Part II, Chapter VII

April 10, 1902

Brooklyn, New York

At the docks in the middle of the night with a single light pole guiding his way, Spot wandered aimlessly, and the waters were black but there were highly contrasted slices of an over-sized full moon floating on top of them. He noticed he was unarmed. Usually he kept his slingshot resting in the waistband of his trousers but now it was noticeably gone. His hat was gone too. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his taut chest and stomach, and the key around his neck was burning his flesh.

"Where am I going…"

"Well, I can tell you where you definitely shouldn't be going."

Spot blinked and Emma faded into his vision, as if appearing slowly from thin air. He pursed his lips but it was as if he visited her regularly around this time of night.

"Yeah, where's that?" he asked.

"Here."

"Why? Why shouldn't I be here? This is Brooklyn."

"You're right. Maybe I'm the one who shouldn't be here…Yeah, this is not where I should be…" She furrowed her eyebrows and took a look at her surroundings, confused, biting on her finger.

"What d'you mean?"

Emma smiled sweetly, yet deceivingly, and she held up her hand, her fingers spread wide. Looking directly at him she said slowly, "Five…four…"

Spot looked around dizzily for he felt somehow threatened and downright terrified. He wanted to run but his legs felt stiff and immobile.

"…three…two…"

Emma kissed her index finger. Suddenly the wooden boards beneath Spot's feet gave way and crumbled to dust into the water. He grabbed the plank in front of Emma's feet. She looked down at him, watching him hold on for dear life and his legs kicking furiously. She did nothing.

"Gimme yer hand!" screamed Spot, looking down at the now rising water below his feet.

Void of emotion, Emma took out a pocket watch. She pondered what she read in front of her and replied, "Spot, I just don't have time."

Spot could feel the water rising faster and faster, and it was starting to swallow his feet. As it enveloped his legs, he pulled himself onto the docks just as Emma turned her back on him and walked away.

"I'm sorry…" he heard himself whimper pathetically.

Looking back, her eyes now suddenly flooded with tears and her face twisted into sadness and hurt, she replied, "You're too late." And she vanished.

Spot awoke the next morning to short breath. He found the shoelace around his neck had somehow gotten twisted in his sleep and was now snagged uncomfortably tight on his throat. He coughed and reached around his sheets to pull out the key, breathing somewhat better now. He was the first to wake up, as usual, and looked first to the corner with the closet. McCroy and Diggins had each lolled their heads to their shoulders, snoring. Bolt, however, unexpectedly entered through the window and flicked a cigarette butt behind him once he was inside. He immediately looked at Spot sitting up in bed, staring at him.

"Keepah needs to talk to ya downstairs, Conlon," said Bolt quickly.

"Clemens?"

"Yeah. He came up heah a few minutes ago. Needs to talk downstairs. Right now."

Spot sighed and hopped down, crashing to the floor with a thud that woke up a few deep sleepers. He shuffled down the narrow staircase and worked his way through to the lobby. Slouched over the counter near the door, and smoking like a house on fire, was Clemens, the lodging house caretaker.

"Everythin' alright, Clemens?" asked Spot, descending the stairwell.

The old man looked up, his cracked spectacles bent down the bridge of his nose. He brought a tough-skinned hand to his mouth and snubbed out the cigar. Shaking his head he answered, "Think I was robbed again las' night."

Spot looked at the crooked stacks of coins and crinkled dollar bills laying on the counter before him. He ran his finger down the page of last night's tenants, counting to himself.

"Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one…" Clemens sighed and shook his head. "I've got thirty one boys up there from las' night, an' I should've got thirty one dollars total…"

"This morning? How much ya got?"

"Twenty."

"What?" Spot hurried over and scanned the coins and dollar bills, counting them all quickly in his mind and adding it all up. He scanned the list of tenants; they were all the usual boys, minus a couple, but that was normal.

"I didn't heah nobody breakin' in or else I woulda woken up," said Clemens. He walked over to the doorway and checked the lock. He did the same with the windows.

"If no one broke in, Conlon, it's gotta be someone upstairs."

Spot was taken aback. His trust in his boys shot up a wall of defense at Clemens's accusation. How could he think any one of Spot's boys would do such a thing? Clemens responded to this with a raise of his eyebrows and visible stiffness as he raised his arms so that his palms faced upward.

"They ain't gonna tell me the truth, so I'm askin' fer you to beat it outta them or somethin'," said Clemens.

Spot snorted a laugh.

"I'm serious, boy. If you can't tell me who took my money then I'm throwin' all 'a you out on the street by tonight."

Spot clenched his jaw, staring down the old man, who stared right back with the same intensity he had. Fighting the urge to respond with a quick snap, he nodded, said he understood, and walked upstairs.

Bolt watched as Spot, half-asleep it seemed, made his way downstairs to talk to Clemens. His heart beat faster at the blatant lie he had told his best friend--his brother--and waited until he heard no more creaking footsteps. He made sure McCroy and Diggins were fast asleep still, and he could tell the all-nighter wasn't going to wake them up soon, and he opened the door to the utility closet.

Johnny was snoring loudly. Emma, sitting crouched in a ball, looked up at Bolt through puffy, red eyes with a look of fleeting hope behind her misery. Beyond that, though, Bolt had forgotten just what she looked like; it had been three years since she saw him, and he had to admit, she grew into a beautiful young woman in that time.

"Come with me, do not make a sound," he warned.

Emma said nothing as she pushed herself up. She followed Bolt's motions out the window and crawled out of it.

"What're you doing?" she asked once he joined her on the fire escape and shut the window.

"Heah." Bolt pulled out a wad of single dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band. He tucked them into the pocket of her skirt.

"Get off! What is this?" asked Emma, disgusted, pulling out the money.

"Go home," demanded Bolt hurriedly.

Emma looked at him in protest, "No."

"Yes. Or Manhattan or Queens, wherever, just get outta Brooklyn, Emma!"

"You told 'im, didn't you? Told 'im I was here and he told you to send me away, didn't he?" She looked up at Bolt with contempt and defiance. She placed her hand on her hip and chucked the roll of money behind her onto the street without glancing behind her.

"Emma! That was, like, eleven dollars!"

"I don't care if it was a thousand, Bolt, you're doing all his dirty work! Now I came here to see Spot and you'd better let me talk to him or else!"

"Or else what, Emma? What's it gonna solve? Ya know, it ain't good fer either 'a you to see each other and it ain't good fer Brooklyn! You don' know what kinda danger you put yerself in with Spot nowadays."

"I grew up with the bastard, I think I know what makes him tick, alright?"

"Not from him, Emma, from other gangs an' territories. Brooklyn's tougher than they used to be now that Conlon's in charge. I gotta admit, without you bein' 'is soft spot, he's gotten real cold the past years. Not to mention you don't wanna bring up all those emotions again. Conlon ain't the same person he used to be, he ain't gonna walk right up to you, give you a big kiss, and things're gonna go back to normal. There's no tellin' what he'd do if he saw you again and I tried to cover fer you. For yer own sake, get out of Brooklyn. Please."

Emma hesitated. She soaked in the words Bolt said to her and considered them. Bolt glanced back and saw McCroy and Diggins starting to wake up. Though unwilling to submit to him, she nodded stiffly.

"I'm going to Sonny's. Meet me there on your lunch break," she told him.

"No, Sonny's is shut down, meet me at the restaurant across the street from your old place."

He hurried her down the steps, and before he shoved her off the final step, he placed his hat atop her head and told her to try and disguise herself. She hurried off onto the street and out of his sight. His heart raced wildly, the feeling of betrayal sticking to his insides. Liar.

He rushed up the steps just as Spot opened the window.

"What're ya doin', Bolt?" asked Spot, squinting in the dawn's sunlight.

"I was, uh, just checkin' fer signs 'a the break-in…Clues, er anythin'…"

Spot looked around. "Find anythin'?"

Bolt shook his head and crawled meekly back up the steps, feeling as small as ever.