note: to everyone sticking with this story... I love you. And hooray for Spring!

fifteen: stakes I.

I wracked my brain trying to think of anyone else Specs could have been involved with. And then I realized, and they realized, and we just sat without any words between us. I guess it was Swifty who finally said something aloud.
"Brooklyn."
"Shit."

By this point, Dutchy had realized we were talking about something important and had finally decided to join us.

"Brooklyn?" he repeated, not understanding the significance.

"Brooklyn," I said flatly.

"Shit?"

"Shit."

Sofia looked down at her hands. Swifty and I exchanged an apprehensive glance.

"Are you guys going to clue me in or what?" asked Dutchy, dragging his chair closer to the couch. "Come on, what's the big deal?"

"Brooklyn had to have done this," I said.

"Then we know! Isn't that good?"

Another glance in Swifty's direction, and this time our gaze held. There was an unsteady trust in that look, like a momentary truce. I like to think that maybe he realized right then that we would have to work together to get anything done. Whether or not he liked it or he wanted to, he'd have to put up with me, and I with him. I broke the gaze first because I knew he never would.

"Guys?" Dutchy was watching us skeptically. He knew something had passed between us. I cleared my throat and met his eyes cautiously.

"Yeah, you're right. We do know."

Dutchy cocked his head imploringly, but I didn't have any more words for the moment. He looked at each of us in turn but found nothing. Sofia was still staring at her hands, and Swifty was staring at her in turn. It had to be frustrating for Dutch, but honestly I just didn't really feel like it was my place to say anything.

"Okayyy…" he continued, trying to help us along. "So… we have to get something from Brooklyn. How do we get through to Brooklyn?"

"You don't get to Brooklyn," Swifty said firmly.

Dutchy was a little taken aback at the flat-out refusal.

"Why?" he asked, this time directing the question to me. "Why, who's in Brooklyn?" Still no one answered. "It's not Spot, is it?" he frowned.

"No," I said, "it's not Spot." After a second's thought, I added, "No, it would be a lot easier if it were Spot."

Swifty finally took pity on our clueless friend. "It used to be Spot," he explained. "It's… kind of a long story."

Dutchy just threw up his hands, exasperated with our reluctance. "Try me," he said, "I've got all the time in the world!"

To everyone's surprise, it was Sofia who next spoke. "Spot was the King of Brooklyn for fifty years," she said, her voice sounding distant. She was still fixed on her hands.

"Fifty y- wait is this the same Spot I know?" he interrupted, frown deepening.

"Yep," I said, and let it sink in.

"Fifty years is a long, long time in the Dark," Swifty added. "Kind of like… well, kind of like an eternity."

Dutchy thought about this and probably remembered the discussion we'd had earlier about time, because he nodded at first, but then realized something was still amiss. "But Spot is like sev-"

"Fifty years," Swifty said again. Dutchy chewed on his lower lip as he tried to make it out, but soon gave up and didn't raise any other objections. When he realized that Sofia wasn't going to continue on her own, he asked, "But he's on the Other side – our side – now?"

"Sì," she said, distracted. "Ah… yes."

"Spot's only been living permanently on our side for a few years," I told him.

"He was exiled," Swifty said. "He's not allowed to come back to the Dark."

Dutchy looked to me for confirmation; I shrugged. "He was powerful – real powerful. He was overthrown but that doesn't mean he lost his power. You know how intimidating he is even in the Brooklyn we know. Even though what does he do there but head up an unruly gang of newsboys, right?"

"He's a character," Swifty said, grinned, rested a hand on Sofia's knee. "He's a force." I wondered just who he was talking to.

I waited for Dutchy to take all this in before going on.

"He can't come back. The man who has the territory now, he's real paranoid, he thinks Spot is just around the corner waiting to take his land back. He's real paranoid, so he's unstable, but… he's smart. Really smart. And he's brutal. You'd have to be, to get that far in this system."

"So…" said Dutchy, trying to find the point of my comments.

"So you don't get to Brooklyn," Swifty said.

"But we gotta," Dutch said weakly.

"There must be some way," Sofia agreed quietly, and sighed.

"You think so?" Swifty asked sincerely. She shrugged.

"Creo que… yes, yes, there must be a way."

Dutchy was still looking a little confused, so I decided to just lay it out for him,

"Okay," I said, turning in my seat so I was facing him square on. He took the hint and shifted to face me as well. "Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn for fifty years. Swifty was right, it's like an eternity. He was untouchable. Invincible. An institution. But someone got through. Someone – somehow… see, we don't really know how, maybe Spot doesn't even know how, whatever… someone got to him. Someone took him down. Once that someone had grabbed power, he exiled Spot, and Spot hasn't been able to come back in since. I mean, he hasn't tried – at least to my knowledge – but basically he's stuck on our side. And he's really, really, not too happy about it."

"Who kicked him out? Who took the power?"

"We don't really know who he was, before. But now, now he calls himself Brooklyn. Conlon, he was the King of Brooklyn. Some people even just called him Brooklyn, because, like I said, he was an institution. For the longest time, the kid was Brooklyn. Now this new guy, he wants to be Brooklyn. Constantly he worries about living up to Spot's reputation. I mean, the guy's been in charge there for a few years now but he's still unsettled, he's still insecure. So he wants to be called Brooklyn. Well, who is anyone to argue with one of the most powerful figures in the city, right? But it pisses Conlon off, that's for sure. He gets ousted from his own turf and now he's the King of Our Brooklyn, King of crates and hay barges and dirty, stupid boys. I guess I'd be pretty angry, too."

"It's almost a joke," Swifty chimed in bitterly. "Brooklyn… that bastard ain't half the Brooklyn Conlon was.

"That's it," Sofia said, and raised her head. "This is it."

"What?" Swifty and I asked at the same time.

"Conl – Spot. Spot will know. He will know what to do."

Dutchy smiled hopefully but I was still apprehensive.

"Assuming that he even wants to help," I said, "what could he do? He's powerless."

"He's not powerless."

"She's right," Swifty agreed. "Just because he's not back yet doesn't mean he's just sitting on his hands. I bet the little bastard has quite a surprise up his sleeve. He's probably just biding his time."

Sofia nodded slowly. Her right hand clutched at her locket, which was around her neck once more. The motion did not go unnoticed by Dutchy; I could almost feel his burning curiosity. I watched Swifty carefully, trying to decide if he really meant what he said. I wouldn't put it past Spot. After all, Conlon wasn't dead yet – and by all counts, he should have been. If I were Brooklyn, I'd be pretty damn paranoid, too.

"Okay, we'll go," Dutchy said. He looked and sounded confident. Sofia looked to me.

"Antonio?"

"Yeah, we'll go," I said with a shrug. "Why not, right? It's better than going into the Dark Brooklyn." I knew Spot. We got along pretty well, considering that he was this powerful figure and I was just a poor, teenage street rat. I hadn't seen him for a while. He held court in Brooklyn and didn't bother with much else. Maybe Swifty was right; maybe he was busy.

"When can we leave?" Dutchy asked.

"Dunno, where do you guys think we should leave from?" I asked the other two.

"Well, it's not essential that you come out near Brooklyn, really, so I'd play it safe and go with something out of the way," Swifty said. "Maybe, um… Race you're better with this than I am."

"Black's Drop?" I suggested.

"Perfect," said Sofia.

"That's near here?" Swifty asked in spite of himself, surprised.

"Ha, claro. You don't get out much, do you?" Sofia teased, but Swifty's answering smile was fake. Sofia noticed and her own smile disappeared immediately from her face.

"That sounds good," I said quickly, then stood and let loose an exaggerated yawn. "If we're leaving tomorrow morning, I should get some sleep." As I stretched my arms out, I felt something poking at my side. I knew it was a cigar, and I had a sudden and intense craving for a smoke. I pulled it out of my shirt and motioned vaguely toward the door, mumbling something about getting some fresh air. Fresh air, sure, but mainly I just wanted somewhere that I could relax and enjoy my cigar without the three others breathing down my neck.

Swifty waved me off, and Dutchy left to go up to bed. Sofia and Swifty looked like they were close to doing the same thing, Swifty was setting up the couch so that he could sleep down there. I left down the hall and closed the big door behind me.

For a minute I just stood looking out at the empty street, but I was still a little tired, so I sat on the stoop and took my time lighting my smoke. Off somewhere in the distance I could hear a repetitive sound like someone hitting metal with metal, over and over. The night was remarkably clear, probably due to all the recent rain, and there was actual moonlight, filtered through gray clouds and smog, that lay softly on the street.

It was kind of nice, and I felt safe being so close to the house. Every once in awhile someone would scurry across the street, hunched down and head low, and disappear into a door or an alley. The stone I sat on was cool and still a little damp. I felt okay, still weary, but okay. We were doing alright, despite everything. All we had to do was hope that Specs could hold on for as long as it took for us to find the other ingredients.

I puffed away and thought about Spot. We had a strange relationship. If he'd stayed in the Dark, we probably never would have met. With him in Brooklyn and myself in Manhattan, I liked to think we were on level ground. It wasn't that way, it would never be, but it was the kind of thought I sometimes entertained. We could catch a show with the guys or play a hand and joke like we were just two normal kids, but we both knew it was just an act. I guess I felt my most comfortable with him when someone else was around, someone like Jack, or Mush. Then we had to pretend, the both of us. And if I said or did something dumb, I could write it off as good acting.

The few times we'd ever been alone together, I was at a loss. I was out of my element. The guy commanded respect, and we weren't close enough that I could get away with showing anything less. Besides, he liked having power over people, he had to be the one on top. I didn't mind feeding that, if only because it was better than the alternative.

Would he help? Could he help? I didn't even know which question was harder to answer. If he really was staging his comeback, he probably wouldn't want us to ruin it. If he was laying low, it would only be because he didn't have any tricks, didn't have any means by which to "get to" Brooklyn.

There was one thing I was forgetting, though. We had the trump card. We had Sofia.

Any further thoughts on that subject were interrupted when I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye. Someone had pressed themselves in the shadows at the side of the building. I gave no sign that I'd seen anything, but now I was alert. I wasn't in the mood to be surprised; I was trying to relax.

Still, whoever it was must have known I'd caught onto them, because in the next moment they stepped fluidly from the darkness and positioned themselves right in front of me, where a little of that moonlight reached.

A silky voice said, "Good news, Higgins."

I stood and tapped the ashes from the end of my cigar to the street. "Oh yeah?" I didn't recognize the voice or the person. It was probably just some runner.

"One Lung Pete wants to meet with you. He says he has what you need." I brightened a little. That was fast. "Will you come?"

"Do I have a choice?"

A pause. "Do you?"

"No," I admitted, already sick of twenty questions. "Lead the way."

He turned and began to walk quickly across the street. I tossed my cigar to the ground and took one last look back at the house before following. I had no idea where I was headed, or why, if Petey had the elixir, he couldn't have just come to Swifty's house in the morning. I just hoped that One Lung Pete had a damn good reason for whatever trouble I was about to get myself into.