Hello all! I edited this chapter quite a bit to get ready for the next one, so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5

October, 1903

"Y'know, I'm surprised none a' them mick gangs ever asked you to join up."

Spot shot Jack a sideways warning glare, clearly uninterested in the Manhattaner's choice of topic. Especially not to start their long trek to Queens.

It had been three days since he had left Jack in Manhattan with instructions to contact Louis "Kid Blink" Baletti. After the first day of no news, Spot had begun to get antsy. On the second day he had felt like he might explode. So, as the third day had dawned, Spot had sent Flit to Manhattan for the express purpose of ensuring Jack had completed the task with which he had been set. It had been over a week since Kate had gone missing, and time was something that they didn't have to spare. But Jack had been prepared for Spot's call to action and had sent word back that he would meet Spot at the docks following his shift to then journey to Queens for a clandestine rendezvous with Baletti.

It was almost laughable to Spot that a meeting with Kid Blink required such delicate handling, let alone that the boy had found himself a place amongst one of New York's up and coming crime families. But at the same time, Spot was savvy enough to understand the risk involved in putting even a small amount of trust in one of their now lapsed newsie brethren. Especially considering that it was he who had taken a bribe all those years ago and almost capsized the strike.

Maybe that's why the kid had ended up making his start as a runner for the Fiore family—beyond all his clumsy antics, he actually had the spark of a born criminal.

Jack, however, seemed surprisingly calm and collected considering the circumstances. And certainly undeterred by Spot's current unwillingness to disclose any information.

"What?" Jack asked, widening his eyes. "You got a reputation, and it ain't just with the ladies."

"Mick is an ugly word—you know better than ta use it," Spot finally said after several moments of silence. "Ain't you half Irish anyway?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure. But it don't make me more than a bum in everyone else's eyes. It's not necessarily somethin' to hang your hat on in this town."

"If that ain't the truth," Spot muttered darkly as he took a cigarette out of his pocket and put it in his mouth.

"But really," Jack quickly asserted. "None a' them crooked dockers came knockin' on your door after the strike?"

Spot snorted as he lit his smoke. "Who says they didn't? And under what circumstances would you think I'd say yes?"

Silence pervaded as they walked on, Jack's eyes pensive. The sun was halfway down to the horizon and they still had a long way to go. Spot almost felt bad for being so stingy with personal information, especially with someone who he had once considered a lifelong friend. But it had been almost a year since they had seen one another, and their relationship had deteriorated quite quickly well before even that point. All of which was to say that Spot still wasn't sure of his full standing with Jack. Or if any potential information he might share could be the final straw in ending the Manhattaner's so far friendly assistance.

"You know, there's a lot you still ain't told me," Jack started, almost as if he had just read Spot's mind. "Like why the hell the Fiore family would be after Kate in the first place."

Jack's comment remained affable enough, but Spot could tell there was something more he was getting at—something bigger he wanted to ask. "It's 'cause I'm not sure myself."

"Alright," Jack said temperedly, tucking his hands into his pockets and looking up. "So you're willin' to run into uncertain danger for a girl you ain't even with. And you've enlisted me ta help with this likely ta' fail mission. Am I gettin' all this right so far?"

Spot sighed, stopping and shaking his head at Jack, who paused in turn. "Do I need to get down on my knees and beg?"

"That ain't what I'm sayin'," Jack shot back, his eyes serious. "I just think that there's some holes in your story, and since I'm helpin' you, I'd like to see the full picture of what exactly we're walkin' into."

Spot clenched his jaw, immediately incensed at Jack's insinuation. "What is it you think I'm hidin' from you?"

Jack looked incredulous. "How about what this thing between you an' Kate is? You say you ain't together, but you're willin' to confront the devil himself to get her back?"

Spot rolled his eyes, steeling himself against the sting that Jack's words instilled. "What do you want me to say? She ain't with me. She's never been my girl—shit, I've never even fucked her." Spot shot a look of accusation toward Jack. "Is that what you want to hear? That you fucked her, and I didn't?"

Spot puffed angrily off his cigarette and went to turn away, but Jack quickly caught his arm. "Hey, it ain't like that—that's not why I'm askin'." Jack's eyes squinted in a disarming way before he added, "Look, you say she's in danger—that someone's taken 'er and you need my help. And even though you and her ain't exactly my favorite people right now," Jack sighed, releasing Spot from his grip. "That don't mean I'm cold enough to turn a blind eye if she's out there drownin'."

Jack paused, running a hand through his light brown hair. "All I'm tryin' ta do is get the full story of how the hell it ended up here—with you bein' the only one who gives enough of a damn to look for her. And in my opinion, the best way to do that is to start from the beginning. We need to look like we've got our shit together when we talk to Baletti." Jack shot an imploring glance in Spot's direction. "And we got quite a ways to walk tonight anyway so might as well do somethin' useful."

Jack's comments were so insightful, so poignant that Spot stared at him in shock for several moments. Not only had Jack fully considered the logistics of the situation, he had also shared some surprisingly forgiving sentiments regarding his relationships with both Kate and Spot. And he had seemed resolute in his statements, at that. So, knowing no other way to handle the situation, Spot flicked his cigarette stump off into the distance and ran a hand through his own hair as he attempted to sort through his thoughts. The task Jack had posed seemed so simple, but the reality of he and Kate's relationship was anything but. And until this point, he had kept everything having to do with her tightly contained within himself.

He felt like wanting to laugh, or maybe even scream, but he tempered these urges, swallowing the bitter lump in his throat. What had happened between he and Kate that had resulted in where they all stood now? How had they gotten to this point—where she was gone and he was the only one trying to save her?

He didn't even know where to start.

Spot felt his chest constrict as memories began to flood his mind. He looked to Jack, unsure of what he could share, what aspects of his story with Kate would be safely handled by Jack's somewhat fragile feelings on the matter. His old friend had claimed to be open to the whole story, but not even a year ago he had thrown angry punches at Spot in a crowded bar for just the suspicion of Spot being behind Jack and Kate's end.

Could he tell Jack about the times he had walked Kate home in the beginning? The fact that, while Jack remained behind drinking and most likely cavorting with other women, Spot had deepened his connection with Kate knowing full-well that he probably shouldn't?

What about the darkness he had seen within Kate? The times that her spirited, open nature would bleed into something far more troubling. The nights that she would show up in Brooklyn at either his or her friend Julia's door looking for a place to sleep. That her parents, the upstanding citizens and doting caregivers they appeared to be in public, were more complicated and dysfunctional behind closed doors. The scratches and bruises that littered her arms and face following a difficult day at work. Or the much more concerning fact that Spot had found this raw, uninhibited side of Kate even more alluring?

That no matter how forcefully he pushed her pretty face and melodic voice from his mind or how many other women he spent his nights with, the want for her presence was always far greater?

Spot clenched his jaw as an overpowering wave of nostalgia washed over him, almost as if he were stepping back in time. The world around him seemed to morph into a different street scene from so long ago. And then he saw her—felt his arm sturdily fit around her drunken frame, supporting her through another cold night after having exited a rowdy pub together.

"Aw, we're missing the best song," Kate had sighed drunkenly, leaning her full weight into his side. "Can't you hear it?"

Her bright green eyes struggled to meet his, her head lolling slightly as she stared somewhat expectantly at him. But he only chuckled, amusedly shaking his head. "Just sounds like a bunch of noise to me, doll."

"No," she said forcefully, pulling him to a halt. "I hear it. They're playing The Rose of Tralee."

Her eyes were shining as she pushed off from Spot, doing a somewhat competent twirl by herself. But her second attempt was far less successful. She tripped over her own feet, laughing as Spot deftly caught her before she fell face-first to the ground.

"I don't normally like songs about love," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself. "But something about that one lyric—the bit that says 'twas not her beauty alone that won me, twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning'—that's a good one." She opened her eyes again, leaning back into Spot's side, chuckling.

He couldn't help but smile at her, even in her drunken, disheveled, clumsy state. And after a few moments of comfortable silence had pervaded between them, Spot murmured almost to himself, "You might make a sap outa me yet."

She only laughed, a genuinely sweet sound that filled the dark night around them. And when she leaned the side of her head against his chest, clutching onto his abdomen and pulling him closer, he remembered thinking, if only for a moment, that maybe being a sap wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"Clearly there was a lot of shit goin' on that Kate never told me."

The sound of Kate's laugh quickly dissolved into the cold night now surrounding him, her face disappearing right before his eyes. But the absence of her body next to his was the most powerful difference that caused Spot to feel suddenly empty and alone.

He met Jack's gaze quietly for a moment, muddling through the best way to relay the necessary information to him. There had to be some things that were off limits, certainly, but the rest?

"Honestly, she didn't tell me much either," Spot finally admitted. "Most of what I know comes from what I saw."

Jack's face remained neutral as Spot sighed and continued, "Kate was in Brooklyn a lot. Not necessarily 'cause a' me at first. We ended up meetin' up every once in a while because we had a mutual…friend…" Spot trailed off, looking for the best way to describe their shared connection to Julia, the twenty-seven year old barmaid that, for reasons unbeknownst to him, had long been a close connection of Kate's.

And, to complicate things more, a past fling of Spot's.

"You and her ran in the same circles? In Brooklyn?" Jack asked, his tone disbelieving.

Spot passed a hand uncomfortably through his hair, shaking his head. "Not exactly." He paused, at a momentary loss of how to explain the very complicated and somewhat convoluted origin to Kate's time in Brooklyn, finally sighing and saying, "Sometimes her ma would get in a mood an' throw her outa the house for a few days. Her pa would always give 'er keys to their shop so she could sleep in the storage room, but a lotta times—well—she didn't feel safe there. So, she'd come here to stay with her friend. Sometimes I'd even sneak her into the attic to stay with me at Mary's." Spot paused before dropping his gaze thoughtfully and adding, "At first I just thought it was some domestic squabbles—y'know—the regular shit that we've all been through with family. But Kate—she didn't tell me—or anyone—that she was runnin' from somethin' else outside her family. Somethin' a whole lot worse."

Spot trailed off, shrugging in discomfort, feeling a strange, but familiar, culpability in his short-sightedness of the situation. And Jack, noting his hesitation, gave him several moments to gather his bearings before meeting his gaze and assuredly saying, "Tell me what happened."

So, feeling that there was no better way to proceed, Spot took one last deep breath and then opened the floodgates as much as he dared.

He talked about the bruises and scratches. The heavy drinking. The multitude of nights where she had shown up, scared and desperate, with nowhere else to go. How her parents were at best neglectful and at worst cruel. How she had kept all the far more troublesome details a secret until it had been too late. But most importantly, he told Jack about what he had witnessed with his own eyes.

The desperate causes into which Kate had naively thrown herself, the phony idealists that had twisted both her body and her aspirations into submission, and the target that she had all but secured upon her back by simply having a voice to respond.

But one of the things Spot couldn't talk—or even think about, were all the ifs surrounding he and Kate's story. The little moments that he saw the trouble brewing and turned a blind eye. The feelings that he cruelly denied to even himself. The times that he could have been there for her—perhaps even saved her from the worst of what happened, but he, instead, pulled back.

From their first genuine encounter, he had wanted her to be his. Every bone in his body had felt it—every ounce of his soul had known it, and there had even been a few times that he had dared to indulge himself with the feel of her body and spirit. But those moments had ended abruptly as he had pushed her away—even more aggressively than he would have his own worst enemy.

It had been right there. She had been within his grasp—

And he had let it all slip away.

"'Cause a' you two's history an' all. Let me do most of the talkin' at first. Warm him up for you."

The two silently came to stand in front of a tall, darkened building just on the edge between Brooklyn and Queens. Jack's tempered warning had earned him an eyeroll from Spot, who was not in the least bit concerned about whatever hurt feelings Kid Blink still harbored from their tiff nearly four years ago now. And he had said as much.

"If he's still sore about me breakin' his nose an' knocking out his good eye, maybe he shouldn'ta turned scab or taken bribes durin' the strike. I certainly ain't gonna apologize for it now."

Jack had sighed half-heartedly in response, muttering, "Fair enough."

The warehouse where they were set to meet Baletti smelled of scorched wood and sewage. Spot shot Jack a wary glance as they stepped beyond the doorless threshold and into what was once probably the foyer of a functioning factory. Now it was dark and dingy, broken glass and dust caked upon the warped wooden floor and walls.

Spot stood there momentarily, taking in his surroundings—the darkest corners of the room, the shattered windows that barely allowed the moonlight to filter in.

"This is a shithole," Jack muttered quietly, kicking some debris around with his foot. "Why the hell would he want us to meet him here?"

Spot leaned back against the nearest wall, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of his surroundings. "My guess is he's tryin' to set the tone by makin' us go somewhere he knows best—gives him an advantage an' shows us he's the one callin' the shots."

Jack looked back at Spot, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"What?" Spot finally said. "You think I was leader a' Brooklyn for so long 'cause I threw tea parties?"

Jack chuckled, a small smile appearing on his face. "You always did know how to make an impression."

"By knockin' people's teeth out." Spot's mouth pulled into a bitter line as he thought back to the more violent episodes that had befallen him as a newsboy. What a troubled kid he had been then, and what a brooding man he had become.

"Y'know, when I met up with Blink a few days ago, I was kinda surprised. He's—different. Harder in some ways."

Spot scoffed. "Well, runnin' with criminals will do that to you. But I'd bet good money I could still make him flinch if I tried."

The response to Spot's comment, however, came from another voice that suddenly echoed across the room from the two men, drawing their attention toward the darkness.

"That's a helluva bad way to thank me for doin' you a favor, Conlon."

Jack's eyes darted in the other direction as he took a step back from the sound while Spot remained still, squinting toward the opposite wall.

"I'm holding back my thanks until I see what you've got ta show for yourself tonight," Spot shot back as a thin form emerged from the far corner of the room.

Jack gave Spot a warning glare before walking a few steps and saying, "Heya, Blink. Thanks for agreein' ta meet us."

Blink moved toward Jack, a sliver of moonlight catching the straw color of his hair and the blackness of his eyepatch momentarily before he stepped out of the revealing shimmer. He came to stand in front of Jack, jutting his hand out and saying, "Nice ta see ya again, Sullivan."

Jack firmly shook the offered limb and then stepped back to allow Blink a clear view of Spot.

"You look like shit, Conlon."

"As always you're a regular charmer, Baletti," Spot snidely replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I do appreciate the fact that you actually showed up."

Blink snorted somewhat good-naturedly before shrugging. "I spose that's as close to thanks as I'll get from the so-called King of Brooklyn."

But before more shots could be fired between the two, Jack quickly diverted the conversation to the task at hand. "So have you got news for us? About the situation I toldja about a few days ago?"

Blink's good eye lingered on Spot for a moment longer before snapping to Jack. "Yeah. As far as I can tell, your girl's alive. At least for now."

Spot felt an immediate rush of adrenaline overtake him as he widened his eyes and pushed himself off the wall, stepping toward Baletti. "You've seen her? You know where she is?"

"Sort of," Blink said temperedly, his gaze steadily surveying Spot's tense form. "It's a complicated situation. From what I could get in passin' it's one a' the top guys that's got 'er."

"Well, who the hell is he? Where's he keepin' her?" Spot blurted out, raising his hands expectantly toward Blink.

But the straw-haired boy only shook his head in response, steadily replying, "Look, I came here as a favor to you. But—shit, I really shouldn't be talkin' to you about this to begin with. You've got no idea the type a' people you're dealin' with here, an'—

"Blink, you gotta tell us where she is," Jack interrupted, his brown eyes narrowing in concern.

Blink, however, scoffed, taking a step back before he said, "First off, I don't gotta do shit, you understand? I'm goin' way outta my way to even come talk to you fellas. An I sure as fuck ain't gonna go blabbin' on about somethin' I shouldn't know about in the first place."

"Then how the fuck do you suggest we get her outa there?" Spot hissed, his fists tightening so harshly at his side that they began to feel numb.

Blink turned his head to stare steadily at Spot. "You wanna know what I suggest? Stayin' the hell away from this entirely. There's nothing to do about it. That girl's obviously gotten herself mixed up in a bad situation, an' now she's payin' the price for that. She might as well already be dead. So cut your losses an' leave well enough alone. Ain't no broad's worth gettin' gutted over."

"I oughta gut you myself," Spot growled taking several threatening steps toward the straw-haired boy who backed away quickly in turn. "We asked you to find her so that we could get her outta there. Not for you to come here an' weasel your way outta helpin' us."

"Hey," Blink said, turning exasperatedly to Jack. "You said find her. You said make sure she was alive. Nobody fuckin' mentioned schemin' under my bosses' noses and pullin' off a rescue mission. That ain't part of any deal I signed up for."

Spot advanced quickly to grab Blink by the collar, nearly lifting the thin boy off the ground within his hold. "You listen to me, you fuckin' spineless bastard! You're gonna tell us where she is, an' we'll go get her with or without your help. But I swear to God, if it's without your help, I'll make sure to—"

"Spot, c'mon," Jack said, gently pulling against Spot's rigid shoulders.

"Why?" Spot hissed, shaking Jack off as he maintained a tight hold on Blink. "You heard him—he'd just leave an innocent girl to die at the hands of a buncha monsters."

Blink glared at Spot as he muttered, "I ain't about to stick my neck out for some whore you've taken a fancy to, Conlon. Where's the sense in that?"

Spot saw red as he slammed Balletti against the wall nearest them, pushing his face within inches of Blink's. "I got no qualms givin' you a limp ta go with that bum eye a' yours. But that ain't nothin' compared ta what the Fiores'll do when I bust into wherever the hell they're keepin' the girl singin' out your name as I go." Spot paused, glaring menacingly into Blink's good eye as the man cowered slightly beneath him. "Because I will find her. And I'll sure as shit make you pay if I gotta do it alone."

The air between the two of them felt thick as Spot unblinkingly stared into his widened good eye. He could feel the fear emanating off of Blink's body in the way that it trembled. And when Blink finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice shook. "You can't go in there."

"The hell I can't," Spot growled, pushing him harder against the wall.

"You wouldn't make it past the door. An who'd be there to help your girl then?" Blink hoarsely murmured.

Spot paused momentarily, glaring into the one blue eye that stared back at him. But it was Jack that surprisingly broke the silence next. "Seems as though Spot's given you two options, Blink. An' one a' them is clearly better than the other."

Spot felt a wave of appreciation rush through his body at Jack's words of solidarity, but he maintained his steady hold of Blink, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Blink glared first at Jack and then at Spot. "Better? How the fuck do you figure? I can't have you bustin' in anywhere an' causin' a scene. You'll sure as shit get yourself killed. An' if they find out it was me who talked about this—who toldja where to find 'er—"

"Ain't nobody but the three of us here will know it was you if you tell us where she is. But if you don't tell us, I guarantee after I burn this city down findin' her, you'll only live long enough to regret it."

Blink huffed in anger, glaring at Spot. Spot only met his gaze coolly, emanating unwavering assuredness.

"Fine," Blink hissed through clenched teeth after several tense moments. "But none a' this changes the fact that you still can't go in there an' get 'er. And you know it, too."

Spot released Blink from his grip, tossing him aside as his eyes caught Jack's pensive stare. Of course he knew Blink was right. He or Jack wouldn't be able to sneak Kate out of whatever gang-infested place she was holed up in, let alone get close enough to put eyes on her. It was a fucking mess of a situation, a seemingly insurmountable feat, but Spot wasn't ready to throw in the towel. Not yet.

There had to be some way around this. Some way to get her out alive.

Only the intermittent scatter of rodents and Blink's frustrated grunts could be heard in the silence that pervaded amongst them, Spot agitatedly pacing back and forth, while Blink smoked a cigarette and Jack remained still.

Finally Blink ventured an exasperated statement. "Like I said, ain't nothin' to do about it but leave it alone. She's in there an' the only way she's comin out is when they're ready to throw her body in the river."

Spot scowled angrily at Blink as he took a threatening step toward him, Blink immediately shrinking back a few paces in turn. But both he and Baletti turned their heads towards Jack when he sighed and lifted his gaze.

"There's a better way to handle this, I think."

Spot narrowed his eyes as he carefully asked, "You got somethin' in mind?"

Jack nodded. "There may be a way for Blink to get Kate out without anyone suspecting anything." He paused, seeming to carefully think through his next words. "But we may need to burn down a small portion of the city to make it work."