CHAPTER 1

Brooklyn, New York

October, 1903

"Ya need to come with me, boss. Somethin's happened."

Spot Conlon's body shook as the voice of his second in command, William "Rummy" Byrne, echoed within his head for what felt like the thousandth time that night. The conversation that had followed was nigh twelve hours old now, but the words still rang fresh with mounting dread.

He had of course gone with Rummy early that morning, irritably slumping his way to a deserted side street near The World's Brooklyn distribution center. And upon coming to stand face to face with one of his messengers, a skinny eleven-year-old named Flit, he had crossed his arms over his chest and nodded for the boy to get to whatever news he had to share.

"I just got back from 'Hattan," Flit had murmured nervously after several moment's pause, his small grey eyes darting anywhere but into Spot's sharp blue ones.

Spot had shrugged, looking from Rummy to Flit, then back between them again, before finally raising his hands to say, "And? What of it?"

Spot was not an habitually ill-tempered man. The peace that had prevailed over his eight year reign of Brooklyn was an undeniable testament to this. But with several poor nights' sleep haunting his frame and a multitude of other stressful situations already piled atop his plate, he had found himself widening his eyes in further annoyance when Flit had begun to anxiously mumble, "Well, I—ya see—I—"

But Rummy, immediately sensing Spot's impatience, had quickly intervened by setting a steadying hand upon Flit's shoulder and saying, "Just tell Conlon what ya told me, alright?"

Spot too had attempted to steady himself for whatever news had lain ahead, Flit's eyes still nervously surveying him as he had begun, "Ya see, I woulda come back sooner but I had ta keep lookin'—I could see everythin' until I couldn't anymore an' I even seen her climb out the back window but after that—"

"What in the hell are you talkin' about?" Spot had interrupted with a shake of his head.

"The one I been followin', Spot," Flit had murmured. "The girl in Manhattan—the pretty one who does the deliveries all over."

"Katherine," Spot had confirmed, his jaw tightening in heightened displeasure at Flit and Rummy's corresponding nods.

Truthfully, he had almost rolled his eyes as her name had left his own lips. And even though years of history existed between him and the sharp-tongued conundrum of a girl, he hadn't wanted to talk about anything remotely involving her. If he were really being honest with himself though, this immediate disdain might have been somewhat influenced by the horribly contentious way their last meeting had ended three days prior.

And the fact that from almost the first day he had met her, she had seemed to pervade all his waking and sleeping thoughts.

However, he had quickly shaken himself back to alertness, the image of the strange, impish girl leaving his mind as he had distractedly muttered, "I ain't interested in talkin' about her. Just head back over there an' keep an eye on her like you have been, will ya?"

But as Spot had gone to turn away, Flit had exasperatedly persisted. "Spot, I'm tryin' ta tell ya-I seen her climb out the back window of her folk's place. But when I turned the corner she weren't there no more."

Spot had narrowed his eyes, again looking between Rummy and Flit before asking, "Well, where is she now?"

"Boss, that's what Flit's sayin'. He ain't been able to find her for three days," Rummy had said, staring at Spot meaningfully.

Spot had felt the color begin to drain from his face as some of Flit's nonsensical snippets had started to fix into something of substance. But, still unable to fully grasp the extent of what was being said, he had mumbled, "Didja check her parent's store? Or the park? She goes to that park a lot an'—"

"Conlon," Rummy had interjected gently, placing a comforting hand on Spot's shoulder. "Her parents contacted the bulls. She ain't been home for days now. She's gone."

Almost nothing took Spot by surprise anymore, but the shock that he had felt in the wake of this unexpected announcement had been wholly immobilizing. And this strange, hollow feeling in the bottom of his gut had yet to wane, even as Spot now stared up into the darkening sky, noting the cloudless night unfolding before him. He was utterly befuddled, completely unhinged and these were not feelings that the Brooklynite was comfortable with experiencing, let alone admitting.

She's gone.

Flit and Rummy had repeated this sentiment over and over again as Spot had stood in that small side street unable to comprehend what any of it meant. And now, even with multiple hours to process the information, Spot still felt like his head might explode. Flit had assured him that he had searched high and low, all of Katherine's regular haunts—the seedy clients that she so frequently dealt with, but to no avail. She—the beautiful girl from Manhattan—had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, leaving no trace of herself behind.

But as a cold wind suddenly wisped past him as he stood on the Brooklyn Lodging House roof, an ever-pressing need began to fill him.

He had to get her back.

"God dammit," Spot hissed as he deftly rolled and lit a cigarette, inhaling a puff of his smoke before murmuring almost tenderly to the empty night around him, "Where are you, Kate?"