The place had been prearranged. The two boys met in the darkened alley. Their voices were low.

"Did youse talk to Finch?"

"Yea, he's comin'. He'll prolly be 'bout ten minutes."

"Good, what else youse got for me?"

"The guys name is Nathan Matlack. Dey call him Soap. He's stayin' in a warehouse on the East River. He's also got a sister at a bar on Fulton street. Place is called 'Cusp'. Dey're dere all tha time. Soap ain't much but ideals, really."

"So why's he getting support?"

"He's got some kid named Vito. Dis Vito kid is real well known. Well-liked. He's a smooth talker too, convinvin' tha Brookies dat Finch is takin' kick backs and dat it ain't how Brooklyn should run. Scraps has already taken their side. Jus' a matter a time 'fore Soap has all of Brooklyn backin' him."

The first boy nodded.

"Dere's also a guy named Spot Conlon. Supposedly, tha best fighter in Brooklyn. He's backin' Soap, too. I ain't seen him fight, but he's got a reputation." The boy hesitated. "A big one."

"Dat's good work."

"Should I get lost for when Finch shows?"

"Stay near, but outta sight."

The boy nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated and turned back.

"Somethin' else?" The first boy questioned.

"It might be nothin'." The scout said uneasily. "But I think Finch has a tail."

The first boy raised his eyebrows.

"I ain't sure. Whoever it is, he's damn good."

The first boy was silent for a time, then he nodded as if coming to some conclusion in his head.

"Set up the bar. Call them out. Tonight. Send Hinges and Ick. Den get some more of the guys and meet me hea."

The scout nodded in almost a salute and left the alley. The first boy leaned back against the alley wall and lit a cigarette, waiting. He did not have to wait long. Finch showed up a few minutes later, pale in the moonlight. A dark bruise standing out clearly on his cheek.

"Things seem ta be getting outta ya control." The boy said lazily.

"Look, if ya boys'd jus' stop soakin mine in Brooklyn territory, none a dis woulda happened."

"What do I pay youse for den?"

Finch opened his mouth, but didn't speak. For a moment he was silent, then he changed tactics.

"Bottom line is: I can't keep dis quiet. Half a Brooklyn is on his side already. We tried soakin' him ta shut him up, but he's got dis guy. Spot Conlon. He's like a hurricane. I ain't eva seen anythin' like it."

"I'll have him taken care of."

"I'm warnin' youse. He looks like a skinny fuck, but youse betta send ya best."

"He won't be a problem."

Finch seriously doubted that, but held his tongue.

"What 'bout Soap?"

"I can't do nothin' 'til Spot's taken care of. He's like a one-man army. I can't get to Soap."

"What 'bout the goil?"

Finch shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The thought had occurred to him, but he had not acted on it.

"I ain't messin' wit' his family. It's him I want dealt wit', not some goil." He said quietly.

"But dey are close enough dat he would try and shield her, yes?"

"Well, yea, but I already tol' youse. That ain't how we do things in Brooklyn. Jus' take care a Spot. Forget tha goil."

Unnerved, Finch spun on his heel and left the alley. He did not hear what the boy standing in the shadows said quietly to himself.

"Maybe not, but I ain't from Brooklyn."