It was quite possibly one of the most awkward exits Spot Conlon had ever made. After Kat had informed him she knew about Johnny Salvini, Spot hurried into the apartment and sincerely hoped nobody would notice his leaving again.
"Where're you going?" inquired Gabby, utterly confused as she ran after him towards the door, leaving the table in the middle of their engaging conversation. "You can't honestly tell me you have something to do at eight o'clock at night."
Spot's bottom lip fell open and a droning, monotonous tone issued from his mouth. He stalled, his mind going so fast and coming to a complete halt again within the span of ten seconds. Gabby grew more suspicious with every passing moment, the old feelings of his negligence beginning to resurface. Her calculating gaze softened as she attempted to keep hidden the emotions flooding into her system.
Coming back to the present now, Spot's hardly present intuition attuned to the situation. He let go of the doorknob and made his best effort to formulate an explanation that would not sound like his old excuses of the past.
"Look, Gabby, I know this looks bad…" began Spot.
He hesitated, thinking, and looked at Gabby. A certain light caught her gaze and enhanced the evergreen hues of her eyes with life only just a little. But it was more than enough for Spot. He reached his hand softly behind her neck and, boldly, kissed her lips. He pressed the side of his face against hers and whispered directly into her ear, "Please trust me."
Gabby closed her eyes and sought out the power to do so. Inwardly she wrestled with the request. Yet she found herself wrapping her arms around him and she agreed.
Spot threw on his jacket as he bounded down the stairway. Kat waited anxiously at the doorway, her fingers fidgeting and foot tapping nervously against the wooden floor. Just before they left, Spot grabbed her arm and spun her around quickly.
"How do I know this ain't a set-up?" asked Spot, the grip on Kat tightening slightly. "How can I trust you?"
Kat flung away free from his grasp and gave him a stern look. She looked him in the eye and said, "Because your whole life is about to wiped out and I'm the only one who could be of any use to you."
She turned and ordered him to follow, leaving an entirely surprised yet partially thankful Spot in its wake. They walked in silence, weaving in and out of the Manhattan evening traffic. Almost four blocks later, they arrived at Kat's apartment. The hallway and staircases were dark, almost impossible to see the floor below their feet. Spot felt a cold breeze whip around his face and slick the back of his neck with sweat. He could barely see Kat and he had no idea what lay before him, but he trusted her. For some unknown reason, he trusted her.
Kat's apartment was illuminated vaguely by a light in the corner. She locked the door three different times and raced over to the windows and shut them with tremendous force. Spot took a seat slowly, letting himself bathe slightly in the light. Kat rushed over to the couch and sat down, her face inches from the lamp's ray of light. She faced him and took a deep breath.
"This hardly seems credible, I know," began Kat, "but you're just really going to have to try and believe me. I probably seem a little different than when we were together…"
"Different, I'm havin' trouble recognizin' you," interrupted Spot. Had she not been so seemingly overwhelmed with anxiety, he would have seen her eyes to be more vivid. But as it was, they were not.
"Yeah, helps me get customers," mumbled Kat almost inaudibly as she readjusted her seat. "But anyway, I came to talk to you about Salvini, obviously. I met him last night at a bar near the river…"
"I'm low on cash…" murmured Kat as she squeezed entrance onto a barstool. Her revealing cleavage brushed against heavily the shoulder of a young man with his white fingers curled around a glass of whiskey.
He turned his head and let his dark brown eyes travel from the top of Kat's flaxen curls down to her long, laced legs. With an arrogant smirk he ordered another whiskey and the two clinked glasses.
"Don't think I've seen you 'round here much," conversed Kat in her breathy, come-hither type of voice. "I'm sure I would've recognized ya."
"Ya know, I haven't been in Manhattan for a real long time. I'm Johnny. Johnny Salvini." The young man took hold of Kat's hand tightly and kissed her olive skin.
Kat recoiled a little. For some reason, a chill ran up her spine and her muscles tensed up. She had been doing this for three years now, and had been taken to so many places, been in so many apartments, slept in so many beds, that she was a private, one-woman, Manhattan strip show. Men as young as fifteen and as old as forty had had the pleasure of getting to know Kat, and it was her identity. So she couldn't quite figure the feeling she got when Johnny touched her.
"Well," breathed Kat nervously, "it's, uh, lovely to have met you Mr. Salvini. Thank you for the drink."
As she hopped down off the stool in an attempt to merge through the cramped, overpopulated speakeasy, Kat felt a strong hold on her arm.
"Whoa, where you off to so quick, beautiful?"
Johnny glided her back to her previous seat and moved his fingertips in and out of her flesh. His fair-skinned face held the smug expression of an arrogant man on a power trip. His smirking expression made it almost impossible for Kat to look at him without being frightened.
"You wanna 'nother drink, don'tcha?"
Johnny's hands flew to Kat's teeny hips and he propped her up to his liking onto the barstool. He ordered her another drink and toasted to such a beautiful night. They spoke for some time amidst the noises around them and Kat tried her best to calm herself down every time his hand slid over her body or the feel of his breath caused the back of her neck to tingle in fright.
Just as he finished up a conversation which Kat could not rightly recall, another boy his age stumbled over to their area. Undoubtedly Italian, the young man was to the point of passing out as he fell completely into Johnny's lap.
"You'll have to excuse me," said Johnny as he stood his friend upright, "Nico has a slight drinking problem. I'll just toss 'im out back real quick…"
"Hey, Salvini, you ain't goin' anywhere till yer friend pays for his drinks," interrupted the bartender. "Macaroni heah owes me almost ten bucks."
Hardly affected by this, Johnny reached difficultly into his pocket under the full weight of Nico, and tossed his wallet to Kat. He told her to pay the bartender for Nico's and their drinks, and he would be right back. Kat, being the master of deceit that she was, took this opportunity to investigate the young man's earnings. She felt relieved knowing she could just take the boy's money and hop out of there without actually having to earn it. Kat opened Johnny's wallet to see not two or three, but merely wads, of cash. She blinked for a moment with her mouth agape.
"Lady, you gonna pay fer those drinks er not?" demanded the overly stressed bartender.
She tossed him the intended money and bounced off the barstool, stuffing the wallet into her already tight-fitting dress. As she made her way through the crowded room, a familiar hand grabbed her arm intensely and she turned to see Johnny.
"Ya're not gettin' off that easy, princess," said Johnny.
Kat sighed in defeat and dug around her cleavage to retrieve his wallet. But Johnny stopped her.
"No, you keep it fer now."
Kat eyed him suspiciously and a nervous feeling came over her.
Johnny placed his fingertip on her lips and as he spoke, moved it slowly downward toward her chest.
"You come with me fer the night…and later on we'll whip out that wallet…or if it should happen to fall out… and see whatcha get." His fingertip reached the top of her dress that overexposed her breasts, and Kat gasped.
"Please don't tell me anymore 'a this," interrupted Spot, "I can't take anymore 'a this." He sat back and closed his eyes. His fingers massaged his eye sockets so hard he hoped he would eventually rub away any trace of Johnny from his memory.
"I'm sorry Spot, but you need to hear what happened later."
Shaken and more nervous than she had ever been, Kat walked alongside Johnny, making their way down the street away from the safety of the crowded bar. His arm slung around her neck tightly. He did not talk with Kat, and she did not talk with him.
They walked for close to an hour. Kat's trembling feet were warm with blood from the worn-out boots she had worn that night; her nerves had been shaking since the moment she met Johnny and had only worsened once they arrived at the door of Johnny's apartment. Every doorway was a different man, but they were always the same doorway for Kat; Johnny's was especially different.
He began kissing her fiercely the moment the door closed. Kat's performance was not as up to par compared to her recent experiences, but she shut her mind off and only thought of the size of Johnny's wallet (hey, she needed new shoes now), even if did conflict with the fact that his apartment was skimpy and lacking several necessities.
Just as he started unbuttoning her dress, the door flung wide open and there stood Kat's savior in the doorway, a wide silhouette of Antonio Salvinelli hindered the light spilling in from the hallway. Johnny cursed to himself a few rounds before tossing Kat under the covers, and he left the room. Kat sighed and sat up in bed, putting herself back together. In her experience, usually a familiar intruder meant the night was over. She wandered around the dark room in search of the rest of her clothes. She also couldn't help but notice Johnny's wallet still wedged between her breasts still, and couldn't help but smile.
"…Uncle, you just gotta trust me."
"How can I do that, Johnny? Huh? I don' even know your any 'a yer plans, I can't figure out any 'a those notepads you been slippin' me at dinner! I ain't heard 'a no Spot Conlon, and I'm failin' to see why yer so obsessed with this guy…"
Kat stopped movement as her hand reached to the ground to grab her scattered garments. The conversation on the other side of the door intrigued her.
"I know, ya don' think it's worth it, but trust me, Uncle, it is. This Conlon guy's a real way to boost my numbers."
"Is that all you care about? Movin' up the ranks in this family?"
"No, yer misunderstandin' me—"
"This ain't about the killin', Johnny. This ain't no sport. I don't want you thinkin' this job is some kinda warm-up er practice to get you started. We actually do have a purpose in what we're doin'."
Kat tiptoed closer to the door.
"I know, but Uncle, please. Spot Conlon's got purpose in this. Yeah, I'm learnin' some ropes along the way, but really I'm thinkin' about the subject involved. Conlon holds more cards than ya think he does. He won't be a main factor fer me fer much longer."
There was pause in conversation and Kat could tell the older man was stopping, deep in thought. Her curious mind couldn't help but wonder what sort of lives these people lived, even though a rule of thumb in this line of work was to never think too much about the client.
"And it's got nothin' to do with this boy's family? I'm not stagin' a revenge fer ev'rybody."
Another pause. Curiouser and curiouser; Kat was beginning to feel a little bit like Alice.
"No, sir."
The conversation ended abruptly and Johnny swung open his apartment door. Kat up righted herself and tried to look as though she had done nothing wrong. The flood of light created another, almost ghostly, silhouette of Johnny as she stood staring at her in the doorway.
"Get out," he ordered.
Kat, relieved, picked up the rest of her clothes and scurried out of there. Johnny grabbed her arm once more, reached deep into her cleavage, and retrieved his wallet, all with a smug smile on his pallid face.