Mike Visits Sonny in Jail

General Hospital. September 9, 1999. Sonny has been arrested by the F.B.I. Mike visits him at the PCPD jail. Sonny is sitting at a table, wearing prison blues, with his hands shackled to the table. Mike is let into the room and stands across the table from Sonny.

Sonny: Don't look so serious, Pop. Nobody died. We've spent quality time here before.

Mike: Yeah. Yeah, that's true and I know how much you hate being in a place where the chef knows nothing about seasonings.

Sonny: You got that right. (Shifts in his chair) Have a seat.

Mike: (Sits down at table, worried look) So, Michael. What happened?

Sonny: I was having an amicable meeting with a coffee supplier when three extremely rude gentlemen from the F.B.I. decided to crash it. I guess I can kiss that account good-bye.

Mike: The F.B.I.?

Sonny: Yeah.

Mike: Well, Taggert's one thing. I mean, he marks the change of seasons by hauling you down here. But the Feds?

Sonny: I don't know what they got in mind, but it better damn well include a bail hearing. Meanwhile, my attorney is hard at work making sure they regret their mistake.

Mike: Mistake?

Sonny: Mm-hmm.

Mike: So, whatever this is about, you're pretty sure that you can beat it?

Sonny: The alternative being?

(Next Scene)

Sonny: Have you heard from the F.B.I.?

Mike: No, no. Maybe somebody told them that I'm always the last one to have a clue about what's going on with you.

Sonny: See? You complain, but now you see why I don't let you butt into my business.

Mike: Look, I don't mean to be nosy, but could you at least tell me what you're charged with? Or do I have to read about that in the paper too?

Sonny: We may all have to read about this whole, you know, apparently that soufflé is still in the oven. They're stalling the initial appearance. Don't ask me why, since practically speaking, it doesn't make much difference to me. (Mike gets a worried look on his face) What, Mike? That shocks you?

Mike: (Leans over and whispers) What are you going to do?

Sonny: About what?

Mike: I know how hard it is for you to be locked up in a cell (referring to Sonny’s claustrophobia).

Sonny: Well, who wouldn't it be hard for, Mike?

Mike: Look, I'm just asking how you're doing.

Sonny: I'm fine. You know, until somebody makes me think about it. (Getting angry).

Mike: (Holds his hands out) Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Michael.

Sonny: You know what helps me? Thinking about the lawsuit I'm going to file when this is over.

Mike: So you think they're just blowing smoke? I mean, there's no evidence?

Sonny: Don't . . . Mike. Don't go mixing into all that. Suffice it to say I got my own attorney, okay?

Mike: Yeah, well, a hell of a lot of good she's doing you right now.

Sonny: You know . . . (frustrated)

Mike: All right.

Sonny: Whatever. (Shifting in chair, restless and tense)

Mike: Look, I'm sure that if they do set bail, you'll . . . well, you'll probably turn it down. I mean, after all, being in the lockup is . . . it's a lot easier to deal with than your old man (laughs, trying to ease the tension).

Sonny: That I will not do, Pop. Can . . . can you imagine I finally discovered something more intolerable than my old man? (They both laugh, then Sonny lets out a big sigh) Ah, boy.

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