Chapter 10

"I don't know if I'm dreaming when I sleep or sleeping while I'm awake, but I have reoccurring dreams my mind cannot take." —Stanley Victor Paskavich

Tramp gave one last look at the grandiose neighborhood, taking in the fenced gardens, the glossy automobiles and the exquisite houses beyond the pristine white sidewalk. He curled his nose. Damn fat cats. Then he slid into the passenger's seat of Leon's truck, slamming the door shut behind him. Leon stared at him with his single piercing eye, but said nothing.

"What?"

"You take a shine to her?" Leon asked quietly.

"Who knows. What do you care?"

Leon shot him an expectant eyebrow raise. "With your reputation, I just want to make sure you're not making a game of this."

Tramp scoffed and slicked back some stray hairs from his forehead. "What are you, my mother now?"

"I can just tell she's a good kid, that's all." Leon murmured, pulling out into the street.

Tramp repressed a sigh. "I know, I know I'm not planning to see her again, trust me."

"Probably for the best. This is where she belongs."

Tramp ignored a spark of irritation. He didn't want it to be the last time he saw Lady no matter how many times he said it, but her safety was more important than his own selfish desires. Tramp ground his teeth and watched the mansions slowly begin to fade as they rumbled down the bumpy cobblestone road. That kiss she had given him was making it hard to stay true to his promise. If it had been any longer he would have turned in and kissed her back. Tramp clutched the material of his pants as he envisioned the blush that would erupt on her face from that.

Damn it. He thought, forcing himself to loosen his grip. This is gonna be trouble if I don't nip this in the bud now.

"Where to?" Leon asked.

"My place, I gotta get some shut eye."

Leon nodded. The car bumped along and they eventually made it out of Snob Hill and into their drab side of town. After being awake for an entire day the morning light streaming in over the streets made the town feel surreal. "You're quiet." Leon commented after a while.

"Been up all damn night fighting your guys' battles for you." Tramp chuckled darkly.

Leon shifted his eyes from the road and looked at him.

Tramp sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."

Leon turned back to the road and shifted in his seat. He said nothing at first but after a few minutes he turned back to Tramp and said: "It does help you know."

"Help what?"

"The gang work. It helps with…being back home."

"You've got to be joking. At least we had something worth fighting for over there, here it's just about money and whose booze is whose. And besides, it's been long enough now. I'm fine."

Leon gave him a sideways look and went quiet, clearly not fooled by his false bravado. He was one of the few that actually understood what wartime did to a man, because he too had seen frontline action. But unlike Tramp, who had served in the army, Leon had been in the navy.

"It helped me, is all I'm saying. It might help you too if you let it." Leon finally replied after a few minutes.

"I'll pass." Tramp retorted. "I've gotten my fair share just associating with you goons."

Leon turned the wheel and headed deeper into the city towards Tramp's neighborhood as the sun got higher and higher in the lemonade morning sky. "Buster could use the help, that's the last I'll say on it."

Tramp released a feral smile. "I got that loud and clear. But he's gonna answer for what he did wrong, not get my damn help."

Leon pursed his lips, his hand loosening on the steering wheel. "You do what you have to, but one of these days you're gonna push him too far."

"We grew up together, on the streets and unlike you lot I ain't afraid of him."

"Ain't afraid." Leon interjected. "Just know who's in charge."

"Ha, and that's exactly why I'm not ever gonna be a Mutt."

Leon acquiesced with a raise of his eyebrows. "You're too wild to take orders, I suppose."

"Damn right." Tramp said and rolled his shoulders as the truck entered the neighborhood where he lived; the older side of town which bordered the manufacturing district outside the city center. In the three years since he'd come home from France he had lived in a multitude of different homes, he'd even had a half year stint with Leon and his wife, Greta. But now he lived with Buster, Miles and a few friends in a large, shabby two story on Erdman Street for about a year.

Leon guided the truck down the street and the engine choked a little as it came to stop in front of the house. Buster's beaten up Model T sat parked on the street and Tramp suppressed a groan. Shit, just what I need. "Thanks for the lift." He said, rubbing the bandages around his knuckles. "Tell Greta I'm sorry for keeping you out even longer."

"She'll be alright, she's used to it now." He replied.

"I'll be seeing ya then." Tramp climbed out of the truck but before he went to close the door Leon leaned towards him in his seat. "Luske, about your redhead…I'm sure she'll be fine. Those Brass' wouldn't have been paying her any mind."

Tramp smiled grimly. "Thanks, man."

Leon nodded his head and sat up in the seat as Tramp slammed the door shut. The truck roared unevenly, then calmed and pulled out down the street back towards the downtown area. Tramp stood in the quiet for a few moments and then let out a large, expelling sigh from his nose, which billowed like a chimney. His exhaustion, mixed with the dread of what was to come made him almost immobile. When he felt ready Tramp forced himself to turn around and head up the deteriorating steps to the house. The keys in his weary hand felt like they were miles away from the lock, but after the usual jimmy and a shove the door opened and he entered the house.

The small foyer was paint chipped and lit by a single bare bulb, shoes sloppily piled up like carcasses on the wood floor. Once he left the foyer and headed towards the living room he began to hear a single voice. When he came into the entryway his eyes fell on the turned form of Buster, who spoke in low, impatient tones into the small black phone by the window. Tramp felt an instant, irrational fit of anger work into his bloodstream as he stared at the other man's broad back. It was Buster's misjudgment that had led him down the path to almost killing, again, but had also put Lady in danger. Tramp couldn't let this one slide.

"Look, I told you I had no idea that was on the table." Buster hissed into the receiver. "You gotta let me know when there's other…business on the side! I can't do my job and neither can the boys—Yeah, yeah I know, alright?"

There was one other in the room, to Tramp's chagrin, and it was none other than Russell. The dopey ginger sat on the sofa, his legs spread wide apart and his head draping over the top of the seat like he was inebriated. Tramp grit his teeth and ignored him, focusing instead on Buster. "You." He spit, giving his tired body over to his fury. "You get off that damn phone."

Buster flinched and shot a quick look over his shoulder. Russell clumsily jostled out of his lazy position and gave him a sour look, which Tramp also ignored. Buster quickly turned back around and spoke into the phone. "Alright, I will. I need to let you go for a sec, kay? I'll call back in a bit. No, nothings wrong I just gotta address something else real quick. Yeah, yeah bye." He clicked the receiver down onto its box, and let out a huff before turning around to face Tramp. "What the hell did you just say?"

If Tramp was a spark, then Buster was the match, and he was upon the other man in the blink of an eye. He grabbed his collar and roughly shoved him up against the wall, the small table next to them falling to the floor. Russell swore loudly and Buster grunted as the air was knocked out of him.

"I've been more than willing to put up with your insistence on this gang shit." Tramp said, the anger making his voice deep and dark. "But you ever get me involved like that again and I'll beat you senseless."

When his breath came back Buster clamped his hand around Tramp's wrist on his collar. "You ain't got no damn right, you traitor. You left us in the lurch to go chase some skirt."

"Don't you dare try to put this on me." Tramp snarled, pushing him against the wall even harder. "I shouldn't have been there to begin with. And since you constantly seem to forget, I am not a Mutt and I sure as hell ain't one of your flunkies."

Buster's jaw muscle clenched. "I don't give a rat's ass, even if you ain't one of us you don't leave your people like that."

"No." Tramp almost hollered. "This isn't about me, Bus. You wanna play gangster day in and day out, so I got no way of knowing what shit you're into."

"You choose to not know what's going on." Buster retorted, pushing back against his hold. "If you'd just admit you're one of us and goddamn commit to something you'd know it all."

"Oh for the love of god." Tramp groaned. "I'm never gonna join your stupid posse and nothing you say will change that."

"Fine." Buster seethed, his face a dangerous shade of red. "Fine, do whatever useless shit it is you do. Now get your goddamn hands off me." He ripped Tramp's hand away and violently shoved him back.

"The hell is your problem?" Russell snarled from behind them. "You came with us, why is that Buster's fault?"

Tramp squared his shoulders and turned to face him. "Watch it. I don't wanna have to fight someone else today."

Russell lifted an eyebrow and scoffed. "Like that's supposed to scare me."

"It should."

"Ha, said by the cat who hid behind a rich dame's skirt and ran like a coward."

Tramp took two long strides and stood almost nose to nose with Russell, his fists clenched tight against the bandages around his knuckles. "Call me a coward again."

"Ah geez, you two, save it." Buster groaned in the background

"I only call it as I see it." Russell said, unflinchingly meeting Tramp's gaze.

"What about you waving that god damn gun around like a dumbass? You're lucky Buster's got your back cause I'd ring you out to dry."

He chuckled and cracked his knuckles. "You think just cause you were in the war you're some big shot around here, huh? Well any sap can hold a gun and I ain't afraid of you."

Tramp was about to swing his tight fist but then suddenly Buster was there, shoving Russell with both hands. A dark, unhinged look covered his face, his black undercut hair spilling over his face. "Watch what you say, punk."

Russell, who had stumbled a few steps back, righted himself and gave Buster a confused glare. "The hell?"

"Don't talk about shit you don't know." Buster fumed, jabbing his finger in Russell's direction. "You boys who missed the draft like to act tough, but you wouldn't be talkin' smack after the things we did. So keep your damn hole shut."

Tramp was surprised. Buster put up with a lot of the younger boys' bad attitudes and bravado, usually having ample quantities of both on his own, but apparently the war was still not a subject he took kindly to. Maybe there was some hope he was still the same underneath it all. Tramp weakly stifled a chuckle, which earned him a murderous look from Russell.

He turned to Buster, his previous anger fizzling back into exhaustion. "You proved my point for me. This—" He dismissively waved towards Russell—"is why I fly solo. Too many stupid young bloods for my liking."

"What did you say—" Russell spat.

"Back the hell off." Buster warned, his voice deepening. "I'm about to kick your ass myself if you don't shut up."

Russell's lip curled with fury, but nonetheless he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stayed quiet. That did not, however, stop him from glaring daggers at Tramp from across the room. Satisfied, Buster slicked his loose hairs with a steadying exhale and rolled back his shoulders. "Damn, idiots, the lot of you. I don't have time for this right now, Lynch is up my ass about last night."

"Like I care about your boss' agenda." Tramp said, ignoring Russell entirely.

Buster threw a nasty glower in his direction. "Alright, Trampo, alright. So if you don't care about any of this, why you still here? Or do you just like to be a pain in my ass?"

Tramp snorted "While enjoyable, I have better things to do then annoy you. No, I want answers about last night…no bullshit, just the truth. What happened?"

Buster pulled his suit vest down and tilted his head back, appraising Tramp with haughty eyes. "You don't get to speak to me about nothin' until you apologize for ditching."

"I can't apologize if I don't feel sorry and I don't owe you or your posse anything. You still owe me, pal. Or did you forget about that too when you became a Mutt?"

Buster flinched, his eyes hooded and looked away. The other boy went silent and it was Tramp's turn to look haughty. It went quiet and the distant sound of the factory churning behind their house was the only sound. "What's he mean?" Russell finally asked, glancing between the two of them through narrowed eyes.

Buster ground his jaw and looked at the floor. "Nothing you need to know."

"But—"

"I said, it's nothing." Buster snapped.

Tramp let out a small, cynical chuckle. "That's what I thought. You think about that, instead of demanding things from me next time."

Buster released a deep sigh, and turned around to face the large living room windows behind them. "This is bullshit. What do you want me to say? The situation got outta hand, and those bastards thought you were one of us. That's all there is to it."

"I don't buy it. The way they chased after us was far too intentional to be a coincidence and I think you can agree. There's gotta be something you're not telling me."

Buster brought both his hands up and dragged them through his slick, inky hair. "Damn it, Trampo, I don't fucking know alright? There mighta been something else going on, there might not. I'm not in charge of everything! I take orders from Lynch but he doesn't tell me every single detail to our business. So how about you stop grilling me and go ask him yourself if you're so god damn interested."

Tramp released a terse sigh and rubbed his neck. "Alright, alright don't work yourself into a tizzy. I just want to know if I have to be concerned—"

Russell scoffed. "You just said you wanted nothing to do with Mutt business, so what are you worried about? Acting all upset when you're just pissed you couldn't get that dame into bed like always."

Tramp put his hands on his hips and licked his lips. "If you don't get him to shut up I'll do it myself."

Buster snarled and turned on Russell. "I already told you to keep your damn mouth shut, Russ. You always pickin' fights and I'm sick of it!" His voice grew to a bellow and he whipped around to face them both. "As a matter of fact, I'm sick of you both. GET THE HELL OUT!"

It went silent again, and Buster's words echoed throughout the room. Eventually Russell got up off the sofa and exited the room with a displeased look on his stupid freckled face. But Tramp on the other hand crossed his arms and stood rooted to the spot. "You can't scare me off like that. What's going on?"

Buster covered his face with his hands and let out a groan, before sitting down on the sofa. A few moments passed as he tried to get his breathing under control, and Tramp waited. It was best to let the man calm himself down in situations like this. After a time he dropped his hands to his knees to reveal a grim, but now calm frown. "The fallout from last night is no joke. And to make matters worse Slim, the dumb ass, got himself a crippled leg from that shot."

Tramp swore under his breath and shook his head. "Stupid kid. I tried to stop it, you know I did."

"Yeah cause you're just so damn perfect huh?"

"No, but I did warn you—"

"You know what?" Buster growled. "I don't care at this point, so drop the high and mighty act already. You didn't get hurt now did ya? You got out just fine, and I'm assuming your little skirt was just peachy." Tramp looked away as Lady's memory made his chest throb, but said nothing.

"Who was she anyway?"

"No one really." He lied. "Just some girl I talked to, who happened to get stuck with us."

Buster gave him a skeptical look. "I don't care who you interact with, it just looked like you knew her is all."

"Anyways." Tramp said, trying to change the subject. "How's Miles? He got hurt pretty good there too."

"Ah, he's fine." Buster leaned back and rested the back of his head on the sofa. "Just missing a chunk out his ear. He and Slim are stayin' at Trixie's for now."

"I figured as much. She gave me all kinds of grief on the phone when we found out where you all were."

Buster tiredly chuckled. "I'm sure she did. She's still got a thing for you, and won't stop going on about it. Believe me after staying there last night I know."

"Damn woman." Tramp sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his tiredness coming on in debilitating waves. "She can't let it go…and I don't even know why. We were only together for, what? Three months?"

"Go chase yourself, only you could make getting dames left and right seem like a bad thing."

Tramp rolled his eyes. "Like you don't get plenty yourself."

"Well yeah." Buster laughed, placing the crook of his elbow over his eyes. "But I don't leave em' brokenhearted like you seem to."

Tramp scoffed. "What can I say?"

But then he swallowed as he thought of Lady once more, all logic aside, and envisioned how unbearably sad she would look heartbroken. Seeing her scared had done strange things to his insides and he couldn't imagine what her sadness would do to him. Tramp shook himself and tightened his grip on his bandages for some form of control over himself. Like it matters, you aren't gonna see her again so why worry about something so pointless?

Buster dropped his arm from his face and let out a dramatic sigh. "Damn it. We lost some good one's after all the brawling last night…and now the big boss is complain' about our numbers being down. I gotta haul ass for the next month to make em' stop harpin' on me."

"C'mon man, I don't wanna know about any more Mutt business than I have to. I overhear way too much already."

"But see, that's the rub." Buster replied, sitting up and fixing him with an intense stare. "It'd be nothing for you to be one of us, easy as breathing…I don't get why you're being so damn stubborn. I could really use your help, especially after last night."

Tramp threw his hands in the air in defeat. "It's like I don't even speak. What the hell, Bus? I know we've been through a lot together but sometimes you can be so stupid it surprises me."

"What?" Buster glowered, slowly rising to his feet.

"You never learn your lesson even if it's staring you in the face. You got innocent people involved in your crap, two of your boys got hurt and you got the balls to try and recruit me, again?" Tramp scrubbed his hand over his face. "I've had it. For today I'm done with you, done with the Mutts and everything in between."

Buster briefly stood in silence but his hands clenched into fists at his sides, anger simmering around him like heat waves. "If you're so done, why don't you pack up and leave for all I care? Ever since you got back you've been a miserable ass, and all you're good for is talking crap and pissing everyone off. Russ may be out of line about a lot but he's right about one thing—you aren't some big shot over here. You gotta get over yourself and stop acting so superior to everyone. Now piss off before I do something I regret."

Tramp stared him down with an amused smirk. "You really trying to pull out the gangster boss act with me right now? That may work on your stooges but you're gonna have to try harder than that with me."

"Just beat it, would ya?" Buster snarled, turning away from him and heading to the phone once more. "I don't wanna see your ugly mug for a minute more."

Tramp chuckled with a humor he didn't feel and shrugged. "The feelings mutual. Later." He then turned and left the room, feeling his friend's glare on his back. As he made his way to the stairs leading up from the foyer he heard Buster pick up the phone and began growling into it. Tramp continued to the second floor where the other boys' rooms were. In total there were five of them living in the house: Tramp, Buster, Miles, Jerry and Cecil. He continued on past the bedroom's hallway until he reached the small stairwell leading to the attic. When he climbed the stairs and opened the door he was greeted with the sight of his bedroom.

It was a humble space, with it's worn wood floor, bare beams, and a small drafty window on the back wall. He kept it simple; a bed, a cigarette tray beside it on the floor and a busted up wardrobe which had come with the house when they'd bought it. The best part was that it was his and his alone, and it had been the only selling point when Buster had offered him a room.

Tramp shut the door behind him, slipped off his boots and haphazardly threw them across the uneven floor boards. He sat on his bed with a rusty creak and massaged his neck. "Shit." He grumbled, every part of him feeling sore, even down to his toes. Instead of going to sleep like his body craved, Tramp lit a cigarette, laid down on his back and began to blow smoke plumes up into the rafters.

Time went by like a stranger as he listened to the sound of raindrops from his window. After a while he had to admit it to himself: Lady's memory had not left him alone. It confounded him. He hadn't even taken her to bed like he usually did, but somehow every detail about her stuck to him like glue. The way she smelled, her nervous hand wringing, the fiery spirals that escaped her braid or how every rosey blush highlighted her many freckles. Annoyed, he finished his cigarette, leaned over and mashed the butt into the ashtray on the floor.

After that things became muddled for Tramp. He didn't realize he was asleep until he woke himself up screaming and sweaty from an indiscriminate nightmare. It was dark outside his window and touches of a fever raked his aching body. Tramp continued to fall asleep and wake up throughout the day and night, he was pretty sure he fumbled down the stairs to the bathroom more than once. He could remember splashing water onto his face and staring into his dark reflection but then he couldn't discern if he had dreamt that up. Lady was still there, crying at one moment and then sighing with ecstasy in another. She—Rita was there too. The foil to Lady's image with dark curls and a haughty mouth, but then she was dead in the mud all over again and Tramp was screaming.

It was only when the next day sun's morning haze began to penetrate the inky dark that Tramp was given a reprieve. His fever was still there but its grip was much less potent and the nightmares finally faded away. Then sleep was a welcome, dreamless expanse where nothing could reach him, good or bad.


The rusty door hinges screeched as Tramp shut the door behind him. He turned on the covered porch and saw that it was now pouring in hard torrents. "Shit." He said under his breath as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. It was even colder today. Though it was five o'clock at night it was hard to tell from the monotonous autumn cloud cover overhead. Tramp had picked up a late shift at Alco, the locomotive factory where he worked.

He looked out at their neighborhood as he decided whether to risk the torrent or wait until it subsided. Its glory days were a good twenty years behind it, the entire block was made up of two story single family homes, all outdated and in states of disrepair. Many lots were missing or had abandoned husks to occupy their dead grass lawns. A factory building sat behind the house, the local coal factory, Henderson Power Plant. Black miasma spewed from its chimney stacks, and made a layer of dark haze through the neighborhood beneath it. The rain in fact made the panels of the houses weep with sooty tears.

Tramp sighed, tugged his newsboy snuggly over his forehead and walked out into the rain, his impatience winning out over his desire to stay dry. Then he made his way up the two blocks to the bus station. As usual the rickety bus reached the bus stop ten minutes late, and was half full of wet, weary riders. The trip was twenty minutes in total, taking a route through more slums then through Main Street, until it reached another factory row some ten minutes from there.

The ride was uneventful until they passed 7th Street, when an unmistakable red gleam caught his eye. The crashed Packard. Tramp lurched closer to the rain spattered window in surprise and then scrambled out of his seat to ask the disgruntled driver to stop. He flew from the bus and ran across the street, where he nearly was run over by a racing Model T. He and the driver exchanged obscenities but he kept going until he reached the small crowd congregated a distance away from the crashed automobile.

Several police officers and firefighters stood in the heavily flooded area around the mangled, but now dormant, fire hydrant. They must have made quick work of shutting it off yesterday. But surprisingly a Ford tow truck was just now beginning to hook up to the destroyed Packard. Tramp pushed through the crowd until he was right up against the saw horses that blocked them from the scene, and eavesdropped on the officers standing a few feet away.

"—some gangsters had a real showdown last night. It started at the mayor's and somewhere along the line one of em' swiped this from a big wig."

"Good luck trying to identify which one of them bastards did this."

"Well it had to be one at Swanson's didn't it? The fat cat who reported it stolen lives a block away."

"Hm. Well at least this prick got what was coming to them, I doubt they walked away unscathed after a crash like that."

Tramp ran his tongue over his teeth. You got that right, damn it.

"Any idea who it was this time?" The officer continued.

"Well it was the Brass' and the Mutts that's for certain but there's no way in hell we're gonna be able to sort this out to individuals…this bastard is lucky as hell that a damn gang war broke out."

Tramp blew an irked sigh from his nose and left the crowd. Now that he'd missed his bus he had to walk to the factory from here, facing fifteen more minutes of bleak October drizzle. But he wasn't paying attention to the rain, he was lost in thought about a dozen different dilemmas. If Buster and the gang were somehow tracked down by the police, did he have to be concerned? Would the Brass' have it out for him now that he'd beaten one of their members bloody? And more importantly was Lady safe in light of all this? He couldn't dwell on that one long. She was fine.

Tramp arrived at work late, but with his mood today he didn't care all that much. The huge filthy brick factory had tall, smoking stacks and smelled of engine oil. The American Locomotive Company was a decent employer, the work was hard, the conditions sweltering but Tramp made serviceable money and they were kind to veterans. He'd been working for over a year, after Buster had recommended him to the foreman.

His shift began like some surreal dream, and it wasn't until early the next morning that he was conscious of having worked at all. Tramp's mind was far too preoccupied with the mess inside his head to even register the monotonous tasks he'd done. The entirety of the previous night played over and over again like a damaged film roll. Just what had those boys been after, really? He refused to believe it was a coincidence, no matter what Buster said. And though he would never say it, Tramp was bewildered by his brawl with Hook Nose. He knew his war memories hadn't gone anywhere since his time back home, but to have the trauma manifest in such a way left him tail spinning.

But the moment that really perplexed him was Lady's kiss. Her supple lips had molded against his skin like satin and her cheek had felt like warm porcelain, smooth and unblemished. It had been the last thing he'd expected from her, and it gave him an inkling of hope; that maybe he wasn't always such a violent, asshole all the time. It was a fleeting sensation though. Lady was out of his orbit now, and he would be a fool to think they could ever disrupt each other's gravities again.

Tramp walked all the way home after his shift, too distracted and melancholy to catch the bus. On the long walk back Tramp made sure to look down 7th Street, the Packard was now gone, along with the crowd and the police, but he still kept as much distance as he could. Once he returned home, worn and hollow, all he wanted to do was sleep, nightmares be damned, but Miles and the others were back by then. He honestly couldn't remember anything he'd said to them, just that Miles now had a large bandage wrapped across his head for his sliced ear. Buster had been there too, but they weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. Tramp then finally went to the attic and slept for the rest of the day, his nightmares embracing him like a long lost friend.


Bling. Bling. Bling.

The jangling tones of the phone echoed from the small hallway by the front door. Tramp, who stood over the stove, paused but then continued frying his eggs, letting the contraption ring until it finally went silent. The phone was more or less Buster's at this point, always Mutt business this or Mutt business that and it was best to let it be. Buster wasn't here tonight, no one was; he'd gotten up at five to find himself alone and famished. Tramp finished with the stove, and sat at the table to scarf down his food.

Then, to his annoyance the phone rang again. He still ignored it. Damn idiots can't give it a rest for more than a day. He was determined to have this moment alone, come hell or high water and no phone was going to stop him. When it was quiet again he continued to eat, trying not to think too hard about his anxieties. Tramp was done wallowing, it was a new day and he needed to move on, from everything.

Bling. Bling. Bling.

Tramp paused mid-bite and glared in the direction of the phone. What the hell? That was a little unusual. Against his better judgment he swallowed his food and begrudgingly got up to answer it. He leaned over the box, his arm propped up on the wall, and put the cool receiver to his ear. "What do you want?" He asked.

"Trampo? Oh, thank god, I didn't know if you was there or not." A Bronx heavy, female voice said in reply.

Tramp wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Peg? What are you calling here for? How long has it been since—"

"Oh, save it." Peg exclaimed. "This is serious, so stop with the snark and listen."

Tramp frowned and shifted his weight between his feet. "Alright, alright. What's going on?"

Peg released a shaky sigh. "I was at a gig last night, you know at the speak real close to Brass territory? After my show I was heading to my changing room, more of a broom closet really, and I heard some boys talkin'. Come to find out it was the Brass' big man and his henchman, all piled into this room behind mine."

"Peg, get to the point. If you're just trying to spread gang gossip you can find someone else to ring up."

"Get your head out of your shorts, I wouldn't call you unless it was serious. It's about what the big man said that's got me frantic."

"Fine, what did he have to say?" Tramp grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"For the life of me I can't understand why but they were talking about her, Tramp. About Lady."

Tramp froze, like a blast of cold had turned his body to ice. For a brief moment sound shot from his ears and a silent, frantic minute passed.

"—amp. Tramp you there, hon?" Peg's voice slowly came back to him, and he shook himself, his stomach at his feet.

"What?" He said, low and dangerous.

"I know, I know I don't get it either, but—"

"Are you sure it was her they were talking about?" He demanded.

"Yes, I'm positive. They said she was an Egg redhead, and her daddy's name is Jim Jackson."

Tramp swore loudly, and almost threw the phone across the floor.

"But that's not all, they…"

"They what? For Christ's sake tell me, Peg."

Peg paused, to let out another unsteady breath and said: "They're gonna nab her, some ransom deal they mentioned. They might have already."

The phone receiver slipped from his fingers and clacked against the wall. He stood there, frozen stiff, staring at the receiver dangling there like a corpse. Peg's frantic voice could be heard but instead of picking it up he ran his now quaking hands through his hair. "No, damn it." He mumbled. The image of her waving to him with tears in her eyes repeated over and over. How could he have been so wrong? Tramp had felt anxiety about leaving her, he truly had, but at the time he'd thought it was his own paranoia. This was some kind of divine punishment for not trusting his gut. It had to be.

Then like a flipped light switch Tramp stopped panicking. His anger came, bright and sharp, like a crystal dagger, and it seized his body up tight. He ground his jaw and stood up straight, furious breaths bursting from his nose as he picked up the phone again."I'm here. Get Leon right now, I don't care what he's doing."

"But—"

"Now, Peg. I'll be at the Junkyard in fifteen minutes. Make sure he's there by then."

"Okay." Peg replied, all her feistiness gone. "I'll get him here, but is someone giving you a lift?"

"No, I'll make it there on my own." And at that he clicked the phone onto its box. He then ran to the front door, leaving his breakfast unfinished, and jammed his feet into his boots. As he ran out the door he grabbed his coat and haphazardly threw it on, the air cold and damp. "Hang on, Pidge." Tramp whispered. "I'm coming." Then he braced himself and took off at a mad sprint down the street.

*trying to ignore that 8 months have gone by* Hiya Babes and Birds! It's been so long! . I didn't even realize so much time had passed until I started writing this chapter again! Oof. But in my defense last October was such a strange and challenging time for me, but now I'm all back to normal thankfully! I almost legit cried when I got this chapter finished lol. I had to rewrite and rewrite this one since I let it sit for months, so it was painful but so very worth it.

I absolutely love writing from Tramp's point of view too. It's so easy to get into his mind set for me, and I always have to cut his bits shorter cause I could go on and on. I'm looking forward to this next arc coming up though, so hang on to your hats! And on a fun side note, I finally got to reveal our boy's lost lover's name! Rita :') I'm excited to show more of her over time too.

And since I had a few responses to my fun facts I will definitely keep up with them! (thanks for the input btw! 3) So without further ado:

Fun Fact: Did you know that car theft was a widespread problem for the U.S. in the 1920s? Cars were stolen on a regular basis! They were easy to steal, it was easy to change their appearance once stolen and there was a high demand for cars around this time. The two cities that had the worst thievery were Los Angeles and Detroit. It got so bad that in 1919 the U.S. passed the Dyer Act or the National Motor Vehicle Theft Act, which basically made car theft a federal crime. This led to the Investigative Bureau (the would be FBI!) being able to get involved in local and state investigations for car thievery.

So Tramp, our naughty boy, had no problem at all stealing the poor Packard, and you know his pals have stolen before too lol. Buster's Model T may or may not be rightfully his ;) But it would have been common practice for them, especially in their side of town!

And that's all I got today for ya! Thanks for tuning in, especially if you've been here since the beginning, it means a lot! Hopefully I'll post again soon. Caio!

Curly