"Let's just go back," Blink said, glancing back at the door nervously as he kept up with Race. "It don't hurt that much, we can still play."

Race didn't have to look behind him to know that he needed to keep walking, fast. He could hear bets being made. Three-to-one he'd get off one good hit, twenty-to-one he'd stay on his feet, no odds for him winning.

"No, this ain't about cards," Race said.

"I'm sorry, Race. I asked to come. I didn't-"

"It ain't about you neither," Race cut him off. Blink nodded slowly, confused as to what else it could be about.

Race knew he wasn't getting away with a stunt like the one he pulled. He should have played the damn game, taken them for all they were worth and left. He shouldn't have let Spot get to him, he knew better than that. They could usually manage to sit in a room without ever finding a need to talk to each other, casual insults aside. But as hard as he tried to ignore the fact Spot existed, Spot tried just as hard to goad him into a confrontation. It was an endless game and Spot had infinite patience for it.

"Higgins!" Spot called out.

Race didn't stop; instead he shoved Blink toward the sidewalk.

"Stay outta this, no matter what happens," Race told him. Blink started to argue, but Race kept walking.

He wasn't running, he was no coward, but he wasn't stupid either. Spot made it his business to know how to fight. And if it came down to them going against each other, Race had no delusions about who would come out on top.

Race turned the corner quickly and headed down a side street.

He was just trying to even the odds a bit. Spot on his own was an entirely different beast than the one that constantly needed to prove himself in front of his boys. Race knew if he could confront him on his own, his chances of avoiding Spot's fist increased significantly. Four-to-one he could talk his way out of it free and clear.

"Higgins!" Spot shouted angrily.

Race took a quick look up and down the street to make sure he was out of sight of the Brooklyn house and that nobody had followed Spot. Seeing he was safely away from prying eyes, he stopped. He silently went on guard as he turned around to face Spot, hoping he hadn't made a mistake in not running when he had the chance.

As Spot approached, he pushed up his sleeves and regarded Racetrack with what appeared to be genuine spite. That wasn't good.

Race tensed.

Spot looked him over, his severe expression dissolving into a grin. "You're scared."

"I ain't never been scared of you," Race said evenly. Not that he would ever admit to it if he had been.

Spot glanced sideways, making sure there was no one else within earshot. Satisfied there wasn't, he regarded Race with visible amusement. "You're a liar."

"Makes two of us."

"I'd watch my mouth if I was you. You're lettin' it get you into trouble."

"Are you gonna soak me or what? I got things I gotta do tonight," Race replied dryly.

Race knew he would have already done it, if that's what he was really after. Apparently, all Spot wanted that night was to get a rise out of him. Typical. It was all part of his game. Rather than breathing easier, Race became more annoyed.

Spot shrugged, though there was still a hint of a smile on his face. "You'll owe me one if I don't."

"I bet you'd like that," Race said coolly. It had been several years since he owed Spot anything and he wanted to keep it that way.

"You wouldn't. That's good enough for me."

"You'se real lousy, you know that?" Race said, no longer hiding his irritation. He knew Spot wasn't exaggerating. Half the things Spot did were just to piss him off. He suspected Spot stayed up at night figuring out ways to mess with him. If it were anyone else, he would have taken it up as a challenge. Because it was Spot, it was just a frustrating fact of life.

"Stop, you're makin' me cry," Spot said with sarcasm. He was clearly enjoying himself, something that made Race even more aggravated, which, in turn, only seemed to encourage him more.

Even though he could think of several more things he wanted to say, all pertaining to Spot's mother, Race didn't respond, he didn't trust himself to keep civil.

His eye was drawn suddenly by movement further down the street and he couldn't help but notice as a few of Spot's boys crept up to the corner, not wanting to miss any action. They were muttering to each other, clearly disappointed Race was still standing and not lying in a pool of his own blood. He tried to look away before Spot realized they were no longer alone, but it was too late.

Spot followed his eyes, quickly glancing back. Race could see the exact moment when Spot stiffened and his expression turned hard. Predictable. There was nothing Spot cared about more in life than his reputation. He couldn't let his boys think he was soft or that Race had fast-talked him.

This wasn't going to end well. Race instinctively fell back a step. Already resigned to the fact he would be getting a black eye, he impulsively decided if he was going down, he was going to do it in style.

"That's all you care about, ain't it? What they think," Race said, ridiculing him just loud enough to be overheard.

"Shut it," Spot growled. That struck a nerve. Race took another step back.

"You don't want 'em to find out you'se a nobody just like them," Race continued loudly. He would've paid money to see the look Spot was giving him. It was halfway between disbelief and rage.

"You say another word, I swear to God, I'll deck you." Spot's hand was already clenched into a fist.

"Oh yeah? Well-" Race didn't get a chance to finish the thought.

Before he could react, Spot had swung out and punched him squarely in the jaw. Beyond the dull ringing in his ears, Race could hear laughter and a few cheers. Spot wasn't smiling though. In fact, his eyes were narrowed and his fist pulled back, as if he anticipated Race wasn't done mouthing off. Spot knew him too well.

"Is that all you got?" Race said as he worked his jaw slowly. Considering he was still on his feet, he knew Spot hadn't hit as hard as he could have.

"Keep talkin' and you'll find out."

"You're gettin' weak on me, Conlon," Race said as loudly as he dared.

Race was vaguely aware of the fact he had gone too far when Spot's boys fell silent and the smiles disappeared.

Spot didn't hesitate and his eyes never wavered. He struck Race again, hard. The speed and force of the hit sent Race sprawling to the street. He hadn't held back that time and Race was painfully aware of it.

Even though he had known it was coming, he hadn't been prepared. Race shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He unsteadily pushed himself up to his knees and ran a hand over his jaw to make sure he still had all his teeth. Luckily, he did. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spot move dangerously close. Race had to consciously keep himself from flinching as Spot stood over him.

"You ain't welcome here no more," Spot announced.

Race looked up at him sharply. That was new. He'd never been banished before. In truth, he would've rather been soaked. He made a lot of money in Brooklyn, not to mention he sold there a fair amount of the time. Of course, Spot knew all that and probably figured it would hurt more than a few punches.

"You made me do that," Spot said a moment later, dropping his voice so only Racetrack could hear. It wasn't an apology, it was a simple statement of fact. Race had never seen Spot regret anything.

"I know," Race conceded. He had backed Spot into a corner, insulted him repeatedly and had done it in front of his boys. He deserved what he got, but it was worth it. He would have smiled if didn't hurt so much.

Spot considered him for only a brief moment before he turned back toward his house, rolling down his sleeves as he walked.

"Get 'im home," he said to Blink as he passed by. There was no sympathy in his voice and he didn't look back.

Still unable to stop the ground from spinning, Race reached out until he found Blink's arm. He nodded silently, letting Blink know he was all right, and pulled himself to his feet.

Two-to-one he'd be back in Brooklyn by the end of the week.