Sadie couldn't find Mush anywhere. She exhausted every alley he praticed
his fighting in, every bar in the vicinity, and his roommates hadn't seen
him nor did they seem to care where he was. She had been frantic for a few
hours after the sun went down, but it gave way to anger, worry, denial, and
finally breakdown.
For no particular explanation, except maybe the same reason cats always come home eventually, Sadie found her way into the garden behind the Count's house. In her dreamy existence, she was certain that Mush was there waiting for her. Naturally, he would be there where they first kissed wondering why she hadn't figured it out earlier. She could fall asleep in his lap as he told her about his winning match and how he was the champion boxer in all of New York City.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Ophelia was trying to breathe softly, but her heart was pounding fast and she was certain that they could hear it. But no one seemed to notice her presence. She had scurried in the back door behind the ice-boy who was carrying a block of ice to the kitchen, and he was whistling loudly enough that he didn't sense her shadowing him through the door. Now she crouched in a storage closet and prayed that no one would need the extra tables and chairs that shared her company.
She was focused now. The days she spent in anticipation and nervous planning ceased to exist. The morning hanging beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, mere seconds from death, vanished from her memory. But the night he took her innocence; the night he made a fool of her; the night he ruined her life; that she remembered. And all the contempt, the disparagement, the condescension that she felt had dissolved into loathing.
Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, she had borrowed some of Race's dark clothes to blend in with the shadows, and she ran on pure adreniline. There was no turning back. The thought of not going through with this had not yet entered her mind. She was determined to make him pay. How dare he treat her like a common slut? How could he act with such audacity? He would never underestimate her again.
~*~*~*~*~*
"Sir! I have dire news!" the young man stammered as he entered Peter Gould's grand living room.
Peter looked up from him game of chess irritably. "What?" he growled.
"News, sir. I mean, THE news! Tomorrow's paper.. It. it uncovers your.. Business venture. Sir," the young man said attempting to place the right words for 'devious plot.'
Peter rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair. "I apologize dear Mr. Allen," he motioned to his chess opponent, "I am afraid I have some important business to attend to." He quickly stood and bid adieu to his friend and grabbed the young man, and literally dragged him into his private office.
"Talk about killing the messenger," the young assistant mumbled.
"You shut up," Peter bellowed. "Tell me everything you know."
*~*~*~*~*
Spot awoke to strange sounds around his room. New York was a loud city, but Spot knew the difference between everyday noises and suspicious creaks near his windows and doors. After all, he hadn't made it to be a 22 year old without learning a thing or two about survival.
He heard another squeak on the old wooden floors in the hallway. As quietly as he could, he rolled out of bed, and kneeled to his floor. In two swift movements, he sprang across his floor to his doorway. There he waited, his steel tipped cane ready for whatever came next.
He didn't have to wait long before his door began to silently open towards him. His heart began to beat faster as his raised his cane in preparation. He paused to try and figure out where would be his best shot. The door opened further and Spot was sure there was only one intruder. As the shadow entered, Spot swung his cane and caught the trespasser smack in the face. As the heavy body fell to the floor, Spot threw one leg over his large frame and held his cane to the man's throat.
"Mutsy?" A glint of steel caught the corner of Spot's eye, and he saw the knife that his old pal had dropped when he fell. His buddy, his big gorilla-like friend, was trying to kill him! His face was bleeding. Spot was sure he broke the man's nose.
"Git of me ya son of a."
Spot tighted the cane against Mutsy's throat. "Who sent ya? Timmy send ya?"
"I'll kill ya."
Spot knew he didn't have much time before Mutsy regained his composure. "What's dis about?"
"Timmy don't t'ink ya on our side no more. Fuckin' traitor. I'll kill ya."
"Traitor?"
"Ya set us up. You let da odder kid get killt. Dey know it was us now. Dey's afta us now."
Spot's mind was reeling. Of course they knew it was us, we left the note. Timmy made us leave da note. Mutsy didn't know da whole story. Me and Mush were set up! We was both supposed to die!
Spot jabbed the head of the cane into Mutsy's forehead and knocked him out. He used his carefully planned out escape procedure to get out of the building without being seen. He knew they wouldn't send out Mutsy alone. As he ran across the roof of the neighboring building, he tried to think of what he had to do next, worn down by the thought of Timmy's betrayal and the reality of Mush's demise.
For no particular explanation, except maybe the same reason cats always come home eventually, Sadie found her way into the garden behind the Count's house. In her dreamy existence, she was certain that Mush was there waiting for her. Naturally, he would be there where they first kissed wondering why she hadn't figured it out earlier. She could fall asleep in his lap as he told her about his winning match and how he was the champion boxer in all of New York City.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Ophelia was trying to breathe softly, but her heart was pounding fast and she was certain that they could hear it. But no one seemed to notice her presence. She had scurried in the back door behind the ice-boy who was carrying a block of ice to the kitchen, and he was whistling loudly enough that he didn't sense her shadowing him through the door. Now she crouched in a storage closet and prayed that no one would need the extra tables and chairs that shared her company.
She was focused now. The days she spent in anticipation and nervous planning ceased to exist. The morning hanging beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, mere seconds from death, vanished from her memory. But the night he took her innocence; the night he made a fool of her; the night he ruined her life; that she remembered. And all the contempt, the disparagement, the condescension that she felt had dissolved into loathing.
Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, she had borrowed some of Race's dark clothes to blend in with the shadows, and she ran on pure adreniline. There was no turning back. The thought of not going through with this had not yet entered her mind. She was determined to make him pay. How dare he treat her like a common slut? How could he act with such audacity? He would never underestimate her again.
~*~*~*~*~*
"Sir! I have dire news!" the young man stammered as he entered Peter Gould's grand living room.
Peter looked up from him game of chess irritably. "What?" he growled.
"News, sir. I mean, THE news! Tomorrow's paper.. It. it uncovers your.. Business venture. Sir," the young man said attempting to place the right words for 'devious plot.'
Peter rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair. "I apologize dear Mr. Allen," he motioned to his chess opponent, "I am afraid I have some important business to attend to." He quickly stood and bid adieu to his friend and grabbed the young man, and literally dragged him into his private office.
"Talk about killing the messenger," the young assistant mumbled.
"You shut up," Peter bellowed. "Tell me everything you know."
*~*~*~*~*
Spot awoke to strange sounds around his room. New York was a loud city, but Spot knew the difference between everyday noises and suspicious creaks near his windows and doors. After all, he hadn't made it to be a 22 year old without learning a thing or two about survival.
He heard another squeak on the old wooden floors in the hallway. As quietly as he could, he rolled out of bed, and kneeled to his floor. In two swift movements, he sprang across his floor to his doorway. There he waited, his steel tipped cane ready for whatever came next.
He didn't have to wait long before his door began to silently open towards him. His heart began to beat faster as his raised his cane in preparation. He paused to try and figure out where would be his best shot. The door opened further and Spot was sure there was only one intruder. As the shadow entered, Spot swung his cane and caught the trespasser smack in the face. As the heavy body fell to the floor, Spot threw one leg over his large frame and held his cane to the man's throat.
"Mutsy?" A glint of steel caught the corner of Spot's eye, and he saw the knife that his old pal had dropped when he fell. His buddy, his big gorilla-like friend, was trying to kill him! His face was bleeding. Spot was sure he broke the man's nose.
"Git of me ya son of a."
Spot tighted the cane against Mutsy's throat. "Who sent ya? Timmy send ya?"
"I'll kill ya."
Spot knew he didn't have much time before Mutsy regained his composure. "What's dis about?"
"Timmy don't t'ink ya on our side no more. Fuckin' traitor. I'll kill ya."
"Traitor?"
"Ya set us up. You let da odder kid get killt. Dey know it was us now. Dey's afta us now."
Spot's mind was reeling. Of course they knew it was us, we left the note. Timmy made us leave da note. Mutsy didn't know da whole story. Me and Mush were set up! We was both supposed to die!
Spot jabbed the head of the cane into Mutsy's forehead and knocked him out. He used his carefully planned out escape procedure to get out of the building without being seen. He knew they wouldn't send out Mutsy alone. As he ran across the roof of the neighboring building, he tried to think of what he had to do next, worn down by the thought of Timmy's betrayal and the reality of Mush's demise.