Jack flipped back to the front page and started to read the headline story again. 'Maniac Horse Throws Woman from Carriage.' It wasn't a war, but it did what it was supposed to do. He'd sold about thirty of them. If anyone asked, he would make it fifty. Thirty on a day like this was like his usual hundred, though without the headline he would have done worse. People must have a thing for animals and women, he mused as he skipped to the next page. Of course, the story revealed the woman had only just stepped onto the carriage when the horse was spooked, so 'thrown' was a bit of an overstatement. 'Stumbled back a few feet with a miffed expression' would have been more accurate. But accurate wasn't profitable.

He could read better than most, but it still took him awhile to get through a column. Sometimes he would read it twice if he had to skip too many unknown words. After a few years, he still hadn't figured out what 'contingent' meant, though a lot of things seemed to rely on it.

He rubbed his eyes, the dim light of the early evening starting to blur the print.

"Ey! Can somebody get a light goin'? I can't see two inches from my face over here!" he yelled to no one in particular, knowing someone would take care of it eventually.

"What's new?" a voice responded, followed by a laugh.

"Ha ha, I'm laughin'," he said sarcastically, continuing to read. "You'se a born comedian." He'd learned that one a few days ago. It meant someone who got paid to make people laugh or something, he couldn't really remember, but it seemed to fit.

"A what?" The laughing paused with a confused silence, not knowing whether to be insulted or not.

"Yeah, that's right, a comedian. You wanna make somethin' of it?" Jack said, not looking up from the page.

"Nah, that's ok," the voice responded uncertainly, not sure if Jack had gotten away with something akin to murder or was merely throwing odd words around again.

"What's new?" Jack muttered to himself, imitating the boy. He usually didn't mind taking a few knocks every now and then, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood for it. Spot would be gracing them with his presence any minute and he knew the news wouldn't be good. He either wanted Manhattan to formally join with Brooklyn against Greene or he wanted to have a tea party.

A few moments later, a dull flicker of light caste a temporary haze over the room as an oil lamp was lit. The room gradually grew lighter as a couple more were set out, a warm glow filling all but the deepest of shadows. They had found a collection of the lamps behind a fancy house uptown one afternoon last year. Half of them were broken or the glass cracked, but they had saved the usable parts and pieced them together. They weren't much to look at, but they worked pretty good.

Being able to see, he pulled the paper away from his face and sat back in his chair. He looked up as two small boys tore through the room with wooden swords, trying to imitate a fight on horseback.

"Watch it with those," he said almost automatically, having said it a hundred times to that specific pair alone. He had to find out where they got those things and soak the guy that made them. Just that morning he had been hit in the knee with one of them. Why couldn't kids play with cards like everyone else?

They stopped in their tracks and nodded with innocent understanding, backing out of the room silently. As soon as they were out of sight, he heard their footsteps resume the frenzied pace. Kids, he sighed.

A boy ducked his head in the door a moment later, holding on to the frame as he recovered his breath and managed to speak. By his flushed face and weakening legs, it appeared as though he had been running as fast as he could to relay his message.

"Spot's comin'," he reported quickly before disappearing in to the street again.

Jack looked up from his paper. It was about time. He'd almost had to read the part that talked about rich people getting married, which would have only served to worsen his mood. He tossed the paper aside and sat up, pulling his leg from over the armrest and setting both feet on the ground.

"Race. Mush," he called across the room, nodding to the door as he stood.

They both looked away from their conversation, though it looked mostly one- sided. Mush was talking more than usual to make up for Race's lack of conversation. Now that Jack thought about it, Race did look a bit out of it. Probably lost at the tracks again. He was glad he didn't have any habits that ate up his money like that, he thought as he felt for a cigarette in his pocket. Not finding one, he started for the door, making a note to roll a few later.

Jack pushed the guest book aside and hoisted himself up to take a seat on the front desk to wait. Everyone else in the vicinity quickly decided they had something that needed to be done elsewhere. He didn't blame them, he'd rather be in fifty other places at the moment, though his reasons were completely different. He knew what was going on, they didn't.

Mush joined him in the entryway, taking a seat on the stairs. Race followed soon after and nodded to Jack as he leaned against the wall. They knew the drill.

Jack needed people to back him up, even if he didn't expect any trouble. Sometimes it was simply to intimidate, sometimes for protection, but in this case it was merely customary. Spot and Jack both knew what the other was capable of and knew there would be no threat in their meeting.

Having people behind you was more than just decoration, it showed you weren't acting alone, that you did have those that supported you and would back you up if it came down to it. Jack needed those that had been around for a long time, long enough not to be scared of Brooklyn or Spot; or if they were, smart enough not to show it. Race and Mush had been around almost as long as him and he trusted them.

Those sitting outside the front door fell uncharacteristically silent, allowing the sound of several pairs of footsteps to be heard over the cobblestones. They were unhurried and unaccompanied by voices, though he could hear the barely audible tap of a cane.

Jack slid off the counter to stand in front of it, silently telling Race and Mush to go on guard.