers the kid as a heartbreaker. Big blue eyes and a mouth that would rake in bucks in back
alleys if he ever ran away to Chelsea. Of course, given recent girl-related events, that ain't happening. And Kira, the eight-year-old...he remembers when she was two and he was still invited to Christmas dinner. She hugged his leg and called him "Uncole" and he didn't even mind because he fell in love on the spot.
But then his high-and-mighty big bro' decided that he couldn't let his
family associate with a 'small-time hood.' A 'pimp' ('hey, I ain't never sold a girl on a street corner!'). He instructed Kyle to forget about the annual boys' trip to a Yankees game and told his wife, Sheila, to start screening their calls.
Never mind that Austin Radcliff the Third trades souls every day on the
New York Stock Exchange and thinks catting around on Sheila is as acceptable as golf on the weekends ...suddenly their mama only gave birth to one son.
And according to the talk around town, that one son's son, the most
popular senior in PC High's class of 2004, ain't particularly bright...given his hard-on for exhibitionism with underage girls and what might be an addiction to prescription drugs. Yep, the word is that Kyle's future is getting snorted up his nose and killing whatever brain cells he has left.
Oh, yeah. Coleman is so fucking proud.
Their mama was a high society deb...white gown and curtsies and all. She died choking on her pearls. Their daddy tried to wash them down her throat with bourbon and when that didn't work, Daddy finished off the bottle and followed her to the grave.
Austin, when he lowers himself to call, likes to say Cole drove 'em to it.
He likes to say 'fuck you' and slam the phone down.
Next time Big Bro' rings up, he gets to laugh. A lot. And maybe he'll tell him that around nine years ago, darling Sheila got a little sick of her precious hubby's extracurricular activities...and Kira might just have her Uncole's eyes.
Sometimes...sometimes he wonders what Skye would say if she knew he was one of the Uptown Radcliffs. If she knew that all his talk about getting society connections and using her to network was total bullshit. Would she slap him if she knew all he'd really wanted was to meet Austin's eyes across the Quartermaine parlor and smirk? To show up his brother with the gorgeous redhead on his arm? To prove that any shade of slime could walk in that world?
Of course...that's not all he wanted. Not all he wants.
He ain't so bright himself.
He might've actually loved her.
He toasts himself with his top shelf whiskey, too.
The group of teenagers congregating outside the doors of Kelly's is enough to make him veer off course, speed his way towards the docks. A sexy blond, a cute little brunette and their flock of boys. He knows, without glancing back, that wherever Maximum Maxie is, the Honorable Kyle probably is, too.
They're still together. And no drugs have been moving around in that circle for a few days. He doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign, but either way, he hasn't had the chance to drop a dime and chat with Kyle's daddy. Not with loan sharks on his tail and creepy Greek guys calling him up for favors.
Oh, yeah. He's a lucky son-of-a-bitch. His market is always on the rise. There's always a demand for his stock.
Skye dumped his sorry ass when she woke up and realized she could do better.
Why his nephew is still getting laid...must be one of those damned perks of being young and built like a swimmer.
He sighs, knowing he's got a 2 o'clock date with the Spoon Island ferry and ten minutes to get there. He'd rather be anywhere else... preferably engaging in a little recreational boozing...but if Mickey Five Hands doesn't get the second half of his payment, there won't be a top shelf to grab the bottles from.
Mickey Five Hands got his name because of the five hands he sent to their owner's. In a nicely-wrapped gift box.
He's kind of fond of his hands. Especially since he can jerk off with them both. He's ambidextrous. Austin is left-handed. According to Sheila (and a few of the girls in the business), he can barely find his own nuts in the dark much less give anyone else a good time.
Whatever talent Kyle has must come from an entire different branch of the Radcliff family. His branch.
Fuck-ups of the world unite.
At least they're blessed in all *kinds* of fucking. Be it up, down, or sideways. And 'over'. There's always 'over.'
Coleman's brilliant at fucking people over.
And he has seven minutes to get to the ferry...
"Hey..." The voice is young but puffed up. Like somebody trying to order a beer knowing they're under. Or like somebody who just ran to catch up with him.
"Yeah?" He turns, slowly, and knows even before the step is complete that all his private crowing about young Kyle's downfall is about to stare him in the face. "What?"
"Um..." The eyes are still blue...and the blue is the only bright thing about them. The mouth...well, the kid really can make a fortune in cocksucking if he so chooses. "You're...you're Coleman, right?"
"Says so on my birth certificate." He doesn't crack a smile. Maybe... maybe if the kid recognized him, he would smile. But he doesn't... and he can't.
"I've...uh...heard that you can get stuff."
He's seen twinkle lights shinier than the esteemed next generation of Radcliff man. If he weren't so fucking depressed about the kid getting laid more than him, it would be funny.
He's now dealt with men who use words like 'procure'. 'Get stuff' just doesn't cut it. Especially not from his own stupid-ass nephew.
"You're an idiot," he says, abruptly.
"Hey...!" Kyle is wounded. His lower lip trembles just a little. Now, that's pure Austin. Always about to bawl before he got his face shoved into the playground dirt. "I just want to get hooked up, Man."
"You don't have a *clue* what you want." Coleman shakes his head as he walks on. Faster. Before he can say 'Tell Kira I miss her' and explode the kid's brain. Five minutes to catch the ferry now.
It's years too late to catch a Yankees game.
"To me... may I keep all my hair, and my hands... and never spawn a moron who'd do lines of aspirin if you told him to."
The Crown Royal goes down smooth, with a warm glow at the back of his throat. And he pretends he doesn't want a son. A daughter. A gorgeous redheaded wife to come home to (fuck golf).
He's so fucking proud.
September 4, 2003.