Chapter 23
Brooklyn, January, 1904
"We need to talk, Conlon."
Spot jolted out of his contented reverie as Kid Blink Baletti fell into step beside him on the darkened Brooklyn walkway, seeming to have spawned from the growing shadows scattered about.
In past years, Spot normally dreaded his short walks to and from work on cold days like this. It seemed that no matter how many layers he donned, the wet chill in the air always managed to seep through every piece of fabric until it felt as though his very bones had iced over. But throughout the last two weeks, he had found himself not as bothered by the trek. And he was fairly certain it had something to do with the warm thoughts he left with each morning after Kate kissed him goodbye, and the sated sense of having a place that finally felt like home to return to every night.
Because even though nothing was perfect—hell nothing was anywhere close to being resolved—for once his personal life didn't feel like it was on the brink of all out collapse.
For once, he wasn't in a nosedive toward self-destruction and isolation.
Now, Kate, on the other hand—she was a different story entirely. But Spot was willing to bet that his ability to maintain some semblance of steadiness—to fight against every instinct he had to withdraw, or to lash out and sever ties—would be the thing that pulled her back from the edge as well.
These days, all it took for him to stabilize himself was one thought—one memory, and his willpower would surge to new heights.
The harrowing echo of Rummy's voice all those months ago.
"She's gone."
So, no matter what intermittent turmoil Kate struggled through, Spot never strayed too far from the gratitude and comfort that her permanent presence within his home now gave him.
But Baletti interjecting himself into this slowly evolving—and exceedingly delicate—situation was nowhere near what Spot had expected next.
The Brooklynite huffed in annoyance at the interruption before muttering, "Alright, so, talk."
"It ain't that kinda talkin," Blink quietly replied, causing Spot to stop short, jamming his hands into the pockets of his coat as he shook his head irritably.
"What the hell does that mean?" Spot asked, taking a moment to look the shorter boy over. His blonde hair was messy, almost unclean looking, and his face seemed thinner and paler, a surprising sheen of sweat on his brow.
"Look," Blink started, eyes avoidant and stance uncomfortable. "Some shit's come up on my side a' things, and in order for me ta' keep smoothin' it over I'm gonna need some answers."
Spot stared incredulously back at him. "Blink, what the hell would I know about any a' that Fiore shit? You're the one with the in."
"I ain't talkin' about you, Conlon," Blink muttered with what looked to be regret reflecting through his good eye.
And it only took a moment for an intense surge of anger and protectiveness to pulse within Spot as he realized who Blink was referring to. Instinctively, he grabbed the front of Blink's shirt, pinning him to the side of the building they were standing in front of before growling, "Yeah, that ain't happenin'. You fuckin' stay away from her, you hear me?"
"Listen to me, Spot." Blink enunciated, not even attempting to struggle against the incensed Brooklynite. "Take a fuckin' breath an' listen. 'Cause it's important. I ain't here ta cause trouble. I'm here about some issues in tyin' off our plan."
Spot's eyes warily searched Baletti's face, but even in the darkness, Spot could see no ounce of dishonesty. Only fear and concern, which caused a tinge of disquiet to begin seeping into Spot's own chest.
So, he sighed, slowly releasing Blink from his steely grip before motioning for him to continue.
Blink readjusted his threadbare jacket and shirt, dusting himself off a bit as he said, "You know me an' Jack've been workin' on coverin' any tracks that was left, all roads leadin' ta her and you and us—just like we planned on doin' in the beginning."
"Yeah, I remember," Spot said somewhat impatiently. "That still don't explain what the hell you need to talk to Kate for."
"I'm gettin' there for fuck's sake," Blink huffed. "Well, I'm startin' to run into problems. Ya see—some a' this shit—I can't smooth over. An' it ain't from lack a' tryin'. It's 'cause somethin' ain't addin' up right. So that leaves holes—loose ends. And if I leave any a' that ta chance on my side, then we're all fucked—you know that, Conlon."
Spot stared tensely at Blink for several silent minutes, unsure of what to think and how to respond to this newest issue. He understood what was being said—what was at stake if Baletti was unable to smooth over Kate's presence and involvement at Red Hook and the other mob infested sites at the docks. Eventually, the fact that she had help undermining some very powerful underground bosses would surface. And it wouldn't take long for the Fiore's to come calling on each and every one of Spot, Jack, and Baletti's friends and family for payback.
But the thought of having to push Kate into an interrogation, forcing her to revisit the horrors of those eleven days well before she was ready—that sure as shit wasn't an attractive option either. And one that could do far more damage than Spot was willing to risk.
Especially after the lengths she had gone to the last time she had felt alone and overwhelmed.
Spot shuddered as the image of her limp body, covered in soot and ice, flashed through his mind. No—he had tried it that way already with almost lethal results. So now he was offering time and space—as much as she needed to be able to relay what had transpired.
He wanted Kate to trust him with her story.
But Spot was starting to realize the drawbacks to this extreme as well. Because no matter what patience, understanding, and time he brought to the table, there would be no forward motion without Kate being at least willing to acknowledge all that had happened to her.
And this presented quite the challenge considering both how effectively and how long Kate had repressed and denied all the horrors that had come to pass thus far.
In fact, Spot had witnessed this alarming skill for himself too many times to count—watching as Kate compacted her past traumas into nothing—delaying and numbing herself against whatever emotional aftermath existed. It was why she threw herself into dangerous, all-consuming projects and work, attempting some sort of transcendence, some other meaning, all the while never allowing any true intimacy and closeness in her relationships.
But for some reason, whatever transpired this time had been the ultimate breaking point. Because Katherine Moore had been left utterly shattered in its wake, completely bereft of whatever hold she once had on all the chaos within.
Even still, Spot could see her struggling to seal it off—daily, sometimes hourly battles to close the lid tightly on everything pouring forth. It was painful to watch her suffer so, leaning on old, dysfunctional methods of survival. But it didn't seem to matter how many times she failed, or how genuinely he tried to pose something different.
"You can talk to me," he had earnestly told her following each one of her night terrors and panic episodes.
But her body would only tense at the suggestion as she would quietly respond, "There's nothing to talk about."
So, all Spot could do was keep offering—keep being there and chipping away at every wall, every fear with the hope of building up enough trust for her to start releasing some of the painful turmoil.
"What exactly's the problem?" Spot said carefully to Blink after several quiet moments, still mulling over his best options. "I thought it was just checkin' to see who knew about her an' then slippin' in some fake name that we agreed on—just givin' a fake personal history an' sayin' she'd died that night so it wouldn't lead back. Why ain't that workin'?"
Blink's face paled significantly as he murmured, "No one I've talked to outside a' Queens knows anything about that fuckin' house, or the girl that was there—which I guess is good news. But all the people that was in that house ain't been seen since that night. Even the building's been torn down—just walked past there yesterday."
Spot's eyes narrowed, an unexpected chill running down his spine. "I thought you said one a' the top Fiore guys was holed up in there. That he was the one who had Kate."
"I think, maybe I got bad information, or—I dunno," Blink said, eyes wide in apprehension. "Weren't no top guys there, even though I know for a fuckin' fact, the runner I drank with from that buildin' said those very words to me."
Spot sighed, somewhat at a loss. "Look, I see what you're saying, but you ain't comin' over an askin' her nothin' about this shit. Alright? You can't, Blink."
Blink widened his eyes in exasperation. "Conlon, what ain't you understandin'? I need information from her so that I can make sure all of us stay safe with this. An' there ain't nobody left who was there. Except Katherine."
"Then…. I'll figure it out. I'll find out whatever it is you need from her," Spot said decisively, crossing his arms over his chest before fixing a hard look at Blink's good eye.
And a surprising sadness passed through Blink's face in turn as he paused to stare at Spot. "She hasn't toldja, has she? Anything about it yet? The room an' how she was in there?"
Spot attempted to maintain his composure as a deep ache filled his gut—a sickness that took all his focus to settle. "I helped patch her up after. I got a general idea a' what went on."
Blink's gaze faltered, a haunted look flashing within his good eye. "I never seen anythin' like it. The—the tools an' shit I saw on the floor in that room—the way the rope was knotted—the—the blood—" Blink shuddered as he broke off, clearly disturbed. "I can't believe she fuckin' lived through all that."
Spot remained silent, feeling ill at the visual Blink was painting. Kate had said nothing pertaining to the place she had been kept for those eleven days. Nothing about what had gone on in that room, or the man who held her there. Just a name—as nondescript as everything else she had mentioned. And because there were never any solid details to go on, Spot found himself struggling to distinguish between what was real and what was just part of a tangential nightmare.
He had a feeling Kate was grappling even more so with this problem.
"Y'know, I get that I run with a bad crowd an' all, Conlon," Blink continued solemnly. "I've done bad shit in my life. So've a lot a guys I work with and around. But even the fuckin' Fiore's don't do the kinda shit I saw in that room that night. It makes me think it was someone else with a totally different fuckin' agenda. So, you needta ask her who that was and why the hell he took her in the first place. 'Cause, my gut's tellin' me it weren't Fiore business goin' on there with her."
Spot's gaze narrowed, even as he nodded in agreement. "Give me some time. It ain't gonna be easy gettin' this outa her. And I can't push too hard, otherwise…"
Spot trailed off, unwilling to finish his thought. As if saying the horrible thing aloud would make it come to pass. But Blink seemed to understand, shrugging as he wrapped his coat tighter about him.
"Do what ya gotta do. I ain't heard any rumblins' comin' from my side about what went down that night, so it might wait another month or two. But," his gaze worriedly met Spot's for a moment before he continued, "Ain't nobody should be walkin' around everyday carryin' that shit in their head. It ain't the type a' stuff that goes away—it'll eat 'er alive if she don't start lettin' it out."
Spot's chest clenched in familiar anxiety, his tone both resigned and concerned. "Believe me. I know."
It was much later than normal when Spot finally returned to the apartment. Dinner had already been served and stored, most of the lights in the living room blown out or dimmed, with neither Mary nor Kate anywhere in sight. Spot quietly closed the door behind him, shrugging off his snow-dusted coat and scarf before hanging them on the rack by the entrance and then gingerly traveling to the hallway hutch to place his cap atop the middle shelf.
He looked down the hall to see only darkness coming from beneath Mary's door, while a warm glow ebbed out slightly from his own.
Kate had waited up for him.
He smiled softly before slowly entering his room and clicking the door closed behind him. But he was completely unprepared for the sight that he was met with. Because there sat Katherine Moore cross legged in the middle of the floor, wearing nothing but her undergarments, while a half-finished glass of whiskey and corresponding bottle flanked her to the right, and a lit cigarette hung unceremoniously out of her mouth.
All as she leaned over what looked to be Mary's old, yellowing copy of the Bible.
She seemed completely engrossed in her reading, not even looking up as he stood there, her fingers absentmindedly pulling the cigarette away as she blew smoke off to the side.
Spot raised his eyebrows in both surprise and amusement, unsure of what exactly he was walking in on.
"A little light reading before bed?"
Kate jolted to attention, green eyes wide and red-rimmed as she finally noticed Spot's presence. Her hair, having grown to slightly above her shoulders, hung in messy, dark curls around her thin face, her mouth slightly agape. And Spot immediately had to temper himself from the sudden urge to just take her right there on the floor.
"The Old Testament's a riot," she said after a few moments, a hesitant smile appearing on her lips.
He smiled back at her, kicking his shoes into the corner before shrugging off his suspenders and coming to sit beside her on the floor. "So, whiskey, smokes, underwear, and Bible passages? Not sure that's holy man approved."
Kate shook her head as she chuckled quietly, picking up the glass of whiskey to take a large swallow. "I'm pretty sure there's no wrong way to do it."
Spot swiftly plucked the cigarette from her fingers, inhaling deeply while he looked her over. The dark circles under her eyes remained—perpetual residue from too many nights of interrupted sleep. Her chemise draped loosely over her much too thin frame, her exposed right shoulder showing every bone and muscle clearly, even in the dim lighting. And through her light smile, Spot could see a tenseness in her face. A disquiet in her eyes.
"Well, what's gotcha suddenly itching to study scripture then? You lookin' for answers?"
His tone was mostly joking, but he watched for her reaction just the same. However, her face remained immovable as she responded, "No. Something much harder to come by. Redemption."
He was taken aback by the sudden severity of her tone, though her features belied nothing more than distant curiosity as her eyes scanned the pages below her. So, he heeded the somewhat mixed warning he was feeling, treading much more carefully forward with his next venture.
"Sorry I missed dinner tonight," he offered gently, taking another swift inhale before pushing himself up, and stubbing the dying ember against the window. "Did you manage to keep anything down this time?"
Kate sighed at the hesitant question he had posed, and he turned and watched her take another sip of the whiskey, her hand shaking somewhat as she returned the glass to the floor.
"Some of it. I think it's getting better."
"That's good," he replied evenly, trying to steady the growing worry in his chest.
Her sporadic bouts of panic and sleeplessness would often incite sudden, inexplicable food aversion and nausea. Thus, it was a constant fight to get her to eat actual food on a regular basis—her diet consisting almost entirely of hot tea and whiskey. Mary had even begun to chastise her continued lack of nutrition, worrying over her thinning frame and hollowing cheeks. So, Spot tried to be home for most dinners throughout the week—making it a point to create a familial, safe atmosphere in the hopes that Kate would eat.
But he knew she also resented being treated like a child in that way, as well as being fussed over and coddled—having someone go out of their way to take care of her. He imagined it was a disconcerting experience considering she was practically self-raised.
"What have you been up to?" she asked quietly, her eyes still drawn to the book's pages.
"Work. The usual stuff," he replied casually, unsure if he should mention his run in with Blink.
Her mood seemed fragile, even as she stoically sipped on her glass of whiskey and turned the page to continue reading. And it was these times that Spot felt the most unsure. Of what was churning on the inside and how he should best interact with her.
But his hesitation was always so easily perceived by her overactive senses.
"You don't have to spoon feed me half-truths, Spot. I'm not any less clever than before. Just far less trusting."
His eyes widened at her statement, shock momentarily silencing any potential response. But when she finished off her glass of whiskey, turning her gaze expectantly toward him, his mind snapped into engagement once more.
His voice was calm, but also concerned as he said, "Well, I'm not stupid either. I can see you're stewin' on somethin'. And I know you well enough to know you ain't gonna tell me about it. So, until I get a clearer idea of what the hell's goin' on in that head a' yours, I'm gonna try to limit what I add to it."
Her eyes were unreadable while she studied his face, her lips a thin, tense line. "Why?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the least upsetting way to tell the truth, finally settling on, "Because if I don't know what's fuckin' you up in there, there's no way I can know how anything out here's gonna affect you. And the last thing I wanna do is make it worse."
Kate blinked several times, seeming stunned by his bluntness. But she just as speedily shook herself back into indifference, turning again toward the open book on the ground.
"It's not on you to make anything better—to fix whatever the hell is wrong with me. I've never asked you to do that, and I sure as shit don't expect you to." She paused, her shoulders tensing slightly. "Besides, I think I'm probably beyond repair at this point."
And before Spot could fully think through his next statement, he found himself blurting out, "You ain't a broke-down motor, Kate. You don't need to be fixed. You just need some help carryin' all that shit you got stored away inside."
He saw the muscles along her back stiffen even more rigidly. But before she could fully shut him out, he went to her, lowering himself into a seated position and grasping her cold bony hand within his own.
Her wide eyes met his, his hand holding fast to hers even as she tried to pull away. "You're still in there. I can see it. Every day, I catch more and more of you. I'm just waitin' for you to let me all the way in."
Spot saw tears begin to shine in her gaze, her hand laxing in his before she murmured, "You don't want in on this. Trust me."
"You can't even trust yourself right now," he countered more intently. "So, I'll be in charge of letting you know what it is that I want. And it's real simple. I want you."
"Why?" she whispered, a tear dropping onto her cheek as she stared unblinkingly toward him.
"Because I love you."
She shook her head, clenching her eyes closed as the remaining tears fell to her face. But Spot only grasped her other hand before he said, "I know I've said an' done all kinds a' shit to make you believe the opposite. So, I'll keep sayin' an' doin' whatever it is you need now until you know it's the truth."
He pulsed her much smaller limbs gently within his own, staring meaningfully toward her until her red-rimmed eyes opened once more.
"If you knew everything, Tom, you'd never be able to look at me again, much less love me."
The resolve in both her voice and stare shook Spot somewhat. It was a painful truth to acknowledge that she thought so little of him—and herself. But he also knew, no matter what had happened—how many ugly skeletons lay uncovered in her closet—it wouldn't change his mind. He was just running out of ideas on how he could finally change hers.
Until a thought suddenly struck him.
He hesitated for a moment, watching Kate slip her hands out of his and shakily pour herself another half-glass of whiskey. Bringing up certain subjects was always risky, and this one tended to have an exceedingly high likelihood of forcing an immediate emotional response. Spot just hoped it wouldn't be an irreversibly negative one.
"Does Julia know everything, Kate?"
Her body froze, her hand gripping the glass cup so tightly Spot was worried it would shatter. And upon receiving no answer in the minutes following, he didn't know what else to do but quickly continue with his thoughts.
"Look, even if things are different with Julia now—even if you didn't tell her anything about what just happened, there was a time you wouldn't have held back. And there was plenty a' dark, twisted shit to go around then too."
Kate's gaze found his, more tears brimming on the edges of her lashes as her body seemed to contract in painful remembrance.
"What the fuck does Julia have to do with anything?"
"You trusted her, Kate. For a long time, you let her in without even thinkin' about it. And as far as I know, you ain't ever had anyone like that before her, or….now," Spot murmured, his hand again finding her free one. "So, I just wanna know how she earned that from you—what it was she said or did to make you feel safe enough to let her in. Then maybe…."
He paused searching her tense features for a moment before sighing and continuing, "Maybe I could figure out how to do it too."
Kate's wide green eyes stared into his earnest gaze, the silence pervading for so long Spot feared he might have pushed her into a new, far worse, level of grief. But slowly, even as tears fell down her face, he was surprised to see her begin processing his request.
He ran his thumb gently over the skin of her hand, watching her swallow a large mouthful of whiskey, grimacing before she placed the cup down and turned toward him.
"I guess I was always a believer in trust begetting trust," she began quietly, her eyes taking on a distant sheen. "I think it has to involve risk—probably courage too. And in relationships between people, it almost always demands there be some sort of exchange."
Spot narrowed his eyes, asking, "Exchange? Like when we used to trade questions?"
She shrugged, once again pulling her hand away as her gaze seemed to gleam toward him in challenge. "That often didn't result in a fair trade between us, especially when you started refusing to answer all of my questions. But with Julia…."
Kate looked away when her eyes filled with tears once more, her lips quivering before she whispered, "She liked to start with the deepest, darkest memories—said it was easier to dispense with all the unpleasantness first. She told me everything. So, I guess eventually I felt like I could start saying things to her. Knowing what she had been through—however different it was from my life—made me feel like she wanted to hear what I had been through too."
Spot winced, remembering how hesitant—how downright contrary—he had been in telling Kate anything of substance about himself. Even as she had openly shared some of her deepest wounds at his request. Truthfully, the thought of having to discuss anything about his past still made him want to shut himself off from the rest of the world indefinitely.
But instead of giving into that powerful urge and refusing the clear second chance she was extending, he nodded.
"Alright," he said decisively. "So, I guess I owe you some extremely overdue answers then."
"You can't manufacture trust like that, Spot. You have to genuinely want to share those things about yourself without expecting anything in return," Kate somewhat severely replied, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "It's not a game, or a bartering tool. It shouldn't be used as manipulation to get at other information. So, maybe you should really think through how much you're willing to give. If you really are able to share those things and not resent me or let things fall apart between us afterwards."
But Spot could only smile gently at her, pushing himself up and offering his hands to aid her in standing as well. She hesitated momentarily before closing the Bible and then grasping his extended limbs.
He pulled her up, expecting her wobbly gait as he sturdily caught her body against his. And he reveled in the intoxicating warmth that spread throughout him at the contact, the blush that grew on Kate's face in turn making his smile widen. He let his eyes travel over her form, his fingers running slowly down her still damp cheeks.
"Maybe I can convince you that redemption's not that hard to come by if you want it bad enough."
"That's a near impossible sell," she murmured, her eyes darting instinctively to his lips as her breath hitched within her chest.
But he shook his head at her skepticism. "Not if you have a little life-altering motivation."
"Like the threat of biblical level floods and smiting?" she asked, a wry smile forming on her lips.
He chuckled before shaking his head and more seriously replying, "More like the incredibly rare gift of sharing your life with someone extraordinary."
Her eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as she seemed to really digest all the layers of what he was saying. And after a moment, her gaze cleared to one of decisiveness.
"Kiss me," she whispered. "Kiss me like you used to—before everything fell apart."
He only paused long enough to confirm the truth of her request, her eyes shining candidly before he did the one thing he had been craving above all else over these long, frightening months. He pulled her forcefully to him and didn't hold anything back.
And he relished not only in the taste of her sweet mouth, and the way her body still knew how to perfectly mold against his own. But also, in the fact that she matched his fervor every step of the way—her lips wanting, her hands diligent and purposeful.
Until she finally pulled back, smiling.