six: shelter.

Night was falling. We stood in front of a huge black wooden door that was probably at least half a foot thick. There was a tiny slit of a window about an inch above Dutchy's eye level. I practiced breathing in and out. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dutchy checking out the door, pressing on the knots and whorls in the wood and trying to see through the slit.

He gave up. "What do we do now?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Um, actually we just knock."

Dutchy paused, "Right," then pounded the wood three times with his fist. For a while, nothing happened, and I began to get a little nervous. I turned so my back was to the door and I could keep a watch on the street outside. It wasn't the greatest neighborhood to be out in, especially after dark, and especially with just one pale, naïve teenager as your only companion. I heard the door scrape open and I froze.

"The hell?" said a familiar voice with a practiced blend of annoyance and amusement.

Dutchy tapped me urgently on the arm. "What didn't you tell me?" he exclaimed, then spit in his hand and offered it to the figure at the door. I twisted back around slowly and watched with not a little disbelief as Swifty laughed and spit shook with Dutchy. It wasn't quite the greeting I had been expecting.

"Come on in, Dutch," he said, still ignoring me. Dutchy disappeared inside and I made to follow him, but Swifty stepped over and effectively blocked the entrance. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave me the once-over. "You're wet," he said finally.

"Um, yeah," I said, then, needlessly, "It was raining."

"So I hear," Swifty said dryly. His gaze remained searching. After an eternity he simply went inside, so I followed with a slight hesitation. The door shut behind me by itself. I shivered a little. I was in a small, square room, its floor and walls covered with a rough gray stone. To my right was another dark, wooden door; a closet, if I remembered correctly. To my left was a short hallway that opened up into a larger room, which was warm with light and a small fire. Its floor was the same stone, but covered over with a mash-up of rugs and pads. Two doors, one across from the hallway I was in and the other next to the fireplace and opposite the street side of the house, led to other rooms; the one near the fireplace to a small kitchen and the other to a narrow staircase. It was all very familiar and for a moment I was unable to move, standing in that hallway and just looking into the main room. Dutchy stood warming his hands in front of the fire, his back to both Swifty and myself. Swifty was leaning against a beat up looking couch, arms still crossed and a half smile fixed on his face.

"Race, why didn't you just tell me it was Swifty?" Dutchy asked. "Why the mystery? This ain't bad. Jeez, Higgins, you had me scared."

Swifty's eyes flashed briefly to me. I shifted uncomfortably. He shook his head and then stood straight.

"Does anyone want something to drink?" he asked, pleasant once more. "Dutchy? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds great," Dutchy said, turning away from the fire with a grateful smile.

"Race?"

"Um, sure, coffee," I said. Swifty disappeared into the other room and I finally snapped out of it and came fully into the room. Dutchy left the fire and flopped onto a big chair with a sigh. I took his place in an attempt to make the chill leave my body.

"Seriously, Race," he said, "I was expecting the worst, but this is great. Of course Swifty will help us, he's one of us." As soon as the words left his mouth he frowned. "Well… right? Race, where did Swifty go, after… um… you know."

I didn't answer.

"Because, I mean, I just thought he went to New Jersey. That's what you told us. Remember that?"

I remembered. I remained silent.

"Huh," Dutchy said. "That's funny. I wonder if he's been here the whole time? I guess that would make sense, I mean, you did know where to find him, after all. So why did you say he went to Trenton, or wherever?"

At this moment Swifty reappeared, balancing three cups, which he distributed without a problem. He set his own on a short, broad table in front of the couch, then produced a flask from his vest and smiled triumphantly.

"Anyone…?"

Dutchy and I both shook our heads. Swifty shrugged and added a generous amount to his mug, which I noticed was tea, not coffee. It figured. I had turned a little to accept the coffee, and now I let the fire warm my back and the cup heat my hands. I took a sip and was taken aback at how good it was. I tried not to show I was impressed, but Swifty wasn't watching anyway. He had frozen with his mug halfway to his mouth and seemed to be searching for something, or listening. I concentrated too, and a second later heard it, a scratch above out heads, barely audible. Dutchy was oblivious.

"You'll have to excuse me for a minute," Swifty said with that pleasant voice. He put his mug down, moved off a few steps, then came back, took a long sip, and finally left for the door to the staircase, slamming it shut behind him. I remained at the fire and looked upwards to the ceiling. There were his footsteps, heavy, then nothing, then a flurry of more scratching, steps, and one particularly loud crash. Now not even Dutchy could ignore whatever was happening, and he looked to me inquiringly. I ignored his gaze, my eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

Two pairs of feet came down the stairs this time around, and through the door emerged a woman of medium stature trailed closely by Swifty. He slammed the door again and she gave a little start, then froze, noticing that they had company.

"Oh, I…"

"Let's go," Swifty said firmly, pushing her a little from behind. They reached the black door and I heard an urgent conversation but couldn't pick out any words. The door closed quietly and Swifty reappeared, once again all smiles, at least for Dutchy. I rolled my eyes at my coffee. Dutchy smiled uneasily.

"Sorry about that," said Swifty. "I, ah, well, you guys caught me off guard." Another smile, this one directed at me and not a little accusative. I shrugged as if I was innocent of the whole thing. Swifty returned to his couch and sat with his feet up on the table and the mug of tea held tight to his chest. Dutchy yawned and drained the last of his coffee, his eyelids beginning to droop. I still felt pretty awake, but I had a feeling that the events of the day would begin to catch up with me before long. Swifty watched us both with that half smile still on his face and then stood.

"Come on, Dutch," he said. "I'll show you where you can sleep tonight." Dutchy looked to me, I shrugged again.

"I'll join you later," I said, and turned back to the fire.

"Night, Race," Dutchy said, then followed Swifty up the stairs.

I stared hard at the flames and closed my eyes so the light left wildly colored impressions on my eyelids. Despite my confidence around Dutchy, at this point I was at a loss for what to do. I had depended on Sofia being willing to help, hell, even just being around to talk to. Now she was gone and I had placed myself at the mercy of an estranged friend. I honestly didn't know if Swifty would agree to help us, and even if he did, I kind of doubted that he would have any idea about what to do. We seemed to be stuck, and I chastised myself for not thinking of a plan B before hurtling headfirst into such a mission.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice that Swifty was back until he cleared his throat. I jumped, embarrassed, and spun around. He was in the same position as before, slouched back, legs on the table, mug on his chest so he could breathe in the warm steam. His eyes were closed like he was napping. It was as if he had never left. I was unsettled, and finally took a seat. He cracked open an eye and smiled wryly.

"So."

"Um. So." I busied myself with my coffee, savoring the last few sips.

"So. What the fuck are you doing here?" The smile had disappeared from his face completely, there was no hint of it at his mouth or his eyes. For the first time since we had arrived I looked at him, really looked at him. He was the same as I remembered, and yet infinitely different. His eyes were the darkest brown and able to convey every feeling with just a glance, or to hide any emotion behind a stony wall. I could see traces of laugh lines at their corners, but more evident were the sad creases set near his mouth and forehead. Swifty and I had been born only three months apart, but when I looked at him then, I saw that he had aged years since I had last seen him. His mouth consisted of thin, pale lips in a hard line, his hair was a little on the long side and purposefully disheveled. He looked tired, but not vulnerable – weary.

I wondered how much of my pride I could swallow without choking.

"I – we – need your help," I said plainly.

"I should have known you wouldn't pop in just for a visit," he said, although he had obviously known all along.

"Did you know we were coming?" I asked, suddenly curious, and remembering my speech to Dutchy, remembering that somehow, someone had. There was no way the fire and the riot were simple coincidences.

"Not until the fire," he said.

"You were there?"

He shook his head and motioned to the wall opposite the fireplace and facing the street. There were two small windows. I went to one and peered out; even through the dark night I could see a column of smoke still rising in the distance.

"But how did you know it was S-"

He shrugged, dismissing it, and I felt stupid for even asking. I returned to my seat.

"You're lucky I opened my door, after seeing that," he told me. I knew he was right. Anyone who knew enough to know we were headed for Sofia's would probably have Swifty's name on a list as well. I suddenly realized that even by letting us enter, we already owed him, big time. Idly, I wondered if that meant he had decided to help. It was hard to tell because it was possible he was just playing games. Most likely he had decided, but would torture us by withholding the answer until the last possible second. Swifty sometimes liked a dramatic flair like that. I, on the other hand, was straightforward and played it safe. We weren't a likely pair.

His tone was mocking as he seemed to read my thoughts, and assured me, "I wouldn't worry, this place is pretty steady." I figured I would trust him; I had to, and besides, it was his house. If he had been worried, he would have stayed upstairs, and Dutchy and I would still be stranded on his front stoop. We sat in silence for a few moments, Swifty studied me and I pretended not to notice that he was doing it. I guess I felt that it wasn't my place to speak.

"Just because I let you in doesn't mean I'm going to help you," he said finally, echoing my thoughts once again. "Just because I like to flirt with danger doesn't mean I'm willing to become a martyr, here." I met his eyes now, and waited for him to continue. His eyes narrowed. "You just up and left, Race, you know that? I don't know what you've been telling yourself, and I sure as hell don't know what you've been telling them," he jerked his head toward the stairway, "but you're the one who left. And now you come crawling back with another armful of problems, and what, you expect me to just jump right in again, ready for another adventure? Come on, tell me. What did you expect?"

For a long time I said nothing. Swifty was right; I had left, he had stayed, and as a result, I was living some semblance of a normal life and he was here, looking and acting ten years older and watching his back even as he slept. He was damaged goods. In his eyes, I had no right to ask him for anything more than a wave from across the street – and even that was a little uncertain.

"I don't know what I expected, I said, holding my gaze steady. "But I had nowhere else to go. You were my last – only, really – option. And that's it. I can't predict you." I paused for a second, then added, "Never could."

Swifty closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the couch. He never answered, but I knew better than to think he had fallen asleep. I wasn't ready to end the conversation like that, so after awhile, I said, casually, "How have you been, anyway?"

He laughed hollowly. "Grand," he said, and smirked, eyes still closed. "Grand."

I stared into my now-empty cup and debated with myself about how far I should, or could, push him. I remembered the woman from upstairs who had left earlier, and his indifference. It led me to think of other things, things I had tried too hard to forget, and…

"Do you miss her?" I asked.

He flinched as if wounded, and, so quietly that I could barely make out any actual words, said, "Every day."

I waited long enough to let the words fade away, then stood, slowly placed my cup on the table, and went upstairs. I knew when enough was enough, and I knew what would happen now. Swifty would remain on his couch, and any sleep he got that night would not be restful. I felt a little guilty for opening such a wound, but now I knew he would help. I knew because he had answered me at all, even while his sadness kept him pinned in one place. If he had not been leaning in our favor, my question probably would have earned me a black eye and a shove in the opposite direction. Still, strangely, I was not as relieved as I thought I would be. I felt some of that same sadness heavy in my heart, and long after I had climbed into bed I continued to toss and turn.

I was on the verge of finally drifting off when I heard a rustle of sheets followed by Dutchy's nervous voice.

"Race?"

"What."

A long pause. "Can we trust him?"

I closed my eyes, pulled my blanket up, started to drift off again. "Yeah," I said with the last of my energy. "Yeah, we can."