On their way out, they passed Loretta on the staircase. She did a double take on seeing Riff, before narrowing her eyes at him. She hurried past, glancing at them over her shoulder with a suspicious glare.

"What did you do to that girl?" Bernardo asked.

Riff huffed, appearing genuinely offended. "Nothing. I don't know what's her problem."

Bernardo rolled his eyes.

They returned to the safehouse where they'd been hiding out for the past couple of weeks. After eating, Bernardo turned to Riff. He set his shoulders, prepared for an argument. He knew Riff wasn't going to be happy with what he was about to say.

"We need to remove our stitches."

Riff's face went white, and he backed up. "Oh, no."

Bernardo looked at him firmly. "Oh, yes."

Half an hour later, Riff was still rubbing his stomach. "That stung."

"It'd be worse if you left them in," Bernardo said, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. "Dejar de quejarse, it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, yeah." He started rolling a coin across his knuckles. "Hey, you never did explain how you survived getting stabbed in the chest."

"Didn't hit a vital organ."

"In your chest?"

Bernardo explained about the lung, and was surprised by how unsurprised he was when Riff said, "That must've been tough. Doesn't that make boxing hard?"

"I learned to cope. To be better. I trained harder than anyone, and that's why I'm a champion."

"Was a champion. See, you're dead now."

"You are too."

"Yeah, but nobody cares about me."

Bernardo, for once, wished he had something comforting to say.

They were concealed behind a stack of crates-full of fish, by the smell of them-and eavesdropping on Francisco's conversation with the apparent captain of the Mariangue, a cargo ship in the harbor. They'd sneaked a look at the listings on the Harbor Master's building, and it seemed that the boat was destined for France. The man had limped down the long gangplank propped up for the use and been talking with Fransisco for the past ten minutes.

It was a roundabout argument, with nothing being explicitly stated, so the two listeners couldn't get any concrete evidence. What they could gather was that the Captain was sure "the cargo is all there" and "nothing wrong, you're paranoid." Francisco, for his part, was convinced that "they're following me" and "you should wait to leave until it's all sorted out."

The Captain did not like this idea. He yelled something Angry and Italian in Francisco's face and stomped back up the gangplank.

Francisco shouted a curse after him and began walking down to the end of the dock. Riff and Bernardo emerged from the crates and crept up behind him to stand, arms crossed over their chests, blocking his escape route. He spat a wad of tobacco into the water and turned.

Seeing them, his eyes grew wide and he looked around in alarm. No one else was very close by.

"We got some questions for you," Riff said, scowling fiercely.

"You're here about the operation," he said, sounding strangled.

"No, we wanted crime tips from the real mafia for our little gangs. Ambitious lot, us street rats," Riff snarked. "Yes, the operation!"

"No!" he said, hands fluttering nervously in the air. "I won't talk!"

Bernardo, growing impatient, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Listen. We've been through hell because of you, and we're not about to let you get away from us without… cracking."

The line of sweat tracking down the man's temple was gratifying.

"The Familia will punish me worse than you ever could! I won't betray the Don!"

Bernardo and Riff were both aghast when he pulled out a cyanide pill, popped it in his mouth, and fell backwards off the docks. He hit the water with a splash, the force of his fall submerging him. Riff had jumped forward with a cry, arms outstretched as if to catch him.

A shout from nearby, and they saw several people staring. One shouted, "Murder!"

"Oh sh-" Riff started. Bernardo realized that, with his arms reaching out like that, it looked as if he'd pushed the man into the water.

With that shout, the multitude of people on the docks started running and shouting.

"Vamos, while they're distracted!" Bernardo exclaimed, grabbing Riff's arm. The man was in a stupor, but at the contact, he seemed to jerk himself out of it. He followed Bernardo as he ran up the gangwalk in a dead sprint.

They quickly launched themselves over the railing and to the side. Crouching, they peered over the edge to see if anyone had noticed. It seemed that the people who had known to look for the two of them had found their view constructed when the chaos erupted.

Bernardo glanced around the ship's top deck. No one was in sight except one burly man hauling the anchor line up, and he had his back to them. It seemed as if they would be setting off soon. He looked for somewhere they could conceal themselves. "Quickly, under the tarp," he hissed, elbowing Riff.

The two ran, still crouched to remain concealed behind the bulwark. They ducked under the tarp and tried to calm their rapid breathing.

Bernardo became conscious of an aching pain in the right side of his chest. He rubbed it idly.

Riff and Bernardo sat quietly as the sounds of a ship preparing to embark surrounded them. By some miracle chance, no one had need of the tarp, and they remained undiscovered.

Giving it another twenty minutes for the crew to settle into a rhythm, Bernardo peered out from underneath. The several crew members around weren't facing them. A door not eight feet away led into the interior of the ship.

Ducking back into the makeshift tent and ignoring the increasing twinge of pain, he whispered, "We can't stay here forever. Let's go."

Riff agreed, rubbing his leg, and they snuck fully out from under the tarp. Hearing no shouts, they tried the door. It was unlocked, and they entered a low, narrow hallway. It was empty at the moment, but anyone could appear at any time.

Bernardo resisted the urge to clutch his chest. His vision was becoming unfocused, and he found himself laboring to breathe.

Unsure where to head next, they started down the hall. Suddenly, Riff stumbled and fell against the wall. He clutched his stomach, breathing hard.

"Riff?" Bernardo asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

Riff moved his hand, and Beranrdo immediately saw the spreading bloodstain on his shirt. Bernardo looked down to see the same thing on his own chest.

"We can't stop here," he wheezed, reaching down a hand to help the Jet up. Riff grasped his hand. When Bernardo tried to pull him to his feet, however, his strength fled and he crashed to the floor. With a moan, he realized that the shoddy, amateur stitches—who had even done them, anyways?—hadn't done their job. Now that the thread was gone, the poorly-rejoined wounds had broken open, and both were now sluggishly bleeding on the floor. It must have happened when they ran up the plank and vaulted over the railing. After crouching in a still position, the sudden movement again had done them in. As Bernardo's vision tunneled, he heard the clack of high heels in the distance, followed by a gasp.