Chapter 15

You're My Oldest Friend

November

Crisp, cold air whipped around Flash and she took a deep breath, smelling the stale alley and willing herself to walk closer to the abandoned mill where the mutiny gang had set up shop. No official name, no matter how many times she suggested the "Brooklyn Bashers." It fell on deaf ears. I guess it made sense, they were stationed in Queens after all. Go figure.

She had been to several of these meetings, each proving to be just as pointless as the last. When they weren't complaining about Spot, they were having metaphorical pissing contests. Who stole more money from whom. Who slept with the prettiest broad. Who could win in a fight with whom. A bunch of mindless chatter. She had yet to find out any actual motive as to why this little operation was even formed. Apart from hating Spot's hair, walk, talk, etcetera. But that hardly seemed like a good enough reason to want to take someone's power. If that's really all it was, it was a stupid reason.

Granted, they hadn't really started to trust her until recently. It took a lot of acting on her part to get even a little past surface level with these people, not that there was much to them anyways. And who could really blame them? Still, this whole thing proved fruitless, and she had half a mind to tell Jack and the boys that everyone was wasting their time worrying about these idiots.

"Password?" called the unmistakable voice of South through the metal dock door.

Flash sighed and rolled her eyes. "I know you know it's me. I can see you looking through the little crack in the side."

"Password?" he asked again through gritted teeth.

Flash crossed her arms and let out a huff before answering. "Skull knocker."

The door began to creak, and she could hear the grinding and rattling of the chain used to open it smacking up against the metal. She took a step forward as South came into view, looking sweaty as per usual. He was always perpetually soggy, like he had poured someone's toilet water over his head. He had a smell to match.

"I had to make sure. Rules is rules, Flash."

"Right, had to make sure I wasn't Spot in a dress and wig, yeah?" She snickered, taking in the unamused look on his face. She stepped around him and into the dimly lit room, her eyes falling on the group of people sitting in some chair arranged in a semi-circle. The turnout for today was significantly smaller than it had been in the past and Flash could feel a rush of hope surge through her chest. Maybe the wind had left their sails and they had decided this whole thing was as pointless as she did.

Phillips was sat at the front, his body facing towards the others, a blank expression plastered on his face. His usual guffawing, snickering and crude jokes were absent today. He was just... there. Flash couldn't read him today, and that made her uneasy.

She made her way to an empty seat towards the front to his left and sat down, clamping her teeth around the skin of her thumb. Judging how the room felt, she couldn't shake the feeling that this meeting would be different than the others. The feeling in the room was off, the air stiff. Uncomfortable.

Phillips stood abruptly, smacking his hand on the top of the barrel he had been sitting on. This caused everyone in the room to jump and once they were quiet, he spoke. "I know you've noticed that there are fewer of you here today. I didn't want everyone on our roster to attend this meeting. Let's be honest, not everyone will be part of the attack. I need my best people. So, I've narrowed it down to you lot. Welcome to the inner circle." He waved his arms through the air and the room erupted in cheers and hoots. Shouts of "Down with Spot!" and "Alright!" could be heard echoing off the walls, their cheers ringing in Flash's ears.

Flash gulped and bit down even harder on her thumb. She could taste the saltiness of her blood and quickly pulled her thumb out of her mouth, shoving it under her leg. No doubt it would find its way back before this meeting was over. She could feel her heart beating in her ass. The people Phillips had picked were... unhinged. Flash had interacted with all of them on some level and well... his choices about who was here today were troublesome to say the least.

"Okay, okay. Calm down," he shouted. The room fell silent again as he continued. "I've had a long think about each and every one of you. You are here because we share a common goal. To wipe that bastard Spot and the rest of his wannabe kings of the boroughs off the face of this planet. Or at least knock them back down to where they ought to be. Not that killing them is off the table, I'm just saying." Spurts of laughter came sporadically across the room at that, and Flash felt her blood start to pool in her stomach and her face grew hot. Just the look that Phillips had in his eyes, a glint of something she could only describe as pure malevolence and hatred, indicated that the last comment was not as much of a joke as it seemed.

Phillips smiled wickedly, pleased with the response he got from the crew. "You're also here because you each have a certain skill that will help accomplish and conquer this goal. Some of you will be the ones to work with me to devise the actual plan. Others are here to be the muscle. Now before you get too excited and ahead of yourselves, we still have a ways to go. I've got an idea of when I want this to happen, but the timeline is not set in stone. But do know this," he paused theatrically, "This is the beginning of the end to Spot Conlon and his mates."

More cheers, louder than the first round bounced around the room. They were going crazy now and Flash had had enough. She needed answers because this was becoming all too real, and she doubted it was simply because Spot was just mean to them. She raised her hand, catching Phillips off guard.

He stopped mid-sentence and glared at her, annoyed his moment of glory was being interrupted. "What, Flash? This isn't a class, put your damn hand down," he barked.

She raised an eyebrow at him and waited for them to shut up before clearing her throat. "Look, I hate Spot as much as the next guy. And I'm all for watching that smarmy bastard crumble. He's arrogant. He's rude. That stupid cane he carries around is laughable to say the least. But I'm unsure of the actual reason behind all of this. What exactly did he do to all of you? Because there seems to be a lot of bad blood between the lot of you. It seems like a long time coming."

Phillips put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. He stood in silence for a few seconds, kneading the skin around his forehead before ultimately dropping his hands to his side and turning to look at her.

"Look, I'm going to keep this as simple as I can for you. Normally your cluelessness would piss me off, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt because you weren't here last year. I'm sure you heard of the strike, yeah?" He paused and waited for a response. When she nodded her head, he went on. "Spot and his crew stepped in to help Jack and the rest of them. I was a part of that crew. We were all fighting for the same thing. That is until Jack turned scab."

"Jack turned scab?" Flash asked, slightly puzzled. She hadn't heard this part before. That wasn't Jack at all. That was not the kind of person she knew him to be.

"Yeah. Perfect little Jacky boy betrayed us. And when he decided that what he did was stupid and fucked up, he thought he could come back, and we'd welcome him with open arms. No harm, no foul right? Except we don't stand for disloyalty. Or at least, that's what was always preached to us. But instead of Spot telling him to kick rocks, he let Jack back in. Hardly put up much of a fight. Lacked even the smallest bit of reluctance. All it took was for Racetrack to say something and Spot jumped to it. Spot is softer than he tries to make himself look. And he doesn't deserve to call himself king," he finished, crossing his arms in front of him with a look of indignance.

This was starting to make sense now. Jack betrayed them all. And Spot accepting him back into the fold was another level of betrayal. Not to mention favoritism. He wouldn't have let that slide had it been anyone else. Hell, he wouldn't even talk to Race and that was over something much less serious than this. For someone that took his image into consideration before making any decisions, he really didn't make himself look good this time. Flash had to play this next part well.

She feigned a look of disgust as convincing as she possibly could. "No wonder you all hate him so much. The unjustness of it all makes me sick. What, because he's pals with him, he doesn't have to abide by the same rules and expectations? In what world is that fucking fair? I didn't think I could hate him any more than I already did, but this takes the cake," she spat.

Phillips gave her a nod in agreement and clapped his hands together. "Yes! That's exactly why he has to be knocked back down! We can't take orders from someone we can't trust and respect. So we are going to put ourselves in charge. It's high time we take what's ours!"

Everyone leapt to their feet whooping and hollering. There would be no calming them down this time. Flash remained seated, taking in the sight of it all, biting the corner of her lip. This wasn't good. This was worse than what she thought. Spot, Jack, and the rest of them were in real trouble, and she was counting down the seconds until this meeting was over so she could find them.

Spot rounded the corner to the Manhattan lodging house, his cane dragging slightly on the cobblestone behind him. He needed to set some things straight, starting with Racetrack. He hadn't seen him since that night on Halloween and he hadn't been in the right frame of mind to talk to him like he had originally planned. Flash had clouded everything. It hadn't helped that she left with him. It pissed him off to the point that he left soon after them, leaving Betsy to stay with the rest of the guys, despite her pouts and protests about wanting to come home with him. He had to know what happened that night after they left Medda's. It was eating at him thinking about how chummy they looked. But he couldn't let the real reason he was here be overshadowed by his gnawing feelings of jealousy.

He could see Racetrack's familiar figure sitting in his usual seat at the table, a hand of cards splayed out in front of him. By the looks of it, he had won this round of rummy. He could hear Race's bragging and bits and pieces of his smart comments to the other guys around the table. When Race caught a glimpse of Spot standing in the doorway, he got quiet, and everyone turned to look at Spot.
"Spot?" Race shot him a confused look. "Jack didn't let us know you were coming. He isn't here. Check Davey's house, I'm pretty sure he's with Sarah."

Spot cleared his throat and cleared the room, coming to a stop in front of him. "Actually Higgins, I came to talk to you." He let his eyes wander the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Flash somewhere but she was nowhere to be found. He hadn't seen her in weeks, and he was getting antsy. He wished she would come back to his dock like she used to. He knew she was okay; she sent word of her progress back to him through Snipeshooter every couple of days. He just wanted to lay eyes on her. Maybe he had taken the Betsy thing too far. Maybe she was too pissed to come back from it. Maybe he would never see her again.

Racetrack snorted in disbelief. "Me? What do you want to talk to me for?" he asked around his cigar, letting the thick smoke waft around the side of his face. Spot always hated his cigars. The smell was so pungent, and it always stuck around long after the cigar was gone. He didn't understand the affliction Race had for them.

Spot wrinkled his nose and gestured toward the open door. "Put that damn thing down and come outside. I'm not talking to you here."

Racetrack muttered something under his breath and brushed his cigar against the table lightly to put it out. "No one touch that. I'll know if you re-light it. I'm looking at you, Snipeshooter. I'm not a fucking idiot."

Snipeshooter grinned. "That's up for debate, isn't it?"

The table broke into laughter and Racetrack gave them all the finger before sauntering his way out the door after Spot.

Spot took a sharp left and quickened his pace, not bothering to make sure that Racetrack was keeping up. Race always walked like he had the devil on his heels, so Spot knew that he was right behind him. Their footsteps made loud clicking noises against the ground, something they wouldn't usually be able to hear but the streets were almost deserted. It was an unseasonably cool night, even for November, and there was no doubt that people were staying inside to get away from it. They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from their feet and some far-off voices in the distance.

"You aren't leading me away to kill me, are you Conlon?" Racetrack half joked. Spot could hear the faintest bit of uncertainty in his voice. When he didn't answer, Race cleared his throat and continued to keep pace with him, fiddling with his hat in his hands. When they came into view of the old Grand Central Depot, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Spot wasn't taking him to a dark alley, they were going to Central Park.

The night was getting colder, and Racetrack put his hat back on to try and keep his ears warm. He followed behind Spot and they both made their way to a park bench across from the Obelisk Monument. They were quiet for a long while before Spot decided to speak.

"So Higgins... about the money. You taking it from Cub in that poker game... I'm done dwelling on that. That's a non-issue at this point. I don't want that to be the reason I have animosity towards you." He turned to glance at Race and saw his confused expression.

"Wait, you're apologizing to me? I didn't see that coming. Not in the slightest."

Spot rolled his eyes and smirked. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm not necessarily apologizing. Just... putting this whole situation to bed. I want to move past this. And... Well, I don't know. Maybe I AM apologizing..." he trailed off.

Racetrack stifled a laugh and Spot jokingly swatted at his arm. "Fuck you, you know I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"You're right. You're not good at this. You'd rather stick toothpicks under your nails than admit that you were being a prick," Racetrack chortled and then sighed. "But I was being a prick by letting him bet with that money. I knew it was yours. But you know me, I like the game. And I definitely like money."

Spot smirked again and shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Don't we all? Still, I shouldn't have made as big of a deal out of it, I guess. It's not like I'm not getting by. I have what I need. I could've let it go, but I didn't. If anything, I should've blamed him more than I did." He was quiet again, contemplating his next words. "Can I be frank with you?"

"I'd rather you be Spot." When that didn't get the chuckle he wanted, Racetrack leaned forward to match him and said, "Sure, Spot. Always. You know that."

Spot nodded slightly and set his mouth in a hard line. "This whole mutiny thing is kind of getting to me. Not entirely. But a little. I'm so fucking overwhelmed. I keep losing people and I just need it to stop. I need a little peace for once. And when the Cub thing happened, I was already suspecting something was amiss."

Racetrack furrowed his brow and turned to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

Spot shook his head, his mouth in a hard line again. "I don't know. I had a feeling. Things seemed off, ya know? I swear some of my guys were looking at me differently. I thought I was being too lax. So, I tightened up. Got meaner. But I don't think it's made much of a difference." He shrugged, trying to get the feeling of vulnerability off his shoulders. He hated admitting this. He hated being so open. But it was Race, and he knew Race wouldn't let this conversation go anywhere. They had an unspoken agreement. They never spilled each other's secrets, even if they hated each other.

Race thought for a minute, trying to process what he had said. It explained why he got such a severe cold shoulder from Spot these last few months. Spot had been worried. He felt his control slipping and he was doing everything he could to regain his composure, to maintain the place he had fought so hard for.

"I don't think anyone could ever see you as soft. Not when it comes to how you run things. One cross look from you, and guys are pissing their pants. Everyone knows what you're capable of. A force to be reckoned with. You intimidate a lot of people, I'm sure you know that?" Race questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"There isn't a doubt in my mind that people fear me. With fear comes respect. That's what I want. That's the whole point. But it means I have a lot of enemies in return. I should've seen it coming. Now I have my own guys colluding with each other to go against me. After everything I've done for those sorry son's-a-bitches." Spot turned his lip upwards in disgust and sat back.

More silence. Racetrack folded his hands together in front of him, unsure of what to say. Spot had done a lot for his guys. The lengths and bounds he went to make sure they were taken care of, almost like a father. Sacrifice, blood, sweat, and tears. Ruling with an iron fist, but as much as Spot would deny it, it came from a good place. For him to be so forthcoming with this, Race knew that it was getting to him more than he was letting on.

"I don't really have any advice for you. None that would be helpful. And I'm not the type to offer words of encouragement. But you've been through some shitty times. And you've come out the other side. Hell, I've been there to witness a good portion of it. How many times have we been arrested together?"

This earned a cheeky grin from Spot. "Quite a bit. We always managed to have a laugh with it though."

"Exactly," he grinned back at him. "Remember, high times, hard times. This is just one of those hard times. We'll all make it to those high times again. Swear it. Flash has been working tirelessly trying to make sense of it all. She's bound to be right on the cusp of figuring it out."

Spot felt his stomach tighten at the mention of her name. He had almost forgotten his other reason for meeting up with Race, apart from making amends. He needed to do some digging. It was nagging at him.

"Speaking of Flash, I haven't seen her in a while," he said feigning nonchalance. "Since the Halloween bash at Medda's actually. She was pretty soused. How'd your walk home go?"

Racetrack chuckled. "Apart from her running into the side of a building and then throwing up on my feet, it went fairly smooth. Managed to get her to bed with minimal difficulty."

Spot felt that pang of jealousy course through his stomach again and he cocked an eyebrow. "Got her in your bed, huh? How'd you manage that, Higgins?"

Racetrack raised an eyebrow back at him and took out a cigarette. "I never said my bed. She slept in Jack's bed. What do I look like giving up my bed? That I pay for? You can forget it."

Spot felt himself relax at Race's explanation as he continued.

"After I threw my shoes in the wash bucket, I had to help her get off the floor. She had laid down next to the commode and tried to sleep there," he laughed, and Spot smiled amused. "I haven't seen her that messed up before. Something was on her mind that night and I think she was trying to drown it in the drink."

Spot couldn't help but feel a little pleased, but also guilty. The Betsy thing really must have irked her nerves. She could try and hide it, but it was written all over her face. He wanted to get under her skin and he had succeeded. But at what cost, really? She still wasn't talking to him, and she still wasn't coming around. All he had managed to do was irk her so much she had to get drunk to be in the same room as him.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" Spot asked innocently.

Race shot him a pointed look. "Don't be dense, Conlon. You know why she was mad." He mimicked Betsy's laugh and mannerisms, and Spot broke into laughter.

"Betsy can be a bit much, can't she? But man, is she a good time."

Racetrack rolled his eyes and puffed his cigarette, blowing the smoke in Spot's direction causing him to cough. "A bit much? She was practically in your lap the whole night like a dog in heat. I don't know exactly what went on with you and Flash, only little bits she let slip that night. But you pissed her off, and you need to make it right. For everyone's sake. We can't be babysitting a drunk Flash regularly. And cut her some slack, okay? She's been through some shit."

Spot was curious what he meant by that. What had she told him? Did Racetrack know something he didn't know about her?

"You guys friends then?"

Race shrugged and puffed again. "I don't know. She's hard to read. There is a lot I don't know about her. I do know I don't hate her as much as I thought I did so there's that, I guess."

"I don't think she's hard to read at all. Her face gives it away. She wears her emotions very obviously."

Race tittered. "Yeah, her anger maybe. Displeasure. Annoyance. Those are all very clear. It's harder to get her to show the more pleasing ones. Jack can get a chuckle and a smile out of her. But she's pretty stoic with everyone else."

Spot had seen her joy. Spot had made her smile. Spot had made her laugh until she almost cried. Every emotion on display just for him. And Spot took a strange comfort in that.

Spot nodded in agreement. "I guess you're right. She does show her anger easily. I won't argue with you there. But maybe I should cut her some slack like you said. But she needs to cut me some too. I have a ton of bricks resting on my shoulders." He stood and Race followed suit.

"Thank God we're leaving. I'm freezing my smalls off out here." Race chattered, his whole body starting to shiver.

Spot laughed and threw an arm around Racetrack's shoulders. You've always been one for the dramatics."

Racetrack gave him a playful jab in the ribs with his elbow. "You're one to talk about being dramatic. Need I remind you; you haven't spoken to me in months and then you just randomly decide to saunter your way to Manhattan to see me?"

Spot grinned at him. "What can I say, Race. You're my oldest friend."