Author's Note: NEEARGH! *sigh* Stupid twenty-percent-of-my-grade cause/effect research paper... It's such a horrible distraction, this school thing. Thankfully I'll be done for the summer in a couple of weeks. You know how hard it is to find newspaper articles from 1899? (Yeah, that's right, I'm totally doing my research paper on the strike...) Anyhow, I'm pleased to see the great response to the last chapter. You caught on to his gambling problem even without me coming right out and saying it, which makes me smile (and methegirl, of course there's a reason for it!). Spot seems to be making a big impression on you guys, which also makes me happy. Um... yeah. This chapter is kinda short, and a lot less happened than I originally wanted, but that's okay. Because guess what? I wrote out an outline last night! That's right! I know exactly where this story is going, and how we're going to get there! This is not a first, btw. Despair's Edge had an outline less than halfway through. I can't tell you a whole lot, cuz that would give it away (and Blink already did plenty of that in What I Won't Do...) but I can tell you that we're looking at somewhere between 17 and 18 chapters, depending on whether or not I do an epilogue. Haven't decided yet. But enough talk, you wanna read the new chapter. So here it is!

Chapter 8: Inner Demons

Okay, okay, so I gotta little problem. Ain't like nobody knew. Seriously, I dunno why dey's makin' such a big deal 'bout it. It ain't like I gots no control or nuttin'. Just gots bad luck sometimes, is all. Seemingly more so since I's been in Gotham. It's like Blink said. I don't run dis town… yet. Right now it runs me. But all dat's gonna change real soon. I can feel it.

Blink mighta said somethin' 'bout it ta Spot da next day, but I wouldn't know, cuz Spot was real quiet fer a while. Cowboy told us later what had happened dat first night. Me, I steered well clear. Ain't no way I's gonna get on da wrong side'a dat problem. I may not be smart 'nuff ta keep outta da wrong side'a Blink's anger management problems, but at least I knows better'n ta get mixed up wit' Spot Conlon's issues.

It was probly 'round dis time I really started feelin' any kinda homesickness for New York. Spot's arrogance'd always made our friendship rocky at best, but now it was like it was rippin' dis huge hole 'tween us, an' like I said, I didn't wanna get mixed up wit' whatever he was dealin' wit'. Blink'd started trainin' wit' Bruce, so I's spendin' more'n more time alone at da mansion. At da same time, though, he was tryin' ta keep an eye on everythin' I did, which weren't really workin' out fer him an' only managed ta create tension.

Den, before we knew it, September rolled 'round an' we was startin' school. I dunno what it was 'bout dat fancy private school Cowboy stuck us in, but I couldn't stand it. At all. An' I didn't make a whole lotta friends, neither. Actually, I didn't make any friends. Dey was a bunch'a snobby, stuck-up richies, an' I think dey all thought I was s'posed ta be one of 'em. But, a'course, growin' up on da streets like I did, I didn't know nuttin' about none'a dat. I got da feelin' dey didn't like me too much…

"I swear, everyone at dat school hates me."

Spot rolled his eyes as Race dropped his backpack on the bed and flopped over dramatically. "They don't hate ya, Tim," he muttered, turning back to the homework on his desk. "Ya don't exactly have a winning personality, and ya don't make the best first impression. 'Specially when you're in a mood."

"Well excuse me, Dick," Race sneered, sitting up from Spot's bed with an annoyed scowl on his face. There was only one reason he ever used Spot's legal name, and that was to insult him. "Ya know, we can't all be da popular type."

"Thought you were walkin' home with Jason." Clearly Race was in one of his moods today, and Spot found it best to ignore his ranting outbursts at times like this.

At his casual comment, though, Race sat up and looked slightly worried. "What, he not home yet?"

"He's been home. And goin' into hysterics 'bout you not bein' home."

Race gave an all-too-indifferent shrug. "So I took a shortcut. Shoot me. He ain't my babysitter."

"You seem to have given him reason enough to think he is."

"What's dat s'posed ta mean?"

Spot shrugged in reply. "I'm just sayin' he's been awful uptight 'bout you lately. I mean, ya have been disappearin' a lot."

"Ain't my fault ya bums leave me ta myself all'a time," Race muttered, lying back down. When he heard footsteps on the staircase, he rolled over and groaned.

Within seconds, Blink stormed through the doorway, looking thoroughly flustered. "Hey, Dick," he said wearily. "Ya seen Tim come in yet?" Without glancing up from his homework, Spot jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bed. Blink turned and nearly pounced when he saw Race. "What the hell ya think you're doin'?" Race folded his arms behind his head and refused to answer, glaring back at him defiantly. "Ya were supposed to be walkin' home with me! Where'd ya disappear to?"

"I took a shortcut through Murder Alley. No big deal."

"No big deal? Tim, no one takes a shortcut through Murder Alley!" Blink paused for a moment to catch his breath, his fingers clenching into fists. "I swear, if you—"

Race finally sat up, a genuinely conciliatory look on his face. "Hey, ease up, Blink. C'mon. Really, it's not dat—"

His words were cut off when Blink yanked him to his feet by the front of his vest, pulling him close. "So what was it this time, Race?" he growled dangerously. "Huh? Poker? Craps? Lose all your money flippin' a coin?"

With an irritated sigh, Spot stood and placed a hand on Blink's shoulder, trying to calm him. "C'mon, Jason. Really. What's the deal?"

Temper rising, Blink shoved Race forcefully back toward the bed and turned on Spot, green eyes blazing. "What's the deal? Ya wanna know what the deal is?" He pulled Racetrack back toward him, grabbing the Italian's face and turning it so Spot could see the right side.

A large bruise was forming on his jaw, and another one over his eye. Small, short cuts were scattered across his cheek and his nose looked slightly out of place. "This is the deal!" Blink nearly screamed, shoving Racetrack away yet again. Race gave out a strangled groan as he righted himself against the bedpost, and it was now clear that he likely had a number of bruised ribs, as well as a slight limp in his left leg. "He goes an' gambles all his money away, an' then gets soaked fer not bein' able ta pay up," Blink said through clenched teeth, his accent coming through in his fury. "One'a dese days he's gonna end up dead in some alley, an' he ain't gonna have no one ta blame but himself."

"And one of these days," Spot calmly countered, stepping in front of Blink and getting in his face, "that temper of yours is gonna get you into some serious trouble."

Blink backed down, albeit reluctantly, and replied in a much softer tone. "He's gotta compulsive gambling problem, Spot. An' he just don't understand, this ain't New York. For all we know, they could be hustlin' him. Bad. An' just for the sake'a beatin' up some rich kid who don't know the difference, or when to quit." His eyes were pleading now to match his voice. "We gotta put a stop to this. We gotta tell Bruce."

"No!" Race exclaimed suddenly. "Nah, c'mon, I'll deal wit' it. I promise, a'right?" His eyes looked panicked and desperate. "Look, he needs you two, but he don't need me. He'd throw me out if he thought I's just causin' trouble. An' yer right, dis ain't New York. I wouldn't last five seconds out dere on my own. C'mon, just let me handle it, a'right?"

Blink shook his head and glanced away, practically begging Spot not to listen. But Spot wasn't paying attention. "All right," he sighed. "We let things play out with Jason, we'll let things play out with you. But," he warned, raising a menacing finger to emphasize his point, "you got one week to get this worked out. I agree with Jason, this is serious. Don't play around with this. You take longer'n a week, or something drastic happens, we're going straight to Bruce with this. Ya hear?"

Race nodded silently and slumped against the bed, rubbing his shoulder where Blink had shoved him. Gotham City was beginning to lose its charm for him.

Author's Note: Mmmm, things are starting to heat up, if you couldn't tell. I don't know how many of you are aware of my plans to write a sequel, but it's going to be very, very dark, and I think this chapter kinda foreshadows that a little bit. So all-in-all, not my least favorite. Oh, but wait until you see what I have planned for Spotty-boy next chapter... :) Reviews make me happy!