Part I, Chapter VI

June 12, 1897

Brooklyn, New York

Luck had been on Spot's side lately. On his way to selling that morning, he had found a dollar bill lying carelessly at his corner and nobody had stopped him from taking it. The sun had greeted him as soon as he had walked out the door and there was no sign of it going away, judging from its radiance in the bright blue sky. Selling for the day was turning out to be well above average, though he owed that to his master skill of hawking headlines, not luck.

"Hey stranger."

Spot turned and faced Emma. She had her arm stretched out before her with a penny pinched between her index finger and thumb. A playful smile etched her entire face and her eyes drove him mad. It had been four days since Spot had approached her bedroom window to resolve their fight. He wasn't surprised to see her calm when he had gone there, or even now; give Emma some time and she'll cool down from almost anything. That's the way it always was.

But the two hadn't brought up nor said a thing about what had happened. They almost kissed, which is not something friends do. Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, Spot was afraid. He was scared he might lose Emma if things changed or if he let his own ego get in the way of her presence in his life. Instead, he shook the thoughts away whenever they came to his mind.

"It's on me, doll," responded Spot as he handed her the paper and curled up her fingers to hide the penny.

Emma smiled haughtily and leaned against the corner of the building at their corner of Pine and 4th. She crossed one ankle over the other and opened her paper widely, the way she usually did when she visited him every morning.

"Well, you better hope you get lucky with customers today," said Emma. "These headlines are duller than a bag 'a rocks."

Spot smirked and popped his hands out. "Em, please. I got this."

She looked up and rolled her eyes casually. As Spot continued to sell and Emma remained there for a few minutes, Bolt ran up to the street corner in a hurry.

"Conlon, ya gotta be done sellin'," said Bolt, out of breath.

"Uh, no, I got about ten more papes ta sell."

"No, it's Oliver. He an' Catch are talkin' right now at the lodging house and he asked me to go get you right away."

"What…why?..."

Instinctively he looked at Emma, who was pretending not to listen but was doing a poor job of it; Spot could tell her eyes were deadlocked on one part of the page only to simulate reading. He knew full well she was listening to every word. Briefly, her eyes glanced up at his.

Bolt pulled at Spot's shirt and began running back towards the lodging house. Obviously the mission had been a sacred one, for he had never seen Bolt so act so skittish. Spot stammered his speech and scratched the back of his head. He took one step forward, one step back, until he ended up facing Emma.

"Conlon, this ain't a joke! They gotta talk to ya right now, I think it's about Thayer Street!" prompted Bolt.

Emma's eyes were expressionless. Spot could see right through it. She was telling him, warning him, that if he went, she would be disappointed because she knew he would do something stupid. But a part of Spot was angry with the way she was treating him, and that was the part that dictated his arrogance. Bolt continued to yell at him and Spot was undaunted from his attempts. He was staring, fighting, with Emma's gaze, until he let up and made a decision.

"Em…"

She straightened up to hear his answer.

"I'll see ya tonight."

He took off behind Bolt, leaving all of his papers behind and Emma in a cloud of dust from the heels of his feet.


The lodging house was empty, save for the caretaker at the front desk. Spot felt his stomach flutter with butterflies when he and Bolt made their way up the staircase. He had no idea what was going on, but he felt as though people were going to jump out and yell "Surprise!" as soon as he entered the bunkroom.

Alas, there was no crowd of people waiting for him on the other side of the door and no exclamation was made on his arrival. Instead, Oliver and Catch sat around a makeshift, crate box table in the center of the room and each held a burning cigarette in the corners of their mouths.

Bolt shut the door behind him as he left and Spot felt his stomach drop. He imagined his face losing color for a moment, his lips closing, and his jaw locking up. He knew this had something to do with Thayer Street, and all he could think of was Emma. She was going to kill him before any Thayer Street boy would get a chance to, if in fact that was what they were going to discuss with him.

Catch smoked fervently and flicked the ashes onto the crate box in front of him. He watched Spot enter through the tops of his eyes, and Oliver ushered him to have a seat.

"Well, the boys probably don' know this yet, but Catch an' I are goin' down to Thayer Street to straighten things out," said Oliver. "This mornin' they got hold 'a Johnny ovah by the docks and gave 'im a good soakin', enough to break his arm, break his nose and take all his money."

"Not to mention they did it right after Oliver told 'em ta watch it," added Catch. He blew smoke out of his mouth and said, "I didn't think this was gonna happen, but obviously we gotta go do somethin'. Thank god Johnny's got a family and don't gotta live heah. He limped ovah to the distribution place and we had ta carry 'im back home, which is probably why you didn't hear nothin' about it yet."

Spot nodded and his eyebrows knitted. He had seen some good soakings in his life, but Johnny must have been in pretty bad shape if it drove Catch to change his mind about Thayer Street. Now, he couldn't figure out why he was being told this, secretively, nonetheless.

"Now, Conlon," started Oliver as he leaned forward in his chair, "Catch an' I are gonna go to Thayer Street. I'm guessin' we'll be gone fer a few days, 'cause we'll be makin' stops at other gangs around Brooklyn. The guys can't know a whole lot about it, a'right?"

Spot listened intently, still waiting for the reason he had been brought here.

"Conlon, Oliver heah seems to think you'se some kinda prized possession in Brooklyn," spat Catch, "so we'se givin' you a choice: come with us an' help us out, but you won't be doin' much talkin' er anything; or stay heah and be in charge while we're gone, makin' sure nothin' too bad happens. What d'you wanna do?"

Sitting back and looking toward the ceiling, Spot thought about his decision. Spot knew exactly what he wanted to do: go with them. He wanted to be there, looking at his enemies in the eye. He wanted a say in what was going on in their part of Brooklyn. He wanted Oliver to look at him afterward and know instantly he had found the next leader of Brooklyn.

Then he thought of Emma. There lay two pistols on the crate box in front of him and he knew for a fact both Oliver and Catch kept a hand knife on them always. He imagined Emma's face upon telling her he would be gone for a week, slingshot in his waistband, pistol in his pocket, and knife fashioned close to his ankle. She probably wouldn't speak to him again. But she just didn't understand sometimes.

"If ya stay heah, you can oversee everythin' the boys're doin'…have a say in their problems…get chance fer them to look up to you…" said Catch in a drone voice. Immediately Spot could tell he didn't like him very much.

"But if ya go with us, you can see how we handle things, what ya should an' shouldn't do out there, get ta know our allies an' such," offered Oliver temptingly. "You'se pretty lucky, I'm gonna take some 'a the older guys, but I think you can handle this too."

Catch exhaled smoke harshly from his nostrils.

Spot put himself into Oliver's scenario. He was shaking hands with the boys from Red Hook and Hatterfield, laying down the law with Thayer Street and any other gang that refused to listen. He was in charge, alongside Oliver. He then put himself in Catch's scenario. The boys would look up to him and he would truly feel in control of Brooklyn, at least his territory of it. He would be able to see Emma. Even so, the idea of turning down Oliver's offer upset him, and saying yes to Catch was maddening. Emma would just have to deal with his decision, and she would be over it with time.

"A'right," said Spot after much thought and deliberation, as Catch and Oliver both stamped out their cigarettes and leaned forward. "Tell me what I gotta do," continued Spot as he sighed reluctantly. "I'll go with ya."

Though he knew Emma would not like his decision, he pushed those thoughts aside and determined that,compared tothe rest of the boys in the bunkroom, he was damn lucky.