Afternoon September 19, 1903 - San Francisco

A light breeze distracted him. The air carried up and under his untucked shirt, cooling the sweat trickling down his back. It carried the scent of burnt coffee and something fried. Or maybe it was the voice, young and high pitched enough to be a girl, shouting for long enough and intoned enough to be a headline.

The punch landed with all the unforgiving violence of Brooklyn just under his ribs, in the soft flesh of his upper stomach. He gasped out a howl of pain, the bruise was already blooming, and Jack pushed his elbows into his stomach protectively.

"I'm not going to be soft Kelly," Conlon warned and scoffed, bouncing his own fists in front of his chin. The constant motion was a perfect defense to every fight Spot had ever been in, the man had always criticized Jack's stance as protecting his pretty face. The Brooklyn boy had never once passed up an opportunity to demonstrate Jack's weakness to him.

Jack gritted his teeth as he dramatically pulled his jab to aim into Conlon's gut, waiting for Spot's arms to drop to cover before swinging his right hook. He knocked into Spot's cheek with a good force that Conlon only used to leverage his opposite shoulder into Jack's stance. The two fighting men got closer at the attack and defense, as they always did when it went from a lazy fight to something more real, more instinctive, and less thought.

Golden Gate Park was teeming with families and young people, parading and picnicking, doing the park on a Saturday as an activity. Jack and Spot were up amongst the trees and dirt, not an ideal place to dawdle and thus giving them the desired privacy.

Spot had taken to boxing casually lately, his fists and blocking still sharp and polished in that haphazard Brooklyn thug way of his. On the other hand, Jack only ever raised his fists to Conlon these days.

David appeared as Spot shoved Jack into a nearby tree. Jack was getting ready to kick Conlon into the ground.

"Caroline Kai has addressed a letter to Jack," David announced as he stalled the men tumbling to the dirt. "And the two of you are gaining an audience."

Jack glanced over Spot's shoulder to notice the eyes following them. Spot instinctively stepped away, licking his thumb to press against his bloody lip.

"Right," Jack grunted as he pushed away from the tree trunk. "Read the letter to us, Davey?"

Jack took three long strides forward and held up both hands, palms presented forward with fingers held up to the sky. He gestured with his chin to Conlon to take a turn practicing.

"I didn't think Caroline wrote to you often?" Spot frowned as he stepped just out of reach of Jack, his thumbs closer to his mouth than his chest now.

"She doesn't. I don't think she's ever written to me." Jack shrugged, gritted back another huff of pain as Spot's knuckle caught him in the tender skin between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand.

"It's been over a year; you don't think she's finally run off?" David mused as he wrestled with his fingers and the sealed letter.

Jack and Spot dropped their arms and turned together to glare at David. Jack with his untucked shirt and hair wildly pointing in every direction as well as curling with sweat at the ends. Spot with a blooding lip and his chest heaving slightly. Anger and Violence in a way that would have made David Jacobs nervous before. Catching the sudden stillness, Dave glanced up and smiled with a shrug.

"No, she wouldn't." Dave coughed.

The men stared at him still, as if they needed to think through the possibility. Spot inhaled sharply before shaking his shoulders out and turning again.

"It wouldn't be Caroline that told us that." He stated confidently.

Jack scratched at the back of his neck nervously, as he remembered how to breathe normally. His mind had gone blank at the suggestion that Laces would run off, he could not begin to know where she would run to.

"I have to go to Santa Fe." Jack spits out suddenly. A thought that has been tumbling around so long in his head, in his life, that it seems odd to have to say it out loud at all. Spot sighs from somewhere behind him and David looks up just as he pulls out the letter from his envelope. They never talk about it.

They never talked about it. Though the decision had always been about Jack's dream, it had also been to remove themselves from New York City. To escape whatever fate awaiting boys who had been kings in a place that lives to forget such things. Jack, Spot, and David were not made to be factory workers. They could not have lived the life that had beaten and killed their fathers before them. And although they sometimes mentioned the idea of Santa Fe, they hadn't talked of it in months.

"I've been contracted for this Fall term," David replies logically, making room for the idea, giving space to a plan.

Spot doesn't reply. He has known this is brewing from Jack but more importantly from Laces. He isn't like Jack; he knows where the girl will run. She will run to them, and if they start moving again as they had been before. She will be lost. They will lose her, and Spot can not allow it.

"But I must…" Jack begins helplessly. He lacks that wistfulness he had as a boy when he had been in a crowd, this is the Jack that has become despondent and cynical. This is the Jack that's forgotten there are others who count on him.

"Kelly," Spot barks instantly reacting to the tone he has always despised. "Your aim is worse than a Bronx Ninny. Let's hear what the letter's got to say while you practice."

Jack didn't immediately move, but Dave smiled and sat down to unfold the letter.

"We'll make a plan for the Spring. We're closer to Santa Fe than we've ever been." David nods encouragingly.

The tension in Jack eases as he turns to face Spot again. Spot holds up his palms, spreading his fingers wide.

Jack,

(And Spot and David),

The letter begins, acknowledging all three men equally as Caroline Kai makes a case for Jack to intercede on her behalf. To ask him to write to her sister, to use his influence and her love to berate the stubborn girl into visiting her sister.

Jack knew Audrey had always felt abandoned by Caroline. Jack knew Audrey could be spiteful when she felt hurt. He felt the panic of what it would mean if Audrey came to believe he abandoned her. Spot kicks at his ankles impatiently trying to get him to focus, not give in to the panic.

Spot knew he was on borrowed time, managing panic from two equally stubborn reckless souls. He was going to have to write to Cricket, Critter, and Jasper – again, one of them would heed his warnings sooner or later.