Chapter 6

October, 1903

It was always the waiting that got to Spot the most.

The rush of adrenaline that ran through his body at the promise of a fight—the heady thrill that snapped his brain into focus while also somehow slowing down everything around him were welcome sensations that his body knew all too well.

But this—this maddening inertia that now held his form tensely within the small spare room he had long rented from Mary was enough to make him want to lash out at every piece of furniture and wall space around him.

"You ain't goin' anywhere near that house."

Jack's stern stare from the day before flashed within Spot's mind as he inwardly groaned. He remembered the feeling of murderous rage that had so quickly enveloped him at the Manhattaner's assertation as he had hissed, "I'd like to see you try to fuckin' stop me."

Jack, however, did not waver at the clear threat in front of him. He simply sighed, squinting meaningfully as he said, "You an' I both know if you go with me and Blink tomorrow, you won't be able to stop yourself from goin' in. An' that'll blow this whole operation to shit right then an' there."

Spot felt deflated at the undeniable truth in Jack's words. Of course he knew that. The logical part of his brain had already deduced the importance of him not being a visible part of this scheme. That was the only way he could ensure that Kate had a safe place to be brought following the chaos of her rescue.

That is, if everything went as originally planned.

Spot rubbed his hands roughly over his face, looking to the warm orange and red hues glowing through his window across the room. Only another hour before the night's darkness would ensure the cover Jack and Blink required to journey to the Fiore house in Queens. Before Jack lit the fuses and threw the plethora of fireworks they had bought in Chinatown yesterday to the porch at the front of the house. Just an hour until Blink climbed up the back to the second story landing, slipping through the window and into the room where Kate was being kept.

A pang of trepidation within his gut caused him to stand suddenly, his eyes wide and his thoughts on the verge of panic.

What if the fireworks didn't cause the necessary distraction? What if Jack wasn't able to pour the oil around the siding and get it to catch fire? What if Blink was discovered? Or, even worse, what if Kate was already gone?

His last supposition was the most alarming one, and he quickly tried to shake himself from the terrifying thought. No, he wouldn't sink into that hopelessness just yet. There was still a chance—a small, ever-waning possibility that he would see her, alive and in one piece within the next few hours.

His eyes absently ran over the floor of his room as he tried to calm his breathing, suddenly alighting upon a dusty book spine peaking slightly out from underneath his bed. He went to it, almost as if pulled by some type of force, kneeling and retrieving the small book. The binding was somewhat bent, a thin layer of dust covering the printed title "Hard Times" upon the cover.

"I have a present for you."

Kate's voice echoed within his room, the surrounding walls and furniture seeming to fade away as he saw the thin girl come to lean next to him against the outside of the Manhattan pub she had been drinking in moments before. Her eyes were light as he turned to face her, a playful smile painted on her lips.

He remembered his initial hesitancy to engage with her, a war he had been waging within himself for several months at that point. The sudden, uncontrollable yearning that had begun to fill him every time she was near unnerved him. And he found that what bothered him the most about this novel feeling within his chest was that it was becoming increasingly difficult to control. From just the mere thought of engaging in a dialogue with her, his body seemed to ignite. And he didn't like this revelation one bit.

Honestly, he found himself resenting her for this unknown pull she appeared to have on him, at the same time knowing that she likely had no clue any of this was going on in the first place. But that hadn't stopped him from trying to avoid her all night, an attempt at allowing him enough time to get a firm hold on himself and his almost surfacing emotions.

He sighed as she raised her eyebrows in question, the dwindling cigarette between his fingers thoughtlessly making its way back to his lips.

"Yeah?" was all he could mutter in response after taking in a burning lungful of smoke, trying to blow the exhaust out as casually as possible.

"Yeah," she responded quickly, studying his face with the smallest hint of apprehension in her own. "Or I could just give it to someone else who doesn't have their nethers in a twist."

His eyes snapped to her challenging gaze. And before he could stop himself, he let his stare wander toward the open door behind them, spitting, "Like Jack?"

Kate's green eyes constricted minutely as she peered through the small opening into the darkened tavern, Jack's form closely entwined with a barmaid in the far corner. But after another moment, Kate shrugged, turning to look back out into the empty side alley in front of them. "Clearly he already has his nethers engaged."

Her voice was soft, her expression suddenly cold, and Spot couldn't help the pang of guilt he felt in his gut as his eyes surveyed her now restrained demeanor. But before he could get out the apology that was barely contained behind his lips, she straightened, stepping away from him.

"Anyway, I brought this for you." Her eyes avoided his as she pulled out a small book from the folds of her coat.

He felt shock fill him as he took the offering, turning the rough cover over to read the title.

"Hard Times," she murmured with a hesitant smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I thought maybe the searing social commentary of Dickens might be a good first step in convincing you to rejoin the fight."

A genuine smile slowly grew on his lips as he flipped through several pages before meaningfully meeting her gaze. "Thank you, Kate."

She nodded shortly, turning to go, but he gently caught her hand with his. However, the electricity and warmth that radiated from the place where their fingers touched caused him to momentarily lose his train of thought.

His eyes met hers briefly, registering her own jolt from their connection before he quickly dropped her hand and shook himself back to attention. "Really. Thank you."

A loud rap on the door jolted Spot out of his gentle reverie, a coldness returning both to the darkening room and within his body. He sighed, tossing the dusty book onto his bed before calling, "Yeah?"

"Dinner is ready if you're hungry," Mary's voice announced matter-of-factly through the door.

Spot felt the whisper of a smile play at his lips. Mary O'Connell was ridiculously good to him. But even in the face of her unfailingly kind gesture, he knew that tonight he wouldn't be able to stomach anything. A queasiness had taken a hold of his gut, a rock of anxiety clenching unrelentingly against the idea of either socializing or attempting to eat.

He knew Mary was beginning to worry about him—that his late-night trips to Manhattan, unending bouts of insomnia and anxious silence were starting to erode his usually well-kept, smooth demeanor.

That and the fact that Mary was no fool. She had known him since he was a small child. She had watched him grow from a distance and had silently continued to support him even as his own family of origin had deteriorated suddenly and violently in front of his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, she knew him through and through, and even small deviations from his normal patterns would not go unnoticed by her.

"Thanks, Mary, but I think I'll pass for now."

Spot's voice sounded somewhat hollow as he attempted to emanate steadiness and he heard Mary pause for an extended moment outside his door before saying, "I'll leave something for you on the stove."

He closed his eyes as he heard her retreating footsteps, only to open them and be once again transported to another time and place.

He saw the poker game he had been sitting in on so clearly. Jack to his left, Nick "Racetrack" Higgins to his right, Rummy across from him and two other men Jack had invited from his job sight filling in the rest of the spaces at the table. The air was thick with cigar smoke, and the dimly lit lamps that were placed upon each table barely radiated beyond the wooden edge.

It was a monthly poker game that he rarely missed. A chance to let loose for a few hours into the night with men that he had known nearly all his life. His friends.

But as the current game came to a close, Race happily and loudly collecting his winnings, Spot felt the need to stretch his legs.

"Alright, boys. Count me out the next one. I need some fresh air before Higgins steals any more of my money."

Race feigned offense as he put his hand over his chest. "It ain't stealin' if I won it fair and square. It's the cards that decide, ain't it?"

Spot snorted derisively as his lips upturned in a smirk. "Right. The cards. Nothin' to do with the fact that you've been playin' scams since you was old enough to walk."

At that, the table laughed jovially, wise-cracks thrown at Race as Spot finally turned to walk out the door of the small establishment.

He stepped out into the side alley, pulling a pre-rolled cigarette out of his shirt pocket and deftly lighting it. The chill in the air had subsided somewhat as the worst of the winter season had passed, but it still was enough to be uncomfortable for long periods of time. But before he could lean back to leisurely enjoy his smoke, he heard the sound of light steps approaching him.

"Spot Conlon. Just the person I was hoping to see."

Kate's words were joking, but her voice shook ever so slightly as she stepped nearer to him and into the outskirts of the lamplight above. Though she was covered mostly in shadow, he could see the outline of her skirt, and the mess of curls hanging over her shoulders.

He stared at her curiously, surprised at her sudden appearance. "That's what all the girls say."

He smirked, taking another deep inhale from his cigarette as she took several steps closer. Her movements were purposeful, but at the same time hesitant, and Spot remembered feeling a tension in the air between them that normally did not exist.

"So, what can I do for you this fine evening, Kate?" Spot ventured after several moments of silence pervaded, unsure of what exactly her motivations for being in the vicinity were. "You need me to grab Jack for you? I dunno if he was expecting you, but I'm sure he'd—"

"No," she quickly interjected, a slight panic seeming to radiate throughout her features. But she swiftly steadied herself, looking away from his unwavering stare. "I was hoping to ask a favor of you before you headed out was all."

He quirked his head, blowing smoke toward the sky. "Well, I planned on playing just a few more hands to teach Higgins a lesson before leavin'. So I got a few minutes for you before I go back in."

"Oh," she said, clearly flustered. "I thought you were leaving. Don't worry about it then. It's nothing."

He looked expectantly at her, drawing in a deep inhale from his cigarette. "I'm starting to see that with you, it's rarely nothing."

He offered her a teasing smile, hoping to relieve some of the strange tension that she seemed to be carrying. And thankfully, after another quiet moment she smiled cautiously back.

"I was just wondering if you were heading back to Brooklyn tonight. I need to go that way myself and thought I'd tag along if it wasn't too much trouble."

Spot's eyes narrowed in confusion and the slightest hint of concern at her completely unexpected request. "Why would you need to go to Brooklyn at this time a' night? Ain't your parents place a few minutes' walk from here?"

"Like, I said, if it's too much trouble, don't worry about it. I can head there without you," she answered quickly, her face becoming strangely blank in response to his gentle prod.

But Spot found himself unable to temper his worried response. "I know you got more sense than to walk all the way to Brooklyn by yourself in the middle of the night. You ain't that crazy."

He clutched the fingers of one hand tightly within his pocket and flicked the cigarette out of his other.

"You don't really know anything about me, so I wouldn't rule it out," she muttered shaking her head, her mouth forming into a thin, tense line.

And it was in that moment, as Kate went to turn away, that the lamplight above them caught her jaw at just the right angle, revealing a large swollen purple bruise.

"Hey," Spot murmured with concern filling his stare, automatically reaching for her. He caught her elbow gently, pulling her nearer to him as he more closely surveyed her injury. Her uncharacteristic defensiveness at his questions suddenly had more context, even if she still had provided no answers.

But just as he began to note what appeared to be bruised fingerprints along the visible skin of her neck, she harshly pulled away and huffed, "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not a zoo animal." She paused pulling her coat tighter around her before adding, "Look, don't worry about it. This was a terrible idea. I just—I'm fine going alone."

He scoffed, put off by both her sudden repulsion at his touch and the fact that she was stubbornly refusing the help he knew she needed. "If that were true, you wouldn't have said anything at all."

Her eyes surveyed him briefly, before a group of men drunkenly stumbled out of the pub door completely oblivious to the strained conversation they were walking through. And after they had finally gathered themselves enough to fully pass by, Spot noticed Kate was halfway down the alleyway toward the street.

He rolled his eyes as he jogged a little to catch up with her, sliding in front of her to stop her trek.

"I don't need your pity. Or a lecture for that matter," Kate said icily, crossing her arms over her chest.

Spot met her hard gaze carefully, replying, "I just know Brooklyn, doll. It ain't an easy walk that way, and it ain't as well-lit or friendly as here. A girl like you could get eaten alive over there if she took a turn down the wrong street. And there's plenty a' wrong streets to turn down."

"A girl like me?" she scoffed, shaking her head derisively. "Last I checked you don't know the first thing about me."

"I know enough," Spot shot back evenly. From the six months that he had spent time getting to know Kate, he could tell she had spirit and street-savviness, but she was also a girl who was still under the watchful eye of two parents. How much exposure had she really had to the darker, more dangerous side that New York had to offer?

Then again, here she stood on a street corner by herself at nearly midnight, sporting a multitude of shiners.

"You know what I let you know," she hissed irritably, almost as if she had read his mind. She turned toward the side, adding, "You of all people understand the necessity of playing everything close to the chest. What makes you assume that I wouldn't need to do the same?"

Her incisive statement struck him with amazement, filling his mind with a plethora of other questions that he felt needed answering. But, seeing how defensive he had made her by simply pointing out the obvious, he decided to try another tactic.

"I ain't tryin' to offend you, alright? So why don't you just tell me where you're headin' and I'll make sure you get there in one piece."

She rolled her eyes but seemed to concede to the generous offer with which he presented her. "A tenement in Fort Greene, on Myrtle Avenue."

Spot's eyes widened in surprise at her somewhat intimate knowledge of his borough, but he simply said, "How 'bout we start headin' that way then?"

A minute amount of guilt filled her gaze as she quietly posed, "What about your poker game?"

"It's fine," he quickly said, shooting her a good-natured smile. "Besides, they ran out of my favorite whiskey anyway."

Her face was stoic as she nodded. "Okay."

It was about a mile before she spoke again, clutching her coat tightly about her and avoiding his gaze. "Thank you for coming with me."

He squinted at her, nodding. The truth was, from the moment she had mentioned trekking to Brooklyn, he had been fully committed to accompanying her, regardless of whatever pushback he received in turn. Her uncharacteristic impassiveness and the strange bruises on her face and neck were just more evidence to support his gut feeling.

Of course there had also been a nagging concern in the back of his mind. The fact that she so quickly refused to see Jack—the uninhibited wave of concern and protectiveness that instinctively filled him. But the desperation in her eyes had been too unsettling, and the unexpected change in her demeanor had been too intriguing to resist.

Several silent moments passed before Spot ventured, "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

He shrugged as he looked over at the girl walking next to him. Her eyes stared straight ahead, her brow somewhat furrowed in concern.

"Can I ask you a question then?" he posed.

"You just did."

He chuckled a little at her counter, unable to help himself from being strangely charmed by her harshness. Nearly all the girls he had spent time with up to that point had easily molded themselves into the sweet, innocent doters, cooing over his handsome looks and commanding air.

But Katherine Moore didn't seem to be that type of girl. Honestly, he had found himself struggling to peg her down with any stereotypical traits with which he was familiar. And tonight she presented even more of a conundrum.

"Alright, so you're gonna keep playin' it close to the chest, I see," he shot back at her.

Her eyes gleamed brightly in challenge as she said, "I don't think it's very fair for you of all people to expect me to play it any other way."

"Because you don't trust me?" he accused.

"Because if the roles were reversed, would you be any different?"

Her statement stunned him into silence for quite some time. They maneuvered over the bridge in thoughtful quiet, heading down toward the shipyards to stand in front of a row of darkened tenement buildings lining the end of Myrtle Avenue.

He followed her as she walked up to a somewhat dilapidated building three stories high. She turned toward him, offering him a small smile of gratitude as she murmured, "This is me. Thank you for taking me all the way down here."

Their close proximity allowed him to more fully peruse the bruising on her jaw and neck momentarily. The colors of the marks were bright, suggesting that whatever had happened had only been a few hours prior.

However, as she went to turn away, Spot found himself suddenly blurting out, "What if I decided that I'm willin' to lay some of my own cards on the table? Would you tell me then?"

Her eyes squinted in surprise. "You mean, if I answer your question, you have to answer one of mine?"

He shrugged, weighing his options for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Somethin' like that."

And he felt pleased as a soft smile crept upon her lips, the first genuine one he had seen all night.

"Maybe. But you should be careful, Spot Conlon. People could get the wrong idea and start thinking that you might actually give a shit."

Spot's head swam as Kate's face faded and her voice's echo was swallowed yet again into the present abyss. His room seemed even quieter as the darkness fully settled over it, and so much colder when he remembered that she had been gone for so long now.

It was even more harrowing to realize the full weight of that night and the deal they had struck as it's impacts resonated throughout the present. It had been the start of something wholly enthralling and the time he had spent with her following their first long walk to Brooklyn quickly increased in frequency and warmth.

But it wasn't long before the sharp, twisting pain of regret filled his abdomen—a terrifying reminder that it was he who had put an angry halt to their naturally building closeness every step of the way.

And it was his actions that had pushed her over the edge that fateful night in Brooklyn nearly two years after their first trek, straight back into Manhattan where her captors were already lying in wait.