The guys left 5th Avenue with their new digs, and Medda told them repeatedly, much like a broken record:

"Be careful, let me know how it goes...don't lose your cool, boys."

Her eyes cut to Jack and his rolled back into his head. "I'll do my bes'," he muttered.

The guys were excited as they returned to their cars at the meters, blocks away from the cleanliness of 5th Ave. They shouted and laughed, jumping off low stone walls and kicking piles of leaves on the sidewalks.

"We're gonna look sharp, fellas," Snoddy said as he put his arms around Spot and Mush's shoulders.

Mush shrugged off Snoddy's sentiments, tugging several plastic wrapped suits over his shoulder. "How did I end up carryin' your suit?"

The guys laughed, and Jack and David looked back at them over their shoulders, grinning.

"You nervous?" David asked, watching his friend closely.

Jack readjusted his own suit bag on his shoulder, his brow furrowing over his dark eyes.

"Yeah," Jack admitted after a moment. "But it's jus' one step closer to 'er. Ya know?"

David clapped him on the shoulder.

The car rides back home were lively and loud, as always. Spot leaned out the window as they drove over the Brooklyn bridge, howling at the rising moon in the pink and blue sky. Boots sped past them, like the savvy taxi driver that he was (he was driving Bumlet's black Pontiac).

They sprinted up the stairs to their apartments, jumped into the showers, shouted up and down the halls, borrowing cologne and hair gel. Spot fixed his hat just so, smiling at his reflection in Jack's bathroom mirror.

"'ey, Jackie boy...you sure this is a good idea?"

Jack tore back the shower curtain, a scowl on his face. "What d'ya mean? S'matta?"

Spot shrugged, "I dunno...I don't think I could eva see my girl-if I had one-dance in front of rich ole bastards…I'd go sluggin' tha seccond they disrespected 'er."

Jack towel dried his hair quickly before wrapping it around his waist. He pushed his fingers through his hair and let out a heavy sigh….

He couldn't stand the memories he had of Ira when she was Natalia, when she was a prost in 1901. Now...a dancer in 2016. Only now there was more skin. The men were still the same; Jack had been so angry, with Natalia and the assholes who drooled after her. Most of all Garrison Rockefeller.

Jack often wondered if he was somewhere in New York now, and what he would be doing.

But seeing Ira-Tiffany-dressed in nearly nothing, dancing in front of rich fucks who only wanted to...he shook the thoughts from his head.

It was bad enough that she didn't know him, didn't know his face. His heart literally ached at the fresh memory, those cold icy eyes rolling over him. He didn't know how tonight was going to play out.

"I can't say what's gonna happen, Spot," Jack answered, looking up to see Spot's strong gaze. "I guess we'll find out."

Spot nodded, thinking for a moment. "I sure hope Medda has bail money for all of us."

Jack laughed and Spot squeezed his shoulder. "I gotcha, Cowboy."

Racetrack came barging into the bathroom, the door banging on the wall.

"WHERE THE HELL IS MY-oh, there it is," Race, fully dressed in his navy pinstripe suit, snatched his phone off the vaniety.

"GUYS!" David shouted from the living room. "The limo is on its way NOW. Hurry up!"

Spot and Racetrack fought their way through the doorway at the same time. Spot was still in his boxers.

Jack dressed swiftly, but took time to let his fingers slide slowly down his new black shirt, buttoning it with care.

He remembered how Medda had touched his cheek before they had parted ways earlier.

"It's a gift," she had said, touching the bag over his shoulder. "Jus' my way of helping. Please give me that. And when you see her again…"

She choked up, and Jack had to look away, glancing down at his tattered Converses.

"Promise me-"

"We'll call ya," he'd promised huskily.

He went through the motions of getting ready: shaving, remembering deoderant and cologne, combing his hair back. But his mind was going back and forth between thoughts, decades. A constant headache. He fought the urge to light up a cigarette.

The anger and the fear he'd felt...then and now.

But god, he honestly couldn't wait to see her again. Even if she did still piss him off. She was like a damn drug.

He stepped out of his bedroom when he was ready, taking a deep breath before looking up and seeing them.

They were spread out in the room: Spot, Mush and Bumlets were lounging on the couch; Race was leaning against the door jamb to the kitchen, talking to Specs and lighting a joint; and David was bent over the laptop on the desk, scrolling through the club's website. Snoddy was standing next to him, biting his lip.

With the guys all dressed in their suits, each tailored to fit their bodies and personal style, the image of them in the living room looked like a photo out of GQ, plucked from the eighteenth century with clothes they'd only dreamed of wearing. Kings of New York. Jack savored the sight.

"They have some pretty expensive items, guys," David warned as he scanned the menu online. "'s a good thing Medda made me in charge of the card…"

"I'm gonna run up that tab in a millisecond," Race announced, holding his hands up honestly. "I'm just tellin' ya. Holy shit, Cowboy!"

Everyone's head snapped up, seeing Jack standing there dressed all in black. His hair was slicked back, and the suit fit his body perfectly, seeming to make him broader and taller.

David's mouth hung open a little, stunned. The rest of the guys grinned from ear to ear.

"Whew! Jackie boy, look at you," Mush said as he stood and clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Man oh man."

"Looks like you's could kick some ass," Specs said approvingly. "Very Matrix."

"She'd be blind not ta see ya, Jack," Boots said after taking a toke off Race's joint.

"What about Kat?" Bumlets asked as David's phone pinged in his pocket.

"She should be there already," David answered as he looked at his phone screen. "Said they hired her on the spot yesterday. C'mon, car's here."

No one had felt nervous-not really-until that moment.

"I don't mean her location," Bumlets pressed. "I'm worried about…"

Jack's head snapped up and met Bumlets' gaze. He'd almost forgotten...his best friend...

The guys sat in silence for a moment, looking to Jack.

The guys took deep breaths and nodded in agreement.

"Jesus, my palms are sweatin'," Race rubbed his palms on his slacks.

"Ready, Jack?" David asked.

Jack steeled his expression. "Yeah. Let's get this ova with."

"That's tha spirit," Specs snickered.

David led the way down the apartment stairs, followed by Mush, Spot, Race, Boots, Specs, Bumlets, and Jack. Medda had given them clear instructions: get in the car she called to pick them up, and give the doormen at the club her name.

But when they stepped out onto the sidewalk outside their apartment, their eyes almost popped out of their heads at the sight of the Escalade stretch limo.

"She really wants us to enjoy ourselves," David muttered.

"Let's not let her down, boys," Mush opened the door and gestured grandly to the black leather seats.

They piled in, and David spoke with the driver, who knew where to go.

"Help yourselves to the champagne, gentlemen," the driver said smoothly.

"Ooo, allow me, gentlemen," Snoddy slid across the seats to the champagne cooling in an ice bucket.

"Race, don't-" David started to say, as he watched Racetrack push the control buttons on one of the console. He turned on the lights along the floor and ceiling, and The Notorious B.I.G. came on the speakers. The guys laughed, and loosened up almost immediately as Boots popped the champagne. Mush and Bumlets stoop up through the sunroof, laughing and shouting. Spot joined them for the passing over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Jack finally smiled. He looked over to see David clinking their glasses together, David smiling at him.

They almost forgot where they were going.