As Gabby finished up the soup for Sunday's dinner, she realized how different the silence was; usually, Spot was always quiet around her as if he had something to hide. But something in his eyes suggested a certain anxiety had been plaguing him. He sat in the living room staring out the window blankly with Noah sitting on his lap.His fingers curled over his chin in deep thought and he rubbed the infant's back rhythmically. Noah's eyes searched the room, but inevitably always coming back to Spot.
Gabby called them to the table. She kept her concerned eyes on Spot as he carefully set Noah into his chair. With a very brief hesitation, Gabby placed her hand on Spot's arm and eyed him with sensitivity. Spot looked first at her hand and then up into her eyes; he hadn't seen those eyes in a long time.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" asked Gabby in a knowing tone.
A quick flood of memories washed over Spot; when he had first met Gabby they had immediately sparked conversation. Their relationship was primarily built on communication, for he had found a sort of connection with her that he had never had before with anyone else. He felt he needed to be honest, though, for a change.
"Not yet," he answered.
Gabby nodded in acceptance and added, "Well, if you ever need me…"
"I know." Spot smiled.
The quiet lingered in the room for a considerable amount of time. The only noises came from Noah, who occasionally rejected his dinner. Spot slurped down the contents of his soup and paused in thought; if he talked to Gabby before things might get worse, she would be prepared. He decided to give her the facts. All of them.
"Actually, Gabby," started Spot slowly, "there's been somethin' on my mind that we need to talk about."
Gabby leaned her elbows on the table and listened carefully. Her eyes locked with his and narrowed within their gaze.
"Well, I don't really know how to start sayin' this, so I'm just gonna lay it out there."
Then, just before Spot could go any further, a hard round of knocks came to the door. Gabby stood to answer it casually, but instinct took over Spot and he grabbed her arm tightly. She looked at him, confused, and he sat her back down firmly as he got up.
"What's wrong?" She had come to know when something had alarmed Spot, and unsettling feeling rested in her stomach. It told her that something was noticeably wrong.
Without answering her question, he told her to take Noah and get into the bedroom.
"Spot, tell me what's going on!"
He ushered them into their bedroom and closed the door amidst Gabby's protests. As the knocks continued steadily in the hallway, Spot's heart pumped faster as he came face to face with the wooden, splintered doorway. After hesitating, Spot twisted the knob and opened just a crack. He was first met with the distinct smell of a cigar and he felt his taut muscles relax.
"My god, Race, what the hell're ya doin' heah?"
"Spot, we gotta talk." Racetrack's voice was rushed and hurried, his face a pallet of urgency and concern.
"I mean, I thought it was someone like Salvini er somethin'…"
"Spot. Seriously," urged Race. "I really gotta talk ta you."
Quieted, Spot nodded and let him in. Race hesitated, wondering if it would be all right that Gabby was home, as well as Noah. Spot reassured him that it was fine, saying that he was in fact going to tell Gabby what he knew anyway. Gabby opened the door swiftly with an upset look on her face; once she read Race's and Spot's expressions, however, her soft-eyed, mouth slightly open look took her face.
Spot and Race sat down in the kitchen with the half-eaten meal on the table. Gabby balanced Noah on her lap, attempting to feed him. A part of her was confused, for she knew how fussy babies could get, but Noah almost never acted this way. They had had this food before without many complaints, but during the entire dinner the infant had only gotten down two spoonfuls.
"Is this what you were gonna talk to me about, Spot?" asked Gabby, motioning her head toward Race.
"Oh, I'm not sure…" Spot turned to Race, "is this about Salvini?"
"Yeah."
"Then you might wanna listen up, Gabby," said Spot after a pause. "I was gonna tell you a little bit ago…but I ran into an 'old friend' a while back. It's Jumper."
Gabby nearly lost balance of Noah upon the mention his name. Her face seemed to go white and her muscles jumped. Spot placed his hand on her arm to calm her down, saying, "don't worry. I talked to 'im. I don't think he's gonna be botherin' us ."
"Eh, actually Spot, that's what I wanted to talk to ya about," chimed in Race. He glanced at Gabby and Noah and leaned in closer to him, "ya sure you don't wanna step out into the hall er somethin'? I mean the kid's right there…"
"No," protested Gabby suddenly. "I want to hear this."
Gabby's eyes narrowed in on the two boys eagerly. She had placed Noah on the table now, her arm around his back supportively. Race cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat to get comfortable.
"A'right, uh…where should I begin," he said to himself. "Well, uh, ya know about Salvini, obviously, 'bout how he's been showin' up at O'Reilly's lately and ev'rything. Well, when you left ta go talk to 'im, Spot, O'Reilly stayed at my table fer a little while. As soon as ya left he says to me, 'Your boy know who he's dealin' with?'"
Spot's gaze strengthened in curiosity. He sat motionless as Race continued. He could feel Gabby's state of unmoving as well.
"I looked at 'im all funny 'cause I figgered he hearda him from when we was newsies, ya know? So he goes on to tell me, he says, 'That boy Salvini's sure climbin' the charts heah.' So I looked at him funny again 'cause I was real confused. This was the first time I heard someone else mention Salvini like that. I only remembered 'im from Harlem." Race paused and inhaled quite deeply on his cigar.
"O'Reilly went on to tell me that Salvini don't exactly got a 'day job,' if ya know what I mean. Says he's makin' real friendly with the Italian folk over on the West Side."
"S-so what, what does that mean? 'Make friendly,' what d'you mean?" interrupted Gabby in a flustered speed. Spot's eyes remained on Race but his hand went to rub Gabby's arm again.
"Well, Salvini's gettin' hisself a brotherhood, an' it ain't the good kind. I asked O'Reilly if he was talkin' about a gang er somethin', 'cause you coulda handled that, Conlon, I mean, seriously. But, no; says what Salvini's gettin' into his bigger than some lousy gang. It's this type 'a 'underground crime ring' that's startin' out real small, which is why nobody's heard about it much, but it's growin' real fast. They been tryin' ta take over some 'a the bars around heah and other places, like it's their place 'a business 'er somethin'. What they're doin', O'Reilly didn't know…but he don't got a good feelin' about it. Says that's how Salvini's makin' a name for hisself."
Spot sighed at the conclusion of Race's story. He rested his elbows on the table's surface and held his heavy head in his sweating palms. His eyes closed and all he thought about was that fight he had with Salvini. There was an group of Italian men around him when he had entered.
"So why does he want me?" questioned Spot. "Why come after me when I'm outta Brooklyn?"
Race twirled his cigar around in his hand and shook his head slowly. "I don' know, Conlon. I really don' know."
A mixture of a gasp and a sigh issued from Gabby's side of the table and she got up, collecting the silverware and bowls to put onto the counter. Her hands shook violently as she hurriedly cleared away whatever was left. Anything dirty in the kitchen, she sought to clean it all up within a very short timeframe.
After several moments, Race got up and apologized for not bringing better news. Spot shook his head and said very little. He explained that he and Race would meet up again to discuss anything else that may have occurred; but for the time being, he just wanted to put his family to bed in peace.
The apartment's silence resonated with ferocity as Spot walked back from the front door. Noah sat alone on the table, making irritated, short cries and whimpers. Gabby stood at the counter facing the wall, unmoving. Spot could tell the news had hit her too hard. He couldn't help but feel guilty, but at the same time he felt she needed to know.
Slowly, Spot made his way over to Gabby. Before he could touch her, she turned around abruptly and picked up Noah.
"We'll leave then," she announced. "Tomorrow morning if possible. We'll leave. I don't want you or our son in any type of danger. We'll get out of this city, this fucking city and just…leave!" She carried Noah in her arms as she walked quickly into their bedroom.
Spot followed her and stood in the doorway while Gabby prepared Noah to go to sleep. The baby continued to reject his mother's help, and kicked and squirmed uncontrollably. Gabby increasingly became anxious with every task she did. Finally, she threw Noah's clothes to the ground in a fit of anger and turned away from Noah.
Hot tears running down her cheeks, Gabby rushed over to Spot and met him in a tight embrace. She cried and cried into his shoulder as he held her closer than he ever had, and all he could do was just that. It was then, that for the first time, in a long time, Noah had let out a shrill, piercing howl, even louder than the silence engulfing the room.