Jeez, was she trying to kill me?
It was just a few weeks after the strike, and my mind was still whirring like crazy. I actually decided to spend a few days in Manhattan talking with the Cowboy and the Mouth. Especially Mouth, actually; Jack was right about his having brains. I can't talk openly in Brooklyn except maybe with Red, and even that is hard. I couldn't seem to settle my mind, though I had started sending regular letters to the governor's office. I have no idea if he read them, but I had decided I would send them faithfully regardless. I figured Jack and Dave could help me write regular reports since they had different perspectives on the city.
"Well, you can't stay a newsie forever," Mouth said philosophically as I told them about my conversation with the governor. Jack grinned.
"Nah, but you got boys to look after here. I guess we'se both stuck, huh?"
"Nah, not stuck—here by choice. Then again, I never had dreams leavin' the city," I responded.
"The way I see it, Spot, you can start workin' toward respectability now, or you can accept that most of us are going to work in factories or as manual laborers. I'm choosing both. I can live with that future as long as I got my family, and for that I need respectability—now that I got a respectable goil an' all," Jack said, winking at Mouth.
"So no more dreams of Santa Fe?" I asked him, smirking.
"Sure, I dream about it—but I also ain't gonna go chasin' something that might be and give away something that's right in front of me. If I do go, it'll be because I got nothin' left here or because I got someone comin' with me," he said, and I nodded.
"I can respect that," I said, smiling at both boys. "So I need to be respectable, huh? I guess I can do that. But I don't want neither of you boys tellin' anybody. I do still have a reputation to maintain, and after last spring and all, I don't need word gettin' around that I'se soft."
"You got it, Spot," Jack laughed, and we shook on it.
After our chat I headed over to Ms. Mina's, the Manhattan whorehouse. I guess if I needed to begin a life of respectability, I would need to stay away from Ms. Cara's in Brooklyn. Besides, Minnie, one of the girls here, was pretty easy on the eyes, a great lay, and fun to be around. She was also discreet. I spent some time there, made arrangements with Minnie for a future date, and headed home.
It was later than I'd planned, so I opted to cut across the rooftops. If you know where you're going, that can be a great way to get somewhere quickly, especially late in the evening. Cutting diagonally across a building can save you going around, and ultimately you can cut off quite a distance that way. I kept my ears open, though. It never pays to let your guard down. I heard a puppy yipping. Ordinarily I ignore dogs barking, but this one was in pain, and it was nearby. I looked into the nearby alley, where scuffling noises had caught my attention. There was a girl struggling against three drunks—rather ineffectually, might I add. I saw a familiar dog limping back toward the alley. Jimmy. Katja. What was she doing out here? She was going to get hurt!
"Let her go," I said, steeling myself for a fight even as I climbed down the fire escape. I kept my eyes on the three men as I climbed and realized that they were slightly drunk. I could see this was going to be an easy one, so when I reached the end of the fire escape I set my cane and slingshot aside; they would only be in the way. I noticed that ugly dude hadn't let go of Katja. Oh, dude, you're in trouble, I thought to myself as I said aloud, "I told you to stop."
"Oh, and who's askin'?" another one of the guys asked with some belligerence. I guess he thought he sounded intimidating or something.
"Spot Conlon," I said in a low voice. Yep, I got a reaction. They looked at each other, and I could practically smell their fear.
"Always figured you would be a bit bigger," ugly dude spat, but I recognized the bravado for what it was—an act. C'mon, buddy—bring it on. If size were the only factor, I wouldn't be where I am in life. I was angry, though. I kept watching the three guys. They were drunk and stupid enough that they thought they could all jump me at once to try and catch me off guard. I saw it coming; this wasn't my first rodeo.
It was over pretty quickly. I know taking on three at once sounds impressive, but in this case it really wasn't. They were not fighters, and they were impaired by the alcohol. It was never a contest. All three were unconscious pretty quickly, so I stepped over to Katja, who was still standing there with her back against the brick wall. Poor girl had this terrified look on her face, and she was shaking. Actually, so was I. Adrenaline was still coursing through my system from the physical exertion of the fight.
"Cat," I said, reaching out to her. She fell into me, crying. She'd gotten quite a fright, so it was only natural that she was shaking. I just let her cry and held her close. Jeez, she scared me. I was way more terrified by the thought of something happening to her than I was of fighting off these three bums. Once she calmed down I pulled her away to look at her. She seemed no worse for wear; looks like I had gotten there in time to save her from anything more than a fright. I grabbed my cane and slingshot as she knelt to check her limping dog.
"What are you doing out here? You—" I stopped as I realized that in my frustration I had spoken harshly. I must be all kinds of stupid and insensitive; Katja had had what was probably the biggest scare of her life and instead of being helpful I go and growl at her. Way to go, dumbass. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. "Sorry," I said. "Let's get you both home."
We headed out, and as we did I saw a flash of acknowledgement on a nearby rooftop. Greasefoot. I knew I had guys nearby; I always did. It was their job to keep me informed—of local activities, shady dealings, and goings on. It's how I knew what the gangs were up to, where the illegal cockfighting crowd operated, and general thug actions. I had no doubt that Greasefoot would have alerted the boys and intervened had I not beaten him to it; while we don't take kindly to guys beating on women, this rule is especially true for ones we know and like. I knew that the boys kept an extra eye on Katja and her father.
"How did you know where I-" Katja said. Her voice was still shaking.
"It's my job to know," I said. No way I was going to tell her she got lucky that I had taken longer with Minnie than planned. I changed the subject. "Cat, you scared the bejeezus out of me. What are you doing out?"
"Those men—they were going to—if you hadn't—I didn't mean to—" she said, and I could tell the reality of what had happened was only hitting her now. I grabbed her hands and gave her a little shake, trying to bring her focus on me. She stopped talking, but her eyes were still darting around every which way. I pulled her back into my arms. God, that felt good—I didn't want to let her go, especially in light of what had happened. I wanted to keep her safe in my arms. Damn. She was settling down, so I reluctantly pulled away again. I did keep her hands in mine as I looked her over once more.
"It's okay. Nothing happened," I tried to reassure her.
"How can people do something like that? Did I do something to those men? Why would they come after me? Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" Her sudden switch in focus caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of those drunks hurting me after all the events of the last few months.
"Nah, I ain't hurt. This was an easy one. Those guys just didn't like being interrupted in their game," I said. Then the rest of her statement penetrated my mind. Did she think this was HER fault? I guess my frustration earlier didn't help that impression, did it? I needed to make sure she understood that she was not to blame for the evil actions of a few drunks. "And no, you didn't do anything wrong. Some people are just bad, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. I'm just glad I was able to be here this time." I looked her in the eyes. She needed to understand that. She also needed to know why her being out was such a problem, so I continued, "But Cat, ya gotta understand that I can't always be there. Ya can't just go out at night. Have yer pa take Jimmy out, at least until he's fully grown. Now c'mon. Let's get you home. We both need our rest." Boy, was that ever true.
We headed down the road, but I kept one hand holding hers. I think just needed to reassure myself that she was actually okay by keeping her close and keeping that physical contact. I took the liberty of pulling her close for one more hug before wishing her a good night, but I think that was more for me than for her.