Dominic Hughes - News Archives 2004
See also: Damon Porter

Chop Chop, Bang Bang

November 1, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

So there they were, Phyllis Summers and "Brother" Dominic Hughes staring down a rather historic moment amidst the sputtering orgy that is what passes for crime in Genoa City. For those paying any sort of attention it was a wish a white-hot death upon Summers moment for just about every word that spewed from her lips was a mockish attempt to defend the hideous little war she helped create. As she hurled snide little invectives and exaggerations at Hughes; calling him a "bastard" and a "liar" and swearing that he'd be going back to prison and would "pay" for what he had done, Hughes slapped her around. The more she honked the more she got slapped all while Hughes kept asking what she was doing there.

Summers ranted on that she'd come to give him hush money from Damon Porter as a token of Porter's guilt for beating up on a man who had obviously been born-again. But since she'd heard Hughes talking with "Fuzzy", his partner in crime, and how they planned to holdup the 7-11, Summers was dead set on restoring Porter's self-respect.

Torture Chambers bounced off Summers like smears on a political candidate but when Hughes called her a "bitch" that was it!

"You have no idea who you're talking to," she snarled, warning Hughes to watch out because she's one bad bitch who knows a little something about murder and running down people with rented cars.

The thought of Summers whipping him with arrogance and ever increasing irrelevance turned Hughes on. C'mon baby, "show me how bad you are" he taunted as Summers screeched that if he touched her she'd scream so loud it would blow out the cheap motel windows.

When Hughes pulled out his rod, no, not that one, Summers freaked.

"You can't have a gun. You're on parole!" she actually said, causing Hughes to laugh along with the rest of those listening to Summers' dribble and wondering why exactly, for a woman with a criminal background, she seemed so surprised that an ex-con would be in possession of a firearm. Had she not been paying attention to the recent Congressional action whereby the ban on assault weapons had been lifted so that every American can own an AK-47 if they so desire?

And like all those scenes in the past such as the one where Tricia Dennison and Matt Clark used the fire escape to make their getaways because the buildings in this city were built in 1909, Hughes was about to make a similar mad dash to the alley when Summers' eagerness to go along made him think. Was that "oversized" man of hers waiting for them down below?

The humiliating and positively satanic chain reaction would not have been complete had Summers not warned Hughes at this point that if by some miracle Porter were to show up by god he'd kill the bastard. And if it didn't happen there it would surely happen one day somewhere.

Hughes' struggle to control his laughter only aggravated Summers all the more. She got in such a frenzy she couldn't keep track of who would kill Hughes. Let's see, Porter will kill you. No, I swear I'll get you for this. I don't know when or if it'll even be in this lifetime, but I'll get you, Summers relented which only heightened Hughes' sexual desire.

Locking his lips around hers Hughes pushed Summers down and was about to check her love oil when Porter burst through the door swinging his samurai sword! Summers cracked Hughes over the head with her purse sending him sprawling on the floor and the gun flying.

Like so many bad movies where the female being chased keeps falling down, Summers got in Porter's way when he tried going for the gun and maybe could have ended the farce with little bloodletting. Pushing her out of the way in the nick of time Porter couldn't avoid the bullet headed his way. Hughes managed to get off a shot but not before Porter had sliced and diced him with the sword. Chop, chop. Bang, bang. Both men lay on the floor in their respective pools of blood.

The bitter yet oddly amusing spectacle of awe-inspiring grown men in full crumble is not over. In the daze ahead, as everyone should know by now, there will be much bawling and sniveling to be had as Summers wonders what will become of her now and what, pray tell, will bring Porter back to the land of the living.

Brother Dominic I Presume?

October 29, 2004

What did the Genoa City News project? Did we not report that Phyllis Summers would be taken hostage by Dominic Hughes? It happened Friday in room 209 at the local Motel 6 in keeping with the convoluted nightmare only a monkey on meth could write.

But first it's necessary to review how Phyllis got herself into this newest stink.

At Damon Porter's opium den Phyllis was trying to understand why her man was standing there with a samurai sword in his hand. Was he planning to slice someone's head off? Was that what he intended to do earlier while he was beating the snot out of Dominic Hughes? Good thing he didn't because the way things happen in Genoa City he could have gone straight to prison without a trial.

"All this time I've been trying to control my hatred to keep it from eating me alive," Porter sputtered, and for good measure surmised that all his hard work may have eaten him instead.

This latest part of the "crisis" over Phyllis told Damon that the time has come for him to "move on."

Move on? Damon was confused. Where would he move to? No, not that silly. Move on. It's just a cliché. All the bored out of their minds Genoa City elite with jobs they never go to and money to burn they don't earn always move on following their most funniest tragedy. It's a joke. Get it? We move on but never get anywhere. Speaking of moving on, can I move on with you? Phyllis asked Porter.

The question had to be asked because prior to beating the crap out of Hughes Porter told Phyllis he was dropping her like a bad habit. Now that he's found himself that's all changed, however.

"I was so mad," Porter reminded Phyllis noting that he had been the one to start this yarn unraveling when he suddenly remembered that his son had been killed by Hughes so long ago. Now too he sees that by getting involved, and putting not only her life at risk but that of her son, Phyllis was acting out of love. If not for what Phyllis did "I'd be behind bars right now" Porter oozed, as if he hadn't heard Phyllis tell him exactly this only moments earlier.

Phyllis said she had to get involved. How else would Porter been able to see that his son's killer had been born again?

"Are you sure it's real? Can a person really change?" Porter asked.

Phyllis said, oh yes. It happens all the time. People who kill often find the Lord. As a matter of fact she bets that right now Hughes is out there looking for kids he can help so they won't grow up to be samurai sword swinging freaks. Not that they'll ever know for it's not likely they'll ever see Hughes again.

If that statement alone wasn't a clue that the madness is far from over Porter's weeping about the tattoo on Hughes' arm was.

Did you see it, Phyllis? The tattoo? It was so touching. A broken heart with a drop of blood and my son's name over it. It truly moved me, Phyllis. But still I wonder. Was it my heart or Hughes' heart? Will I ever know? Will not knowing eat me alive? Am I destined to sit around this apartment throwing things, walking on the furniture and having fits until I know for sure?

Phyllis said it doesn't matter anymore. Remember? They've got to move on.

Gosh, Phyllis. Just think. Dominic came all the way from Georgia just to make things right. What if I paid his travel expenses? Would that redeem me? Oh wait! I got a better idea. It's around here somewhere. The $500 in cash I've been keep for rainy days. Think if I gave it to Hughes he'd forgive me? Where's he staying? I'll take it to him on a silver platter.

Phyllis wasn't about to let Porter come eye ball to eye ball with Hughes again. Snatching the bills out of Porter's hand she rushed to the motel. Outside Hughes' door she heard voices inside. Hughes was telling a man they'd meet later at the 7-11 they planned to knock over. It would be one of his most brilliant jobs since Bonnie and Clyde knocked over a Kansas City bank.

"You're quite a piece of work, Brother Dominic," Phyllis could hear the man saying.

As Hughes thought how fitting the nickname was the man had to remind him that the boys in the pen used to call him that.

Oh, that's right. Brother Dominic. That's me. For eight long years I played the game. I had them all fooled, the suckers. Just like I fooled that gorilla, Porter. Now go. We've got the crime of the century to pull off.

Outside, Phyllis was making a phone call as the strange man left. The coast clear, Phyllis knocked on the door.

We are not making up what happened next.

When Hughes opened the door he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You're Brother Dominic!" Phyllis squealed, then screamed what a liar Hughes is as he pulled her inside.

While the final outcome of this lunacy has yet to come, the perfect ending for this scene, something that could have given it the slightest hint of credibility, would have Hughes saying, "I am not Brother Dominic! They just say that in prison. I'm really the Penguin."

Good Trumps Evil

October 27, 2004

Oh lord but what the dogma isn't getting deep. There she was on Wednesday. Phyllis Summers praying to her god, asking that Damon Porter be spared because he is such a "good" man.

Based on Porter's bizarre and violent behavior Summers should have known that he was right then beating the snot out of a man and threatening to kill Dominic Hughes in direct violation of the real God's commandment directing Thou Shalt Not Kill. She should have known that tossing Hughes into Porter's cataclysmic opium den could have meant another senseless death in the name of revenge.

But like so many others in Genoa City who pray only as a last resort Summers fell on her knees. Oh please, dear god. Help that fine man O' mine. Prevent this pathetic story I've fallen into from merging into some sort of slightly disturbing jamboree of destruction and mayhem and credibility collapse that, if all goes as predicted, will all come down within the next few weeks once Hughes takes me hostage. Oh lord, hear my plea! Send my man to rescue me at the very last moment so that Hughes can be killed anyway and his death declared righteous as Mr. Porter and I ride off into the sunset on our white horses.

And who should appear as Summers was speaking on the hot line to his holiness? The very creepy Christine 'Bug' Blair to say she had detected in Summers voice over the telephone earlier that something was askew like, the Bug has ever cared one bit. But because the tragedy she knows nothing of except that it may bring harm to the boy her former lover snatched away from Summers, the Bug was suddenly prepared to lay down her own life to protect Daniel Romalotti.

Miles away Hughes was begging for his life in-between gasps of have mercy on my soul. God touched his life. Made him vow to work with gangs and inner city kids in Elias Porter's name to show them gangbangers that there's something better out there than violence and drugs and drive-by shootings. Oh lord, spare my life and I will show them it's never too late to turn things around. Yes, lord, make this happen so that I might be "a pebble in a pond that radiates out to help" and strips away the need for wreck centers. I will go down to the lowest point on Market street, sing glory be to the highest and hope Victor Newman doesn't think I'm calling his name when it is you my lord, that I praise.

Lightening did not strike but a stunning cosmic shuffle not seen since Sharon Newman pushed Cameron Kirsten out of a plane was felt. Right on cue Porter put down his samurai sword thus sparing Hughes' life for killing him would have cast Porter as the truly evil one at a time when he must be seen as the kindly liberator.

Occult wisdom dictates that bitch slappings and whippings and forced sex between males atop piles of shame should not be seen as evil. Rose pedals should be strewn about. Thank you, Mr. Porter for taking the law into your own hands. You are truly godly, letting one of the scary lizard people go free to feast on human babies another time. You be the judge.

This is the doozy making the rounds right now, crazed and random and tossed about and bunked and debunked and rebunked like a spiritual toss salad. It involves all the best ingredients listed above, along with plenty of genuine obtuse jargon just enough to make everything resonate with wicked gobs of creepiness so that in the end it can be said that good always trumps evil.

Cock Fight

October 26, 2004

Looking for a thread of consistency in a sea of chaos? You won't find it in Genoa City. Nor will you be able to stomach what took place Tuesday at Damon Porter's opium den.

With parolee Dominic Hughes in tow Phyllis Summers showed up right on schedule as if she was taking a prized rooster to a cock fight. Wanting to stick around for the big show Summers was told that the animosity between Porter and Hughes is none of her business and to go before the blood letting began.

Summers refused. The business became hers when Porter laid the death of his son at her feet. Besides, she wasn't going to stand around and watch Porter destroy his life knowing damn well he'd kill Hughes given the chance which is why she had arranged for the two men to meet.

But when Porter bellowed at her to get out Summers did as she was told telling herself, well, okay. Porter must do what he has to do.

Alone with Hughes, Porter began regurgitating the past in the event Hughes couldn't remember what he'd done eight years ago.

"You tell me why I shouldn't kill you!" Porter snarled, perhaps expecting Hughes to say, "It's against the law, for one thing. It would destroy your life, for another. Weren't you listening to your girlfriend?"

What Hughes actually said was more along the line of, "Are you there, God? It's me, Dominic Hughes. Come in, Almighty. Do you read me? Mr. Porter here wants to know why he shouldn't kill me. What should I tell him, Lord? Should I say something karmic like, it's between Porter and his god? Better yet, should I butter him up with one of those not a day goes by that what I did eight years ago doesn't weigh on my soul like an elephant on meth? Oh wait! How about an anchor? Yeah, that's it. It's a anchor weighing on my soul."

Following Hughes' first spurt of evangelical born-again crap Porter hummed along without missing a beat. Eight years is all his eight-year-old son got out of life. It just ain't fair, damnit. Hughes should pay more. You know what they're always saying in Genoa City. Cross me and you'll pay dearly - you got that?

Out of Hughes' nose came the second spurt. Mr. Porter, I've become a fire-breathing Second Coming evildoer-hating man myself since then. I fully expect to be paying for what I done the rest of my natural born days. Can I get a hell yeah? Doesn't that cut me a little slack for when I skip over the part where Jesus says "Blessed are the peacemakers?"

Flashes of the past lit up Porter's sunken eyes. Damn right. I'll be paying for the rest of my life too. Say, didn't you want to kill me that day over something that was said? Weren't you supposed to know that sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me? What was up with that anyway?

Hughes remembered that day like it was yesterday. Why, yes. We exchanged a few words because I thought you were dissing me. You know how it is. Ignorance. False pride. I was one bad ass filled with rage. Hmm, just like you are now. That's why I followed your car.

Porter said at the time he'd been telling his son how it's better to give than receive; turn the other cheek crap; forgive creeps and their trespasses stuff until Hughes came along. The bastard.

Sensing Porter might be prone to codifying pacifist hippie types who God speaks through and would forget that he'd snuffed out a human life so long as he'd agree to come back to the flock as a smelly tree fungus, Hughes tried to appease Porter's bad memory.

"Shucks, Homey. I was aiming for you. I wanted to kill you but your kid moved his head at the last minute. Jeez, I was kinda surprised the gun was loaded. But once the blood began pouring out of your son's head I got this rush and wasn't feeling any pain. Know what, Mr. Porter? I had an epiphany after that. It's one of those fancy words you hear a lot in TV commercials these days and everyone wonders, what the hell is an epiphany, and then forget what the ad was for. I swear! I saw a mother on the tube who'd lost her son in a case of road rage and then I heard this noise. It was my heart falling on the floor. That's when God struck me," Hughes said in so many words.

Yes, it was true. Hughes destroyed a young boy's life. Took him away from his parents. But what was done was done. The only savings grace would have been to take his own life but God wouldn't approve. Besides, suicide is against the law.

Porter said it's a good thing Hughes didn't kill himself because now he gets to do it for him. Yeah, it's murder. He'll have to rot a few years in prison. The taxpayers will have to foot the bill, but a Christian's gotta do what a Christian's gotta do. Now how do you take your death? With a bullet or would you prefer I slice your head off with my shiny samurai sword?

Hughes began to panic. Lord, I just don't understand. I know I'm not much of a man or a deep thinker, or much of anything positive or life affirming. But I'm a darned nice guy. A "changed man" as Ms. Summers has said. And I thought we had a deal. Tell you what, Mr. Porter. What if I dedicate my life to making sure violence isn't inflicted on others? What if I go out on the streets right now and collect all the guns? How about it?

Porter wasn't buying Hughes' narrow hypocritical bloody misinterpretations of the Good Book's teachings and wasn't about to let him spread them all over Genoa City like Sharon Newman anoints herself in Crisco every night. He had no intention of letting Hughes bring his twisted version of the Word to the huddled gang bangers. No, by god. If he had to watch his boy die Hughes would have to pay more. And by the way, had Hughes ever bothered to find out the name of the boy he had killed?

By golly, he had!

In his third spurt of born-again crap Hughes rolled up his sleeve and proudly displayed a tattoo. There, over a broken heart carved into his arm, was the name. Elias! Under the name of Porter's son were the dates, 1988 - 1996.

Hello? Lord? You still there? I just gotta ask: What gives, Sir? Why aren't you smiting my enemy? Why are you letting Porter defile me by screaming I've defiled his son's name? Can't he appreciated all the ink I pumped into my body? Bless me, Jesus! Bless me again for Porter is now knocking the snot out of me. What should I do, Lord? Give me a sign. What? Turn the other cheek? Okay, Lord. I'll do. If that don't get me some bonus points in your book, I don't know what will.

Ouch! Ouch! I guess that's it for now, Lord. I'm getting' sleepy from all this beating. Thank you for listening, Lord. I know you're up there. You're the best, Lord. Bless me, one more time, OK? I'm gonna need it.

Georgia Prison Inmate Makes Parole Before Board Hearing?
October 22, 2004

When the call came in on Friday Phyllis Summers couldn't believe she was hearing the voice of Georgia prison inmate Dominic Hughes.

"Is it really you?" she asked, not because she couldn't tell from his unique lisp or that he had somehow managed to obtain her cellphone number or that he had said who he was when she answered, but because he was out on parole before the parole board had even met!

Even after Hughes told Summers he was in Genoa City, had checked into a motel and was looking for the father of the boy he shot dead eight years ago, Summers did not ask how this was possible because Hughes' parole hearing wasn't scheduled until next week. That is, of course, assuming that everyone is on Genoa City warp time as opposed to real time in Georgia.

Further lending to the incredible belief that Hughes can be out on parole was Damon Porter's insistence that he planned to attend the hearing and had even juggled his busy schedule in order to make the long trip.

Forgetting the small details like, how Hughes can afford to stay at a motel for weeks on end when your average John Doe traveling on vacation these days can barely afford even one night in a motel, what about Hughes' release from prison? Was it instantaneous? Was the front door to the prison opened the moment Hughes was told he'd be sprung? Isn't it prison policy to give such parole notices at least 30-days in advance? Isn't there a long list of criteria that must have been met such as where the parolee will be employed and with whom the parolee with be living? Does a motel meet the housing criteria? These are surely some very interesting questions that the Genoa City News is hoping in the daze ahead probation/parole officer Lorena Davis will be able to answer.

Catastrophic Symphony #2

October 18, 2004

In these times when just about everyone in Genoa City is out seeking revenge from someone for something it's easy to assume that when a prison inmate says he's going to look up the father of the boy he killed it can mean only one thing: someone's gonna get hurt or worse.

That's why when Dominic Hughes said the first thing he's gonna do when he gets paroled is look up Damon Porter it was pretty much assumed he wanted to make the monomaniacal one pay for testifying against him. But then some of us forgot. This happened in Georgia. This was an inmate with a ZIP code.

"I'm not looking for revenge," Hughes said Monday totally blowing away just about everyone including Phyllis Summers who had gone to the Peach state on her lunch hour to warn Hughes that if he planned on getting even with her boyfriend he could just forget it.

So what happened to change Hughes? To make him perhaps one of the few to ever be reformed by the prison system? Was it enough Bible reading to make the Bible thumping set yelp with disguised joy? Had God come down from on high to whisper in Hughes' ear that it's not nice to mess with his most powerful wrath upon the sinners?

"This has nothing to do with religion," Hughes asserted, which sort of made the flying monkeys hanging on the wall think how happy Porter might be had he known he's been getting all worked up over nothing when all this time Hughes has been a God-fearing fundamentalist for most of his prison years. And since Porter is this neo-pagan Zen atheist Buddhist who snorts lots of incense and preaches inner harmony what a perfect pair they'd make.

If was if some sort of karmic retribution was at hand when Hughes said he feels badly for what he done and wants to make it up to Porter in some small way. True, he can't bring the boy he killed back to life, but he can say what seems the hardest word. Sorry.

Is this possible? Shouldn't the fundamentalist evangelicals be all over this angry God-spittin' thing like flies on a dead horse? Hughes took a human life. He violated one of God's commandments. He should rot in Hell. Because as God surely knows, murder is just like homosexuality. Break a commandment go to prison. Have sex with one of the same be banished to Hell. There is no forgiveness.

As the Almighty could only sit there, stunned and appalled as the rest of us, Hughes said he won't be able to live with himself if he doesn't seek Porter's forgiveness and in doing so get off the hook. So a kid died. Lots of kids are dying every day for the strangest reasons like, freedom and oil.

All together now, class. Do you get it? Do you understand why Hughes needs to go to Genoa City? According to Summers it'll be a waste of time because Porter isn't in the forgiving mood. So right after Hughes said he needs forgiveness he flip-flopped, sort of. He wants forgiveness, but not from Porter. What he needs is to be set free. Not from the ball and chains, but from the demons haunting him. A visit with Satan's helpers head on is a good place to start and what better place to find demons but at their headquarters. Genoa City, Wisconsin.

Appearing as if she might scream and cry and then shudder with secret delight Summers snapped. This scenario. This exploitable sandbox she's playing in isn't about Hughes! That explains why she's in Georgia on her lunch hour. That's why she's risking termination from a job she's been fired from and quit a number of times. So if it's not about Hughes or Summers what could it be about?

It's about Porter!

You see, Mr. Hughes, Porter has been grieving all these years. It's true! He was grieving when he went to Japan looking for a "magic bullet" and porked Vanessa Lehner right there in the hotel garden. He was grieving when he was sucking around Dru Winters and Victoria Newman and any women who seemed infatuated with his command of the English language.

"He's trying to get past it and move on with his life," Summers actually said, regurgitating that same old, tired, overly used by pointless people unhappy with their meaningless lives, cliché.

Without having to be told Hughes knew that Porter still hates him. Summer confirmed that if her man sees Hughes anywhere but behind a roll of bars, "you're dead." And as if he hadn't heard the first time she said that Porter won't forgive what he did, Summers asked Hughes if he thought Porter would forgive him when Hughes had already said he didn't want forgiveness.

Then it began. The sniveling.

"Every time I close my eyes I'll see that little boy dying in his father's arms. I would give anything to go back and undo that moment," Hughes sobbed.

As he babbled it came to Hughes like a bad Genoa City public service announcement. By golly, I'll do it! "I can go out on the streets and tell teens what I've learned about gangs and guns," Hughes said making the quantum leap to the fallacy that if only he can prevent others from doing what he did then by god he'll be redeemed. Like any kid, even those hanging at the Newman Wreck Center for a moment believe those war on drugs, those sit around the dinner tonight with the family, PSAs.

Give her credit, Summers said that Hughes' flag-waving speech was all well and good, but if Hughes really wants to be a do-gooder he should do it somewhere else.

So was that it? Was that the message Hughes was trying to get out? That he's become one of those born-agains who kill and expect forgiveness so long as they promise to fall on their knees before God and not marry anyone of the same sex? Is that the explanation? That, like Elliot Hampton, Hughes pops in just long enough as a Biblical transition designed to justify Porter's rage?

Maybe there is no real explanation. Maybe the Hughes and the Hamptons and the Harrison Bartletts and the Chad Rollins just are. Maybe they're just a precursor, a warm-up, God tuning up for the upcoming Catastrophic Symphony #2, coming all too soon to a tortured Damon Porter so that Phyllis Summers can see the light that not all is as it seems. That the real danger is not Hughes. It's Porter! Could be.

Public Enemy #1

October 15, 2004

Truly amazing. That's what Phyllis Summers' visit Friday at the Georgia State Penitentiary was. It all started with the fact that rather than drive her own car to the airport Summers apparently went all the way back to the Newman ponderosa and called - you guessed it - a taxi!

This all made sense because otherwise Daniel Romalotti wouldn't have been able to drive later that night into the city in record time using his mother's car making the one-hour trip in under fifteen minutes and driving - we suspect - without a license.

At the prison, inmate #96473 - which sounds suspiciously like a ZIP code - was baffled. Who's the "special" visitor come to see him that is not on his list of authorized personnel? Could the lady be a lawyer? And if so, what would a lawyer be wanting to see him about given that Dominic Hughes is a mere heart beat away from parole?

Sizing up Summers was easy. She didn't look like no lawyer except those Hughes has seen on TV. So what's your game lady?

Summers was snippy. She said it didn't matter who she is. Nor did it matter how she got into the prison. What mattered was that she got in much like she's able to get fired from jobs and rehired over and over.

Getting a whiff of the skunk oil Summers had spritzed in herself Hughes wondered if her hair was real. If so, it meant that she was hot like most redheads. But before he could suggest they hump right there for the benefit of those who might be watching through the two-way mirror Summers got to the point. She had come to save Hughes sorry life.

Summers plan was - much like she is - simpleminded. With Hughes' parole hearing coming up she'll see to it that Damon Porter doesn't speak before the board. Yes, that would be THE Damon Porter. The father of the boy Hughes killed and the man who testified in court against him. The man the mere mentioning of who's name should cause much shuddering and fear. Unless Hughes agrees to do as she says "some very bad things will happen to you."

Hughes was nearly rolling on the floor laughing his ass off. Bad things? Damon Porter? What a freaking joke!

It ain't no joke, Summers intimated as she brazenly stated that if Porter speaks before the parole board Hughes won't be released! So whadda you say? I keep Porter away from here, you go free and promise never to bother him or me. You see, I'm his woman and we want to live our lives as one. Surely you can comprehend that. Can't you Mr. Hughes?

And then straight out of a bad James Cagney movie it came. Public Enemy #1 Dominic Hughes has been holed up in his cell all these years plotting revenge just like Damon Porter has, just like Ralph Hunnicutt, Cameron Kirsten and a host of others seeking vigilante justice. This can mean only one thing. Genoa City is not big enough for both Porter and Hughes. One must die!

That there's going to be a showdown became apparent when Hughes stated that the first thing he's going to do when he gets out on parole is get Porter. He knows where the bastard is and he's gonna make him pay.