By the end of the week, the heat hadn't relented, staying relatively uncomfortable well after the sun had set. Even with all of the windows propped open, the top level of the lodging house was unbearably hot. As a result, most had relocated themselves to the ground floor or just outside the door on the adjacent street.
The last edition had been sold for the day and the boys were slowing finding their way back to the lodging house. A group had gathered by the door, talking intermittently between periods of lazy silence. Tired bodies occupied every available piece of furniture, with some even sprawled on the floor. It was a night like countless others before it.
Inside, away from the wandering stares of any patrolling bulls, Race tried to set up a card game. He had found it hard to find takers at first, no one seemed willing to part with their hard won earnings. It was only when Dutchy suggested they play without money that he had enough players to run a game. He had been hesitant initially. Where was the fun in that? If there was no money there was no emotion, there was no impulsive action. Without the possibility of losing everything there was no need to risk anything and risk is what made gambling interesting. That and the money, he smiled to himself.
But he could understand where they were coming from and, now that he thought about it, he wouldn't exactly be proud of taking what little money his friends had. And he knew that's what would end up happening.
Specs handed Race a chair as Snoddy cleared off the nearest surface.
"Hey, I was readin' that," Mush protested half-heartedly as his paper was cleared off the table in question.
"Not anymore," Dutchy said, pulling a chair to the table. "You're playin' cards with us."
"I am?"
"What, you got a hot date or something?" Race asked sarcastically, knowing in reality that Mush had nothing better to do. The respectable girls were either still at work in the factories or locked safe at home and the less respectable ones wouldn't be out for a few hours. Being young and poor didn't exactly put you at the top of the list when it came to the affections of women. Though Mush did seem to pull it off now and then, he had to admit.
"Maybe," Mush crossed his arms with grin as he watched Race shuffle.
Race rolled his eyes away from the cards.
"What, is that so hard to believe?"
"Nah, God knows if you got a nickel for every girl that sits at home dreamin' about ya, you could quit bein' a newsie," Race kidded him. "Ain't that right Skitts?" he asked over his shoulder as Skittery joined them.
"Sure is," Skittery said as he sat down next to Race, the assurance in his voice easily masked the fact that he had no idea what the conversation was about.
"I don't need every girl, just one," Mush maintained with a look in his eye that seemed to say he had the one in mind.
"Yeah, and I only need one girl: Lady Luck," Race put his cigar back in his mouth as he began to deal out the cards, "And, you're gonna need her if any of yous think you're winnin' tonight."
He put down a card for each player as they made themselves comfortable.
He had dealt this particular game so frequently that he could have done it blindfolded. As if to test that theory, he took his eyes off the table and gave the room a once over. When the last card was out of his hand, he looked down at the table. Perfect dealing, he noted with approval.
Race handed out the last cards for the round and sat back. He had a good enough hand, good enough that he didn't have to concentrate on winning. He let his mind wander away from the game. It was not something he normally did, but they were just playing for fun so he wouldn't have to concentrate, especially with this group.
"I'm calling it," Specs put down his hand.
Race snapped back into the moment, smiling inwardly at the fact that he could run a game and be lost in thought, yet still win… Well, not this time.
"Full house beats your two pair, Race," Skittery said each word with savor, enjoying the idea of beating Race in his own game.
"I was just letting ya win to keep ya in the game. It's a trick of the trade, my boy," Race said good naturedly to save a little face. "Your deal," he sighed, pushing the pile of cards across the table to Skittery. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs. It was days like this when having holes in your clothes was a benefit.
Race pulled his collar away from his neck as he picked up his cards for the next game. No matter how many times he tore the stifling thing away it never ceased to find it's way back to irritation. After taking a brief look at his hand, he put down two cards and tapped his foot impatiently. There were two things he couldn't stand in a card game: losing and having to wait for the dealer to catch up with the action. The first he had just accomplished and the second was unfolding before him as Skittery dropped the deck and had to reshuffle.
Hearing a subtle rise in the voices outside the door, he tore his attention away from Skittery's lesser dealing to see who had come in. A moment later Blink strolled in and nodded to the table.
"Heya, boys," he greeted.
"Hey Blink," Race returned before picking up the cards Skittery had finally decided to grace him with.
"Heya," the rest of the table responded staggeredly, each variously absorbed by the cards they were holding.
"What's rollin'?" he asked as he took a seat nearby and started to untie his shoelaces.
"Nothin' much, just cards. Want in?" Dutchy folded with little regret. They obviously weren't playing for money.
"Nah. Don't care to have my ass beat by Race," he smiled, rolling up his shirtsleeves a bit further. "Besides, I think I'm gonna turn in early anyways."
"Yeah, that's right. Run away." Race waved him off with a laugh.
Seeing he was as comfortable as he was going to get for the moment, Blink stood up and neared the table.
"So, who's winnin'?" he asked with feigned curiosity, having a good idea of the answer.
"Not Race," Dutchy laughed under his breath, dodging withering looks from across the table.
"Nah? Really?" Blink answered, looking over Mush's shoulder at his hand, "Geez, Mush, you must be lettin' up on him tonight."
"I'm a nice guy like that," Mush frowned at his hand before folding. Blink reached over and picked up the cards. "Weren't you goin' to bed?"
"Tryin' to get rid of me?" Blink said as he concentrated for a moment on the cards in front of him.
"Just the part of you that's playin' my hand," Mush reached for the cards but Blink pulled them out of reach as he continued to look them over.
"See? Nothin'," Mush said, gesturing to the cards with frustration as he sat back again.
"Yeah," Blink agreed.
"Are you two done over there?" Race pulled the cigar from his mouth long enough to shake the ashes from the end. "Cause, we could just take a break and start when you're good and ready. Don't wanna rush you or nothin'."
"Yeah, go ahead," Blink said.
"Alright, put 'em down, boys," Race said with confidence. Losing once was a fluke and he knew it wouldn't happen again.
Dutchy was already out, Snoddy was good, but not good enough, Skittery had nothing, Specs had nothing, Mush had three of a kind-
Wait, that wasn't right...
"I thought you had nothin!" Race protested.
"And I thought you could read a poker face," Blink smiled smugly, almost as smugly as Mush was.
"Twice in a row, Race, you must be losin' your touch," Skittery said jokingly.
"You, shut up," Race pointed his cigar at Skittery before turning it to Blink and Mush, "And you two better wipe those wise-ass grins off your faces before I do it for ya."
He sat back, eyeing both of them with a healthy amount of annoyance. The last time he lost two in a row…he couldn't remember. But now, twice a row, in his own house. If word ever got out about this…
"Aw, come on, Race." Blink tried to keep a straight face as Mush elbowed him.
"Ain't you supposed to be on your way to bed?" Race tossed his cards in.
"Im goin', I'm goin'." Blink broke into a smile as he elbowed Mush back. "Night fellahs, go easy on Race now, let 'im win every now and then," he called as he headed toward the stairs.
"Keep walkin', Kid," Race called back, looking up from the table to give Blink a parting scowl.
Noticing a bit of a limp in Blink's walk, he looked down to the leg in question and sure enough there was the making of an ugly bruise disappearing just under the cuff of his trousers.
"Say, Blink," Race called him back, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to still be angry, "That's a good shot you got there, what happened?"
Blink stopped in mid-step and reflexively looked down at his leg. "Ah," he began, noticing the table's attention had turned to him, "I wasn't lookin' where I was goin', tripped right over a curb. It's nothin'."
The players turned back to their hands, satisfied with the explanation and disappointed it wasn't something like a fight. But Race wasn't so satisfied. He caught Blink's eye as he climbed the stairs. Under that smile there was an odd sort of uneasiness that he had come to recognize over the years.
He picked up his next hand, favoring the cards with less attention. He wondered what it could be this time. Maybe Blink stole too much from one cart or looked at someone the wrong way-or maybe that someone's sister. Race tossed those ideas the minute he thought of them, Blink would probably be bragging about something like that.
He thought about it for a bit longer, his mind suddenly remembering a day the other week when Blink was acting a little strange. He settled on the reason almost immediately. That kid had probably come to collect again, but with business as dismal as ever, Blink probably couldn't pay up. It had happened to Race enough times and he had the scars to prove it.
Race knew he should mind his own business, but he couldn't convince himself to stay out of it. With new resolve, Race moved to fold his hand and head upstairs. As he did so, an unfamiliar voice drifted in from outside.
"Where's Jack Kelly at?" it asked quickly, as if not to waste words.
From the silence that followed and the approaching footsteps, Race could tell that those outside were of little help, purposely or not. He sat back in his chair and watched the door, waiting for the owner of the voice to enter. But the figure didn't enter, satisfied just to hover at the edges of the doorframe. It took Race a minute to recognize the boy and, as he did, it became clear why nobody wanted anything to do with him.
He was Brooklyn.
"Heya, Eights," Race called out toward the door, less in greeting than permission to enter.
The table of players reflexively turned to the door, forgetting about the game for the moment. The stalky figure hesitated for a moment before deciding to take a step into the house. The boy was known as Eights, he was one of Spot's, but other than that Race didn't know too much about him. He'd seen him on business a couple of times and heard Spot talk about him occasionally. Apparently he was a "good" kid, but coming from Spot it probably had more to do with his ability for knocking heads than any character measure.
"Heya, Higgins." Eights nodded, finding a familiar face in the room. He took only a few steps inside, no further than he had to make sure he was heard. But there was no question he would be heard, for the room had gone almost silent as his presence was noticed.
"What's rollin'?" Race asked, getting to the point.
Reminded of his business, Eights feel into his usual ease, which for Brooklyn usually meant arrogance of some degree. Eights was no exception, though he seemed a bit reserved. No doubt he was as uncomfortable being there as they were to have him. "Kelly in?"
"Nah," Race picked up his cards again," Somethin' I can help you with?"
"Yeah," Eights said after a pause, as if deciding whether or not he could trust his message to them. "Tell your boy that Spot's gonna be meetin' with him tomorrow, here."
"Yeah? What about?"
"Business," Eights responded with a finality that meant either he didn't know anymore or he wasn't going to be discussing it.
"Alright, he'll know about it." Race looked back down to his cards.
"See that he does," Eights said with a barely concealed sneer as he gave the room a parting once over. No one made eye contact with him, actively avoiding his disdainful gaze. His lips curled in to a half-smile at this, obviously proud of whatever reputation he had, even if it was by association.
"If I'm in the mood," Race continued as if Eights hadn't spoken. He wasn't going to let Brooklyn get the last word, and Eights was acting a little too high and mighty considering he was knee deep in Manhattan.
Mush let out a calculated chuckle as he looked back to his cards. The rest of the table caught on and so did those within earshot. The silence that had accompanied the unexpected visitor ended as abruptly as it started, with conversations picking up where they had left off.
Eights' self-satisfied smile dissolved into a scowl. He turned his narrowed eyes on the room, but no one was paying attention to him anymore. He had no other option but to leave, unless he wanted to be made a fool of. Cursing under his breath, he turned and left as quickly as he came.
Race looked up and gave Mush a triumphant smile. Manhattan 1, Brooklyn 0. Mush smiled back in acknowledgement. They had been dealing with Brooklyn long enough to know what pushed their buttons and had been doing it long enough to pull it off without much effort.
After Eights left, the conversations inevitably turned toward why Brooklyn would have business with Manhattan. Of course they all had a pretty good idea, but this was an excuse to talk about it and rehash any new rumors for the day.
"I got a feelin' I know what that's about," Mush summed up the collective thought of the group, though he left it at that.
They all knew. There wasn't a kid working that hadn't heard the quiet stories floating through the city. With Brooklyn getting involved, it only validated the problem and showed them that it wouldn't simply disappear as they hoped.
There could be only one reason why Spot would come himself. The whispers had grown too loud to ignore…
AN: As always, I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know how I'm doing so far, I'd love to hear from you!
Special thanks to 24601, Sportychik425, Geometrygal and Reesie