Chapter 22

Brooklyn, April, 1903

Spot entered the crowded meeting space at the back of Murphy's pub somewhat tentatively, eyes open and whiskey in hand. A large group of longshoremen filled the smaller room, some middle-aged and scowling while others looked nearer his own and far more animated. But not one was without a full glass of spirits, making the air smell of sweat, smoke, and ale simultaneously.

As he maneuvered through the loud throng, he caught sight of a wooden platform set up in the center of the gathering.

This had to be the place then.

A week prior, when Flit told him that Katherine Moore had been seen making a rousing speech in support of rising union dues to a pub full of dockers—the first sighting of her in over two months—Spot had almost scoffed.

"It couldn't a' been her, Flit," Spot quickly—though worriedly—supplied, taking a puff off his smoke as the two headed back to the lodging house from the riverfront.

And Spot felt assured in this immediate assumption.

He had spent enough time with Kate to know there were just some ethical lines she would never cross. Not for anything. And working with the mob-infested shipping unions held a prominent place on that list. Not to mention that Kate only ever dealt with the female counterparts of that region.

"I swear on me mother," Flit countered anxiously, eyes wide as he doubled his steps to keep up with Spot's long strides.

Spot shot Flit a sideways glance. "Did you even know your mother?"

The younger boy, however, threw his hands up exasperatedly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"A lot," Spot replied, with an eyeroll and a smirk.

But not wanting to fully discredit the boy, he had asked Rummy to check in with his contacts around the area to see if Kate had, at the very least, been sighted alive and well somewhere close by.

And much to Spot's heightening concern, Rummy had come back with an immediate, though confusing affirmative. Which was why Spot was now here, in the crowded back room of a pub he would normally never frequent, attempting to blend in with the rest of Brooklyn's indentured day laborers. All in the hopes of maybe putting eyes on the girl who had disappeared for months without a trace.

With any luck, he might even be able to pull her aside and finally get some legitimate answers.

He casually made his way to a more secluded corner on the far side of the room, leaning against the wall before taking a healthy swig from his drink. To say he had been worried about Kate and Julia was a hell of an understatement. Between the strange note Julia had sent Rummy, and the sudden, mysterious way the two women seemed to have evaporated overnight, Spot had been unable to ignore the anxious brick settled within his gut over the last two months. So, with nothing else to go on, he and Rummy had been desperate for any sort of news—any sighting or hearsay of either girl that might bring them closer to the truth beneath it all.

Spot was not sure, however, if confirming Kate's presence among a large group of thug dockers and criminal union reps was much of a comforting update.

But his head jerked toward the crowd when he suddenly heard a flurry of catcalls and whistles erupt. His eyes narrowed in wait as he attempted to calm his surging heartbeat. And then his breath caught in his chest, gaze widening in shock as Kate took the stage.

Except—in a way—it wasn't the girl he knew so well. Not at all. Her hair, normally a pretty, dark mess about her face, was pulled and secured severely atop her head—each piece perfectly pinned in place. Her typical loose skirt and shirt had been replaced by a tightly fitted, low cut dress. And her usually sun-kissed face was painted pale, charcoal lining her eyes and alluring red on her full lips.

"Well good evening to you too!" she called out loudly, putting her hands on her hips and sending a flirtatious wink through the crowd.

Spot took a sip of his drink, feeling even more confused by the changed tone of her voice—high-pitched and airy. Foolish. It reminded him of the multitude of girls he had been with before. In fact, every single girl prior to his time with Kate. Simpering, vapid women that worried over the new fashion trends and all the gossip there was to discuss for the day. Women that were beautiful and delicate—raised to be a silent, unquestioning counterpart to whatever dominant male eventually won their favor.

But that was not Kate. That had never been Kate.

As she continued to speak—showcasing her womanly assets as often as she took breaths—the crowd became more and more enthralled with her show. And Spot found that he too was also taken by her ruse—saddening and disturbing as it was. However, following the first few minutes of her speech, he began to note something else. Something that raised his hackles far more significantly. It was so slight a change, it almost escaped his keen eye, but every so often—as if compelled by a fear she was barely containing—Kate's gaze would flash uncomfortably over the crowd to the back of the room.

Spot watched her for several more moments, observing her quick, anxious glances, before he allowed his own eyes to move toward the darkened corner on the other side of the group. And there he saw a tall, well-dressed man with dark hair staring unblinkingly toward Kate. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face somewhat obscured by shadow.

But when the man's eyes immediately turned to stare directly back at him, Spot quickly snapped his gaze back to the crowd, sipping steadily on his drink as he attempted to ease his nerves.

From the way the man was dressed, he knew that was no union rep, and certainly not another longshoreman. So, then who the fuck was he? And why was he looking at Kate that way?

Like there was a long list of unsavory things he had planned for her if he managed to get her by herself.

He attempted to pull himself out of his disturbing thoughts, realizing that the much more pressing need was to not bring any unwanted attention his way. So, he steadied himself, avoiding looking anywhere but toward the stage, even as Kate's eyes continued to flit anxiously to and fro. However, several moments later, when he hazarded a glance back toward the corner again, the man was gone.

His eyes scanned the rest of the space quickly, seeing that he had made his way to the darkened area just behind Kate. And as the girl finished her speech, bowing dramatically to the rowdy crowd of cheering men with a fake smile planted tightly on her face, Spot saw the man's hand grasp her elbow as he pulled her somewhat roughly to him, whispering into her ear. A frown creased within her features and Spot noted how the man's knuckles were white from his stiff grip.

But in another second, he had disappeared once more, and Kate had the same thin smile plastered upon her lips as if the interruption had not happened at all.

She made her way through the crowd slowly, the same phony, alluring grin remaining in place as a multitude of men surrounded her—clamoring toward the girl more like predators to a fresh kill than grown men to a living breathing person.

And she stood there like some lifeless, decorative doll, allowing each one their turn to get a touch and a taste.

Spot, however, stayed put for quite some time, casually sipping on his drink while he watched Kate interact with each of the patrons gathered, attempting to ignore the squeeze of hurt in his chest and the sinking feeling in his gut. He saw their wandering hands as they spoke to her—the way her body seemed not to respond at all—her unfaltering smile—her empty, though encouraging laughter.

And, as she got even closer to where he was standing, the horrifying deadness in her eyes.

But that was nothing compared to the terror that filled her gaze when she finally noted his presence.

It was the first intense emotional reaction he had seen on her face all night, and it momentarily shocked him. But before he could signal or mouth anything to her, she quickly recovered, turning back to the conversation at hand. Over the next half hour though, her eyes would find his sporadically, full of worry, until she finally seemed to have fulfilled the duty with which she had been set. She caught his attention with a quick jerk of her head before walking purposefully out of the back room toward the main bar. And upon giving her a few minutes' head start, Spot silently followed her lead.

She stood with drink in hand at the far corner of the bar by the exit. Her normally bright eyes were dark and distant, her mouth settled into a thin line. And Spot, feeling a disturbing sense of unease fill him, ordered another whiskey before moving toward Kate. He saw her shoulders tense at his nearness, but her eyes remained averted.

"You shouldn't have come here, Tom."

Spot raised his eyebrows, his gaze exasperatedly focused on her face. "Yeah? And why the hell not? I've been lookin' for you an' Julia for months now. What the fuck was I supposed to do when you up and disappeared one day?"

At that she turned toward him, genuinely surprised. "I didn't—I didn't think you—you would—" but she shook her head, sighing heavily. "It doesn't matter. You can't be here. You can't show up when I'm at work. Or ever. You just—you can't, ok? I need you to leave. Now."

Kate downed her drink in one gulp, putting the now empty glass on the wooden bar top behind her before taking a few steps forward. But Spot caught her hand in his, pulling her gently back.

"Kate, what the fuck is going on?" he asked, eyes narrowed in concern. "I can tell somethin' is wrong—it's all over your face. And it ain't like you to just up and disappear for this long. What aren't you tellin' me?"

"Please, Tom," Kate murmured, squeezing his hand, fear reflecting in her gaze. "You have to go. I can't have you here. Don't ever come here again. Promise me that."

She attempted to pull her hand away, but he held fast to her, saying, "Kate, you need to tell me—"

"Promise me, Tom," she reiterated more intently, her eyes darting around, seeming to check her surroundings for potential danger before settling severely upon him again. "And then go."

"Not until you promise me you're gonna tell me what the hell's been goin' on these past two months," Spot quietly, though stubbornly insisted.

Kate closed her eyes momentarily, biting her bottom lip before muttering, "Fine. Fine, I'll—I'll meet you at the lodging house when I'm done here. But you have to go. Now."

She shot him one more imploring look, pulsing his hand in hers, and he finally nodded in agreement, releasing her.

The walk back to the lodging house was a short one, but Spot found himself lighting a half-smoked cigarette in the alley behind the building as he waited. His thoughts worriedly ran through what he had seen at the bar in the hours prior—the undeniable confirmation that he didn't want to accept.

She was clearly being forced into this situation—there was no other way she would have assumed a position like this otherwise. It just wasn't possible. Because, over the last two years, he had been there, listening to her. He had been swayed—enthralled even—in what she had to say. But everything he saw tonight painted a very different picture—detailing a person who was much the opposite of the one he had come to know.

And he simply could not reconcile the two.

How many times had he heard her rant on the unsavory precedent the mob influence down by the waterfront was setting for the rest of the city's working poor? Or rail against the cowardice of the participating longshoremen—stating that their continued silence on the matter was merely complicity?

Too many fucking times to count.

And she knew the horrible options that most men in Brooklyn were left with—she knew because he told her. That it was join up, halve their pay to whatever underground crime boss happened to be heading the union at the time, or starve. And if you had anything to say on the contrary, no one batted an eye when your body inevitably washed up somewhere in Queens or Staten Island a few weeks later.

Those riverfront rules had never applied to him, but that was a different story entirely—one that Kate needn't worry herself over.

And very much beside the point.

Because now there she was, amongst the worst of them, not only encouraging an increase in such detrimental behaviors, but also whoring herself to anyone willing and ready with a goddamn smile on her face?

No. Something wasn't adding up—something had to be off about this whole situation.

Or he didn't really know Katherine Moore like he thought he did.

But it was the better part of an hour and another cigarette before he had the chance to even get a good look at the girl, let alone ask any of the thousands of questions that began filing through his brain. When he heard the click of her boots and the swish of her dress coming down the side of the building, he took a moment to really observe her, even in the dim light. He found people's bodies and faces were always so much more revealing when they were under the impression that no one was watching them.

Kate's vacant expression and stiff movements, however, exposed nothing remotely substantial.

So he flicked the remainder of his smoke off to the side, meeting her clouded gaze.

"Was startin' to get worried you weren't gonna show."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I'm tired, Spot. So, if you could just get to your point already."

"C'mon," he said, stepping toward the back entrance as he gently grasped her hand to pull her alongside him. "Let's go upstairs. I think there's still a clean nightshirt somewhere and I'll get some water for you to wash your face."

But she pulled against him, stuttering, "Spot—I—I don't—" she huffed, seeming overwhelmed as she stole a glance behind her. "Just tell me…. what is it that you want to know?"

When she turned back to look at him there was fear reflecting in her gaze with such intensity that he found himself somewhat unsure of how to proceed. He slowly moved closer to her, his eyes not leaving her face as he murmured, "What's got you so scared, Kate?"

She dipped her head down, breaking their contact. "I'm not scared of anything. Everything is fine."

His free hand gripped her chin to firmly bring her face eye-level with his again. "Why are you lying to me right now?"

"I'm not," she said, seeming irked by his accusation.

"Yeah, you are," he stated, narrowing his gaze in confusion.

But he could see how guarded she already was—how much more closed off his direct queries were causing her to become. So, he decided to veer toward a different topic with the hope that she would be more willing to share.

"Well, where'd you an' Julia move to then? An' how come you didn't let anybody know?"

Her eyes contracted immediately with a mixture of emotions as she looked off into the distance, seeming to think through her reply carefully before answering.

Her face looked apprehensive, her gaze anywhere but toward his, when she softly said, "You need to understand. I didn't think anyone would care—would come looking. Especially not you. I mean, why would you, Spot? Come looking for us—for me?"

He shot her an incredulous look, shaking his head. "Why wouldn't I?"

Kate's eyes searched his face for several silent moments, a sadness passing through her features. "Because you said it didn't matter. That I didn't mean anything. And I believed you."

It was his turn to stare at her in stony silence, but the only emotion he found himself grappling with was a harrowing sense of regret. One that carved out his insides, leaving him hollow and cold, desperate for the words that might fix some of the damage he had done. His mind, however, remained devoid of any such reassurances—only more questions.

"So you aren't gonna tell me where you and Julia moved to?"

Kate sighed, looking away from him. "Well, I'm not currently living with Julia, but I believe she's in a furnished apartment somewhere in Williamsburg. I haven't been there myself, so I can't give you an exact address."

Spot narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean you aren't livin' with Julia? Has she been there the whole time—have you not seen her this whole time, Kate?"

"It's…been a while," Kate murmured, a tremor passing visibly through her body, which only caused Spot's concern to heighten.

"I feel like I'm missing somethin'. Why haven't you seen her? Where are you livin' then?" Spot felt as though every question Kate answered just led to ten more questions that needed answering—that they were going in circles. And a small part of him was almost convinced that she had meant to be purposefully obtuse.

"Look," Kate said, wrapping her arms about her frame. "I need to go. I shouldn't be here."

But as she began to walk away from him, Spot became desperate, calling out, "What does he have on you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, turning to cautiously meet his gaze. "Who?"

"The man in the nice suit that was in the back tonight," Spot answered steadily, studying her face for any sign of a reaction.

"You shouldn't have been there," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears as her lips quivered. "You had no business coming to find me—showing up like that. You—you have no idea. No idea—the—the lengths that I have gone to. To keep everyone away from this—to keep everything—"

"Is that why you haven't seen Julia?" Spot gently interrupted.

Several tears dripped down Kate's face as she shook her head. But when Spot noted how her whole body began to shudder, he instinctively went to her, softly grasping her upper arms even as she pulled back.

"You shouldn't have been there," she whimpered, trembling. "Everything is fine—everything—I have everything—together. You—you—can't show up. I—I can't do this—I can't keep doing this if—if I—I have to see you—"

Her halting, hoarse cries alarmed Spot. He attempted to hold her, pull her to his chest to offer some sort of comfort, but she repeatedly pushed against him, shaking her head, and wiping the tears and makeup chaotically away with the fronts and backs of both her hands.

And just as he stared toward her with complete uncertainty of what he should do next, she walked toward him, reaching up to grasp his face firmly within her hands and pull him down into a rough, heated kiss.

At first, he was too shocked to respond. He found himself frozen in place as her mouth pressed against his in a way he had silently been craving for months. The other women he had taken to his bed in the interim had been a poor, depressing substitute, barely able to keep his mind from drifting to what he really wanted.

Kate.

Now that she was here though—initiating something erratic and unclear—he wasn't sure how to respond. But her lips felt so good against his, and her hands seemed to know all the right places to suggestively caress. So, he leaned into it, into her, finally able to lead her inside and up the stairs to what was safe and familiar.

He broke their kiss suddenly, when he felt her hands fumbling with his shirt, coming somewhat back to himself.

"Wait," he breathed, his eyes studying her face in the darkness. "Just…wait."

But Kate's gaze remained steady before she murmured, "No more questions tonight. No more talking. Or I have to leave."

Her words were harsh, but she immediately soothed them with a gentle caress from her warm hands on the skin of his chest, her palms slowly traveling to his shoulders to push his shirt off. He thought for a moment about her conditions, worried for her and confused by what the future days, weeks, and months would look like.

Would she disappear again? Would he have a chance to find out what was going on? Where could they meet? When could he see her?

But then she slipped out of her dress and corset, quickly unpinning her hair so that it fell in curls around her pretty face, emotionally whispering, "I missed you. So much."

And there were no more questions he could think of—just her standing there after months of nothing.

So, he held fast to her that night, littering her skin with rough, wet kisses, letting his hands touch and take as much of her as she would allow. And when she demanded access to his body, he granted it without a thought, feeling her hands and mouth memorizing each new area of flesh with such worshipful attention that he nearly lost all cogent thought. Thus, all felt right when they both lay sated and spent, his arms wrapped around her back, her face buried in his chest.

Until dawn, when he awoke to find his bed empty, and no trace that Kate had ever been there. Just a small scrap of paper on the pillow next to his head that read:

I made a mistake that only I can fix.

Stop asking questions and don't come looking for me.

I'm trying to keep you safe. Please understand.

And Spot felt a much stronger wave of fear take hold of his body as he began to realize that Katherine Moore was in a much worse predicament than he had initially thought.