At 54th Street, Spot took a hard left and ducked into an alley.

Eventually he stopped under the fire escape of a tenement and stared up at it omniously, like it was the gateway to hell.

"This was my home."

"Here?"

Spot shushed me. "They'll hear you."

"They?"

"My ma, my six sisters...and my pa."

"People say you're an orphan."

"I never say it. I don't lie, but I guess people think it from the way I talk."

"Why did you leave?"

"My pa liked his whiskey. Ever since I was six, he had me work odd jobs to make some extra money for it. I thought I was in some way helpin' my family. But it got to the point that it didn't matter if I brought home a good pay or not - he would beat me and kick me around. Worst of all, it got to the point where he wanted me to steal. Can you believe it - a cop askin' his son to steal wood from the yards? I knew it was wrong, and I didn't want to do it. One day I was caught, by the cop from the Tombs - rememba him?"

"Yes," I said, breathlessly hanging on Spot's every word.

"He saw who my pa was, and when my pa came to pick me up from the station, he could sense somethin' wasn't natural. I confided in him, and he said he would help me out if I needed it. He knew very well what kind of man my pa was. So, one day I couldn't take the whippin' anymore, and I left. I found the church ya sleep in now and stayed there for a while."

"That explains a lot."

"One day I was out sellin' papes, and the boys wanted to go north up to Central Park. I went, thinkin' nothing of it. Well, my pa worked that section and saw me. He grabbed my by the neck, threw me down, and gave me the worst beatin' of my life with his belt. Jack saw this and lunged at my pa. He got in the midst of it and was sent to the Refuge."

"But I thought he was thrown in there because he stole food?" I questioned.

Spot shook his head. "Both of us swore never to mention that day again, too horrible. So, he kinda covered it up with a lie. Anyway, Jack was arrested, be he stood by me. He spat right in the judge's face and said, 'If you ain't believin' me story that this boy was bein' whipped senseless by his pa in broad daylight for no good reason, then youse ain't no fair judge.'"

"He said that?"

"Yep, he served time for me, and we didn't even know each other all that well then."

"So that's why he was in the Refuge?"

"Yeah. When he got out, I was waitin' for him, said I would do anythin' for him. Besides, I felt guilty about him serving time in that awful place. Jack got me out of the church and into the Brooklyn Lodging Houses, showed me how to hawk papes better and how to work all the streets lower than 50th."

Spot got up from the crates and adjusted his cap, "Well, Hailey, that's my story."

"Thanks for telling me. But," I drew in a breath, "you passed Fiftieth. You said you never would."

"I pass 50th once every week."

"Why?"

Spot pulled out a roll of dollars from his pocket. "I still take care of my sisters and my mother. My pa just doesn't know. He's too drunk most of the time to realize if Lilly has new shoes or there's bacon for breakfast." Spot started to climb the fire escape. "Ya can come up, just have to be reallly quiet."

"Are you sure?"

Spot nodded. He was serious and intent on his delivery, a side of him I'd never seen. As we approached the third floor of the apartment building, I noticed the window was cracked, expecting his arrival.

"They know you come?"

"Just my ma."

Spot slid the window up a little more, being careful not to make a noise. He turned to me and said, "Wait here."

I watched in fear as Spot tiptoed into the apartment. I could hear snoring coming from inside. I took a closer look and realized two beds were not far from the window, one for his father and mother, and the other for his six sisters.

Suddenly the snoring stopped and my heart jumped. His father rustled in his bed.

Spot paused and then continued to creep toward the apron that hung on the peg a few feet from the window. But just as he was about to slip the roll of dollars in the pocket, a voice roared in the darkness.

"Who's there?"

Spot dropped the money securley into the pocket and without caution dove toward the window.

"Hey you! Bernadette, there's a break-in! Bernadette!" Spot rolled down the fire escape in a hurry. I was already on the stairs.

"Hurry!" he cried.

Spot and I ran out of the alley and around the corner. Faint voices could still be heard above.

"Did they take anything, those snatches! Where's my gun?"

Spot leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

"I take it that's never happened before?"

He shook his head, too shook up to speak.

"Do you think your mother will be okay? Will he find the money?"

"Nah," he managed. "He didn't see me, I don't think. Come on, we should get back before anyone sees us."

I followed Spot, for the first time seeing fear in his eyes. His feelings for his father were so different from mine. Spot shuddered at the idea of his dad seeing him while I wanted so deseperately to see mine again. In some way, I thought, this could have been much of the reason Spot wanted to fight to reunite me with Grandpa. We shared something he'd never had.

"Aidan Conlon, huh?" I brought up, once we were a safe distance away.

"What?"

"Your name...that you told my dad."

"Yeah, Aidan James Conlon." He smirked.

"One would think you would have a different nickname then Spot, ya know...?"

"And what would that be?" He smiled, genuinly smiled, prodding me on.

"You know."

"Nah, I don't." He stopped, facing me.

"Your smile," I said low, blushing.

"What about my smile?" He smirked.

"Well, it's just, you know...nice I guess. One would think your nickname was "smile" or something."

Spot laughed. "Ya like my smile?"

"No, it's just..." Too embarrased to speak, I gave up and continued walking. "So I know everything about you now?"

"Everything," Spot stated flatly.

"No," I protested.

Spot stopped.

I pointed to his neck. "The key on a shoelace string around your neck."

"Oh," Spot chuckled, "not everything."

"And you're not going to say anything?" Spot shook his head 'no.'

"Ah!" I threw up my hands, exasperated.

"But now I know something," he teased.

"What?"

"You like my smile."

And without one more word, he set out down the street, his eyes alert to dodge the late-night police.