Chapter 2

At the next street corner, I turned right, with the intention of heading back to the lodging house to clean up. Most unfortunately, Spot followed me.

"Manhattan, why didja hafta push me?" he whined.

"Because, dolt, youse was bein' an arrogant jerk, dat's why. So Ise gave ya a reality check."

"Well, don't evah do it again, ya heah? Nevah!"

With a devilish smirk, I glanced at him.

"Did it hoit, Conlon?"

"WHAT?!? O' course not, what do ya think I am, a scab?" he said indignantly, a little too loudly. I didn't reply; I just widened my smirk.

"Oh, come off it, Manhattan, a goil can't hoit da king o' Brooklyn, it jus' ain't possible." He paused. "Bu' nevah do it again, ya heah? It's gonna take forevah ta get this crap outta my hair."

I snickered. "Right."

He frowned. "I don't like your tone."

"Oh, what the hell, Conlon? What do youse care about my tone? Are youse my muddah o' sumpthin'?"

"Heck no!"

"Then knock it off!"

"Ha!"

He turned and started walking away again.

"Hey, Conlon! Wait right there one second, mistah, I ain't thru with youse."

"What?" He turned around with an exasperated look on his face. "One second youse is yellin' a' me and the other youse is punchin' me and now youse wants ta yell a' me again? Make up yer mind, Manhattan."

"I'll make this quick then," I said sarcastically. "Ise nevah got an ansah outta youse. What were youse doin' in Manhattan?"

Spot appeared to be thinking it over. Finally he shrugged.

"Dunno."

"So youse just randomly walked across a two-mile bridge to do nothin'?"

He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Yeah, sounds about righ'."

"Yer impossible, Conlon."

He grinned mischievously at me. But before he could make any smart remark, he spotted (haha, spotted, get it? spot, spotted, hahaha, k, done now...ahem) someone ever my shoulder.

"Race! Hey, Race!"

"Hey, Spot, how's it goin'?" Racetrack Higgins came jogging over, a pile of papes under his arm and a lit cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes widened. "Whoa, am I seein' things? Light, is that actually you walkin' with Spot...intentionally?"

"Aw, shut it, Race," I grumbled, as he and Spot snickered. I yawned hugely, not bothering to cover my mouth and started walking again. All I really wanted to do was get cleaned up and then crash for the night. Race and Spot followed about five steps behind, bantering back and forth about something or another, laughing occasionally. I didn't really pay any attention; my mind was focused on my nice warm bed at the lodging house, but then Spot said something that I couldn't ignore.

"So, Race, is everything ready?"

I heard a frantic scuffling noise, then Race hissed, "Not so loud, bonehead, she'll heah youse!"

I spun around. Race had hold of Spot's right ear, but as soon as he noticed me looking at them, he let go and tried to look innocent by pasting a huge, overly cheery smile on his face. Spot did the same. I glanced from one to the other with one eyebrow raised quizzically, but when I realized that they weren't going to explain, I shrugged and resumed walking, every so often giving them questioning looks over my shoulder. We neared the lodging house, and surprisingly, Spot followed Race inside. I was not having any of this. Pulling Race aside I hissed into his ear.

"Youse so did not invite da Brooklynites to spend the night."

Race looked uncomfortable.

"Uh, kinda?"

"Dammit Race, youse know I don't like havin' dem heah!"

"Ise know, Ise know, bu' it's jus' Spot, no' all o' dem."

I gave him a dirty look. "It's still Spot though."

"It's okay, Light, I'll keep him in line, don't worry, he won't bug youse."

I looked at him, not trusting him one bit.

"Honestly!" he said. "Here, I'll shake on it."

I gave in. "Fine."

We shook hands. With that all done, I headed upstairs, cleaned up, and tumbled into bed, where I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.