Who Steals My Purse

Four Eyes climbed the stairs, nearly tripping over Shoe who had somehow managed to sprawl himself across two steps in what he suspected was a deliberate assassination attempt. The cat hissed at him, turned its tail, and sped up the stairs to the bunkroom.

He smiled slightly and followed. Brendan loses his good sense only wheah dat cat is concoined.

Doze looked up when he entered. "Four Eyes! We’s jus’ startin’." He gestured at Souther who was inexpertly shuffling a deck of cards. "I owe you a beatin’ fer a day’s papes!"

"Ya’s welcome ta try!" he retorted, sitting down. The other boys, careless as they tried to appear, seemed on edge. He glanced around the room. "Splints heah?"

"Tawkin’ ta Dove." Doze indicated the two with a jerk of his thumb.

"Oh." Four Eyes stiffened. He liked Dove. It wasn’t that. Of all of Brooklyn, the Bronx messenger was probably the only person he remained on speaking terms with. That was just the reason he avoided the boy. He found it easier to deal with others’ open scorn. "What’s new?" He shot a look across the room. Splints looked as upset as he ever did.

"As far as I know, an old friend a’ yers is back in town."

It took him a moment to decipher that remark. When he did, he blanched and looked hard at the cards Souther had dealt him. "I don’t know nothin’."

"I wasn’t askin’," Doze answered, the slightest edge to his voice.

"Ya would have." He set his cards down abruptly, stood up and crossed the room. Both boys looked up when he stopped next to them. It wasn’t like Four Eyes to draw attention to himself.

A’ coise, he laughed to himself. Dat’s what I’se heah for, ain’t it? Keepin’ a low profile.

"Four Eyes?" Splints asked politely, breaking off. There was another question, unasked in his face. Four Eyes opened his mouth, then realized just how ridiculous he would sound if he said it.

He sank onto the nearest bunk, shaking his head. "Fergit it." He sighed. "Go ahead an’ ask."

"Ask what?" Dove’s voice did not often hold that sharp tone. He was normally as easy going and gentle as his name suggested.

"Doze said Luke’s outta jail. So ask me. I don’t know nothin’, I ain’t hoid nothin’."

"He kidnapped Faith." He could remember hearing Splints sound that angry all of once in his life. "Right outta Queens."

"Ta get at Ruby," he replied quietly. That much was obvious. "Do ya wanna know what I can guess or what I know? I ain’t seen him."

Neither boy asked ‘And if you do?’ They didn’t need to.
 

God! It had been a year, two, at least.
 
 

"Old news," Spot murmured. "You jus' find dis out?"

There was a thin line between courage and stupidity. Four Eyes would win no prizes as a tight rope walker. "No." He looked steadily over the Brooklyn leader’s head. "I ain’t been blackmailed or t’reatened, or slowed down or nothin’. It was, ah," he braced himself, "woith me while not ta say nothin’."

Spot’s fist slammed first into his face, then into his stomach. If he’d so much as moved a finger in self-defense, he probably wouldn’t have been left able to walk out of the building. He stepped back. "Dat all ya got ta say?"

Four Eyes shook his head, blinking back tears of pain. He had a feeling his nose was broken. "What I did jus’ find out," he finally managed.

There were probably less intelligent things one could do than walk up to Spot Conlon on his own ground and admit to selling him out of one’s own volition, but Four Eyes couldn’t think of any.

Scratch that. He wouldn’t try the same stunt with Luke.

"I oughta break more den yer nose, O’Malley," Spot replied when he had finished. "Get outta heah before I do."

Knowing better than to answer, Four Eyes slunk out of the room. He passed Bastian at the door, but their eyes didn’t meet.
 

He smiled weakly, more a grimace than anything else, when the door opened. Brendan frowned in concern. "Four Eyes, are you all right? Never mind." The landlord opened the door wider, ushering him inside and to a seat in the lobby. "You look like you've been through the wars . . ."

Not dat far off, Four Eyes thought grimly.

"Somet'in wrong, Brendan?" A muscular, sandy-haired seventeen year old bounded down the stairs and propped his elbows up on the counter to observe. "O'Malley, ya been fightin'? What brings ya ovah heah?"

"Heya, Clay. I'se fine, Brendan," Four Eyes protested to the landlord. "Looks woise dan it is." He lifted a hand, removed his glasses with care and touched his face gingerly. "How bad does it look?"

Clay laughed sympathetically. "Like a hoss kicked ya a coupla times. What happened?"

He opened his mouth, then despaired of explaining. "Luke lost," he said simply, instead.

The Bronx leader winced. "I warned ya. Need a place ta stay?"

His shoulders sagged; he hadn't realized he'd been tensed against Clay's response. "Yeah," he sighed. "I owe ya-"

Clay waved a hand dismissively. "Fergit about it. C'mon, let's see about findin' you a bunk."

Four Eyes nodded, standing. He replaced his glasses with a slight wince. "D*mn t'ing's broken," he murmured before following. "I ain't popular," he warned as the Bronx leader headed for the bunkroom.

"Conlon'll deal wit it," Clay called back carelessly. He paused, midstep, then added with a hint of steel, "Da Bronx is stayin' out of it, though."

"Ain't askin' odderwise!" Four Eyes hurried to reassure him.

"Good." They reached the bunkroom and a riot of smoke, laughter and poker. A few boys, actually attempting to sleep amid the chaos, grumbled complaints that only added to the din.

"Hey, Four Eyes," one boy greeted from a circle of poker players. His lively grin gave the lie to his half-closed, almost sleepy brown eyes. "Yer welcome ta join. Stakes as high as even you could want," he winked.

"Heya, Doze," he replied, half-smiling. "Naw, I'se had about all da excitement I can take fer taday." God! He held off thinking about it for just a few moments longer. "T'anks, though."

Doze shot him a shrewd look that suggested concern and promised questions. "Yer loss den," was all he said. A few minutes later, however, he joined Four Eyes at the bunk he'd found. "I was losin' anyways." He cocked his head. "Who woiked you ovah?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Long story."

"So what's da news outta Brooklyn?"

Four Eyes sighed. "Same story, as you know."

"So tell me."

"Luke's plans backfired," he said shortly. "An' I had a disagreement wit Conlon." Actually, most of his bruises were the legacy of his run in with Berto, but that was more of the story than he cared to tell.

Doze studied him with that deceptively sleepy gaze. "Ya heah ta stay den?"

"Looks like it." His friend managed to demand answers without saying a word. "It's a long story," he said again.

Doze shrugged and appeared to change the subject. "Wheah's Bastian stayin'?" It was not suspicion that prompted his question, Four Eyes knew, only concern, but the few parts of his face left neither black nor blue turned a brilliant scarlet.

"It's a long story."
 

"Five hundred dollars?" Four Eyes repeated. It was a fortune. It was two fortunes! No doubt the reason Luke was asking for it.

"Dat’s what Fingers said," replied Souther.

"Ain’t nobody who has half dat-" He broke off, knowing full well that was the point. "He wouldn’t even know what ta do wit it," he muttered under his breath. "Ya can’t tell me Spot’ll let dis go. Not wit Luke anywheah in New Yawk . . ." He closed his eyes, then opened him. "You goin’ ta Harlem anytime soon?"

"Why?" Souther asked without the least suspicion. Why on earth had he picked the Bronx? He knew how to deal with suspicion. Between Souther and Splints . . .

Four Eyes flushed and bent to rummage under his mattress. He turned back with a few crumpled bills and some much-tarnished coins. Far too little to make a difference, but as much of an offering as he could make. "Add dat ta whatevah da Bronx is offerin’."

He escaped from the house before Souther could comment. Hearsay was all he’d likely get about the situation. No one would trust him with anymore information. He considered paying a visit to Harlem, but dismissed it immediately. I wouldn’t make it more den a foot across da bridge right now.
 

"Heya, Four Eyes."

He didn’t whirl around and gape at the voice. He was usually good at keeping control of his reactions. So he turned, calmly, and answered, steadily, "Bastian."
 

He’d been starting across the bridge when Bastian stopped him. "He let ya off easy," his friend stated.

Four Eyes shrugged, fixing his eyes on the river and away from Bastian’s face. "Hafta get him ta explain."

"Naw, I want yer explanation."

"We had dis conversation." Silence. "It was woith it," he said firmly to the water. The moonlit river looked about as convinced as he felt.

"Glad you thought so." That stung.

"I din’t give nobody away," Four Eyes defended steadily. "Most people t’ought I was woikin’ fer Luke anyway . . ."

". . . An’ jus’ cause it happened ta be true," Bastian completed.

There was no answer to that. "Coulda done a lot woise," he muttered.

"Yeah, ya could have. Dat’s what I wouldn’t’a believed."

His face burned. "You got anyt’ing else ta say ta me?"

Bastian shook his head. "No."
 

"How ya doin’?" he asked at last.

"Not bad." His one-time best friend stared back at him.

"I ain’t got nothin’ ta do wit it." He swallowed. "Ya can believe dat or not."

"Fool me once, shame on you," Bastian quoted. "Fool me twice, shame on me."

He hunched his shoulders in acceptance of the jab. He wouldn’t have believed himself in Bastian’s place. "See ya." Though really, he doubted he would.

"An’ if ya do see ‘im?" Bastian’s voice stopped him.

Four Eyes turned back. Was that belief or – "Fool me twice, shame on me."
 

What had prompted that visit? He wondered about it for the rest of the day. He entered the lodging house to find a dozen sober-faced newsies milling around the lobby. Anger and sorrow were almost tangible in the air. He grabbed Doze’s arm. "How’s Faith?"

"She’s fine." Dove and the two Bronx leaders joined them. "Some a’ da Queens newsies found ‘er an’ got ‘er away."

Something was wrong. "Ruby?"

There was a longer pause this time. "She’s okay." Beat. "She killed Luke."

He swore and looked directly at the Brooklyn newsy for the first time. "How’d dat happen? Who left ‘er alone dat long?"

"She was wit Bastian," Splints replied.

The noise level in the room did not change, but suddenly silence rang in his ears. "Bastian," Four Eyes repeated. "An’ Ruby killed Luke." He looked away. "How is he?" He already knew he didn’t want to hear the answer.

"Charlie," Lazy murmured, jerking her head aside. Splints nodded and joined her at the door. He watched them leave as Dove told him the story.

Just hours ago. That wasn’t right. "Fool me twice . . ."

". . . An’ dat’s as much as we could understand from Ruby. She’s still pretty shaky."

He hadn’t really expected forgiveness from his friend, or even understanding . . . No, never understanding; their minds were too different. But he should have had a chance. He shouldn’t be dead.

"I ain’t nevah been one ta complain about life bein’ unfair." He barely recognized his own voice, half-chiding, half-mocking. But it wasn’t right . . .

"Four Eyes?" Doze’s hand on his shoulder returned him to himself abruptly. The change was less than pleasant. He focused on the two.

"I don’t s’pose it’d be too safe fer me in Brooklyn right now," he said quietly.

"Not unless ya gots a death wish," Dove replied, eyes showing perfect understanding. "But don’t."

"Don’t," seconded Doze more forcefully. "If only because I’ll hafta be da one ta drag yer flea-bitten self back." Four Eyes couldn’t respond. His friend threw an arm around his shoulders. "C’mon. Splints won’t like it, but he’ll get ovah it."
 

Later, he remembered why he didn’t drink. It made him talk, which was dangerous, and it made him dream, which was more punishment than even he would have invited on himself.

"I know!" he heard Doze whisper harshly through a haze. "Odderwise he was gonna go wanderin’ aroun’ pickin’ fights till he got hisself killed. Ya radder I let him do dat?"

If he’d been able to think so clearly, he would have been vaguely amused that it was Doze looking out for him for once and not the other way around.

After several weeks of surfacing from nightmares in which he was the ambusher in that alley in Queens and looked up from Bastian’s blood on his hands to Luke’s smiling face, the drinking stopped.

The dreams continued.
 
 

His mother had once told him that the only way to conquer one’s dreams was to face them. That was sensible. But Bastian’s buried in St. Mark’s cemetery. Luke was equally unavailable – an’ dead or alive I wouldn’t count on him fer much. But, it occurred to him sometime in early December, there had been one other person present that night. An’ I owe her. If nothin’ else, I owe her dat much.

And so he found himself on the street outside the Harlem Newsgirls’ Lodging House three weeks before Christmas, hoping he wasn’t making the worst mistake of his life. Which would hafta be a pretty big one . . .
 
 

There were three girls in the room besides Ruby when he summoned his courage and tapped on the window, but he was too tense to take much note of any of them. They turned towards him, Ruby with an exclamation he could hear even through the insulating glass, and a curious discussion began in place of the one they’d been holding. "Four Eyes!" Ruby ushered him in, shock on her face.

"Hi," was all he could manage in response.

"Wouldja look what da cat dragged in," another voice sneered. "Whadda you doin’ on dis side a’ da river, O’Malley?" Why hadn’t he remembered that Fingers had joined the Harlem newsgirls? He’d seen her in the Bronx once or twice and he’d certainly heard the boys teasing Souther about her. He just hadn’t connected her with Ruby. He stared helplessly at the red haired girl. The last time he’d seen her had been in a burning tenement building in Brooklyn. Before that, they’d been talking with Bastian . . .

"How are ya?" he asked lamely.

"Good." It should have been a brilliant smile, his memories told him. Vibrant, charming, not this pale imitation. "How’s da Bronx treatin’ ya?"

How did she know-? "Not bad."

Fingers made a rude comment. He barely heard it, but Ruby glared at her friend. She turned back. "So what brings ya ta Harlem?"

He could barely answer that question to his own satisfaction. "I t’ought I should say hi."

"Hi." Another muted smile.

"I’m sorry." It burst out of him before he could decide what for, for Brooklyn, for Luke, for Bastian, for coming back and dragging everything he represented back into her life with him. "I . . ."

Ruby shook her head, trembling on the verge of tears. "Ya did what ya did because ya thought it was right," she said.

Color rose in his cheeks. "Ain’t dat simple." It was simpler. He’d done it because - he’d done it. At the time, he’d thought it was worth it.

She shook her head again, and he cursed himself for doing just the opposite of what he’d intended. He groped for a safe subject. "Are ya goin’ ta Medda’s Christmas party?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. She’d ask him in return, and then . . .

"A coise. It ain’t a party unless I’m there. Are you?"

He dropped his eyes. "Naw, I - wouldn’t be too popular."

"I wonder why," Fingers muttered.

The fire in his cheeks, just beginning to fade, flared up again. "I’m sorry," he said again.

Mutely, Ruby shook her head. The other girls were talking. A question, then he caught Fingers’ voice ". . . a rat. Ran ta da Bronx when Forlani got pulled in." His face reddened further, and he wished he hadn’t heard.

"I oughta go," he said finally and escaped out the window. He heard Ruby call him back, then an explosion of sobs finally breaking loose.

"You woithless bastard!" For a moment, he mistook it for his own thought. Then Fingers whirled him around and slammed him against the wall of the building. "Don’t t’ink ya’s done enough awready? Leave her alone. Understand?" It was less a request than a threat. "I’ll be more dan happy ta explain it . . ."

"Understood!" he assured her quickly, more out of surprise than anything else. Although, he thought, catching her glare as she released him, she would probably manage to make good on the threat.

"Get outta heah!" She bit off each word and spat it at him.

"I’m goin’!"

Whatever else he’d hoped to accomplish by the visit, the dreams did not leave him. They were worse.
 
 

There are only two things more amazing than the human spirit’s capacity for endurance. Four Eyes was smiling when he picked up his morning papers.

"Doze," he called to his partner. "Meet ya dis aftanoon? I gots some t’ings ta do."

Doze grinned. "Shoa. I got a few visits ta pay meself . . ." He winked.

Four Eyes rolled his eyes and headed for Queens. It wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Most newsies would just hitch a ride on a trolley heading in their direction and travel that way. He could do that if he didn’t mind meeting at least half a dozen old friends in the procss. Ya really t’ink anybody’s dat preoccupied wit what yer doin’? he mocked himself. Probably not, but –

"Hey!" He swore under his breath and turned to see a girl approaching him. "Ya plannin’ ta sell dose heah?" she asked, making it clear that he’d better not be. Startled, he looked down at the stack of papers under his arm. "Da guys sell ovah in Middle Village," she added pointedly. "But ya don’t look like one a’ Mac’s."

"Naw, I’se jus’ passin’ t’rough," he assured her. "From da Bronx." He fumbled to free a hand and held it out. "Four Eyes."

"Reflections." She nodded and stepped aside. "Aw right."
 
 

He felt ridiculous standing in the cemetery. What did one say to a rectangle of frostbitten grass that was certain not to answer back? Bastian had been hard enough to talk to when he was alive. Oh? Something like an inner eyebrow lifted at the thought.
 
 

"Poker?"

Four Eyes grinned. "Ya need ta ask? Jus’ be ready ta pay up!"

"Hey, I’se gettin’ betta!"

"He wins one hand an’ he gets cocky." Four Eyes rolled his eyes.

Bastian located a deck of cards and began shuffling. "Ya jus’ don’t wanna admit ya can be beat on dat big a bluff."

"Jus’ keep congratulatin’ yaself," he grinned. "It ain’t gonna happen again."

"Maybe."

They picked up their cards, Four Eyes still shaking his head. "No maybes about it. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."
 
 

He flinched, knowing quite well why words were so difficult to find. It had nothing to do with Bastian. "Aw right," he whispered. "I’m goin’."
 
 

He met Doze near a cloth mill where his friend was flirting with the girls on their lunch break. "I seem ta rememba ya havin’ a goil," he commented with a raised eyebrow.

"I do," his friend replied cheerfully. "In fact I gots a date wit da prettiest goil on Staten Island tanight. All da more reason ta recognize true beauty when I sees it." He tipped his hat to the girls, several of whom giggled and rolled their eyes. "Now tell me what’s goin’ on," he added more seriously.

Four Eyes concentrated on the pattern of the cobblestones and shrugged. "I saw Ruby. In Harlem." He gestured vaguely. "’Bout Brooklyn. Ain’t important."

"Important enough ta tawk about," Doze replied.

"If ya start quotin’ me ta meself, I’ll hafta soak ya," Four Eyes replied with a ghost of a smile.

"Well, ya ain’t yet." Doze crossed his arms and turned to block his way. "Ya ain’t said a woid about it since Ba-" Four Eyes flinched, and he stopped. "Yer problem is ya don’t take yer own advice."

He couldn’t have known it was exactly the wrong thing to say. "I know," he answered, quietly.

"Flint’s back," Doze commented finally, beginning to walk again. The tension dissolved.

"Is she? Dat’s good." Count on Doze to know.

"Shoulda seen Splints’ face when he took off outta heah las’ night," he continued and laughed.

Four Eyes smiled slightly.
 
 

"Ya betta not be startin’ a game witout us!" Smithy called up the stairs.

"Hurry up, den!" Duke called back. "We ain’t waitin’ all night."

The twins emerged into the bunkroom, both grinning broadly. "Company, Four Eyes." Corks’ eyes sparkled wickedly. Before he could ask who or what, Fingers had entered the bunkroom and grabbed his collar.

"You got a lotta explainin’ ta do, O’Malley."
 
 

"Jus’ tell me what happened!" Four Eyes protested. Fingers tended to lose coherence as she grew in anger. On the one hand this was a blessing, since the things she had to say had been known to make Corks blush. On the other, it made it very difficult for the object of her anger to defend himself.

"Dere’s been ghosts walkin’ aroun’ Queens," she replied. "Yer old friend Forlani don’t seem ta wanna stay dead."

"Stay dead – Fo – Luke’s alive?" he stuttered in disbelief.

"Dat’s what I’se askin’ ya," Fingers retorted. "Or did ya not heah me da foist time?"

"Dat’s-" Impossible, was all he could think. But it was all too possible. Ruby coulda made a mistake. It was late. Compared ta Luke she ain’t no fighta. Dove was sayin’ she could barely tell right from left when she got back ta Harlem. Nobody was t’inkin’ much ‘bout Forlani when dey buried - He tried to cut off his babbling thoughts there, but they ran on as images without words. An alley in Queens, a bridge in Brooklyn, a burning building.

Fingers shook him. "What’s goin’ on?!" she snapped, doing what he’d been unable to and halting the flood of memories.

"I don’t know!" he answered honestly, though it could have sounded a little too vehement. "I din’t – dis is da foist – it can’t be-" The dreams were bad enough.

"Fingers, what’s goin’ on?" Souther stepped in.

The girl released his shirt to cross her arms and turn to her friend. "Gallagher saw Luke Forlani hangin’ aroun’ Queens. Apparently, dey don’t even want ‘im in h*ll."

Four Eyes felt his face heat up as he realized the entire room’s attention was on him. "I don’t know nothin’ about it," he repeated quietly. Fingers turned back to him, opening her mouth.

"Are ya shoa it was even him?" Souther interrupted. "Ruby coulda been wrong. When was dis?"

Fingers’ face darkened. "About a hour ago."

"It was dark. She’s prob’ly upset. She ain’t-"

"Can it, Culligan." With one last glare, she stormed out.

Souther glanced at Four Eyes, apparently judging him all right. "I’ll tawk ta her," he said, following.

Four Eyes sat down on his bunk, slightly stunned. It wasn’t enough?
 
 

No further news came of Luke. Fingers’ visit was the only one from Harlem, and even Brooklyn was silent on the subject. Which, granted, could mean any number of things. Spot was notoriously closed-mouthed. Christmas plans proceeded normally. Duke, despite much teasing, summoned the nerve to invite Frenchy to the Christmas party. Doze paid the twins generously not to provide the entertainment and mysterious noises emerged from Brendan’s bedroom. Souther made several trips to Harlem, but Four Eyes gathered they had more to do with finding out whether Fingers had a date to Medda’s party than resurrected enemies. None of it affected Four Eyes until Souther mentioned that Ruby had asked to see him.
 
 

He took a deep breath and stepped up to knock on the door. It opened before he could bring his hand down, however, and he found himself looking down at a very bad tempered Fingers. Poifect. "Is Ruby heah?" he asked, resigning himself to an earful.

"She’s upstairs!" Fingers replied, looking as if a bad day had just performed the impossible by getting worse. She made uncharacteristically few objections when he started past her, however.

"T’anks," he said quietly.

Ruby was brushing her hair in the bunkroom when he reached it. She blinked and lowered the brush when he entered. "Oh. Hey, Four Eyes."

He stopped uncomfortably. "Hey." Feeling obliged to explain his presence, he added, "Souther said ya wanted ta see me."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." She looked at the brush as if wondering what to do with it.

D*mn. "I can go," he said quickly.

Ruby looked up, startled. "No, please don’t. Unless you want to."

He didn’t want to leave. He just . . . He shrugged uncomfortably.

"I jus’ - uh-" She shrugged and attempted a brilliant smile which did not fool him in the least. "I didn’t expect ya ta come so quickly, I jus’ figured it’d be latah."

He couldn’t think of an answer and silence filled the room. Ruby finally broke the tension. "So, how are ya doin’?"

"Can’t complain."

"Dat’s good."

Silence.

Fer goodness’ sake, he thought, if yer not gonna say it, ya might as well have stayed home. "Are ya okay?" he burst out, finally. He pulled off his glasses and turned them around in his hands. "Fingers was in da Bronx, sayin’ t’ings . . ."

"Sayin’ what?" Ruby stood. "I’m fine, why?" she added defensively.

He cursed himself again and shook his head.

She crossed her arms. "Care ta tell me what she’s been sayin’?"

He was just making things worse! Four Eyes frowned at the glasses as if they had offended him and whispered, "About Luke."

He didn’t need to look up at her to know she had gone white. "What about ‘im?" He remembered to put his glasses back on, then realized belatedly that this left him nothing left to stall with. "What about ‘im?" Ruby repeated. "Four Eyes, tell me."

"She said ya’d seen him." He forced himself to look up and meet her eyes. "She wanted ta know if I knew anyt’ing."

"No." Ruby paled and sat down abruptly. "I thought I saw ‘im. I couldn’t ‘ave seen ‘im. He’s dead."

Shouldn’t’a brought it up. "I’m sorry."

She swallowed hard. "It ain’t yer fault. I thought I saw ‘im in Queens. Musta been sleep walkin’ er sumthin’." Her shaky laugh was unconvincing, but at that moment Fingers stalked through the bunkroom door.

"Yer slippin’ O’Malley," the pickpocket glowered, taking note of her friend’s expression. "It don’t usually take ya dis long ta make trouble."

"Hello, Fingers," Four Eyes replied wearily.

He threw a guilty look at Ruby who snapped, "Don’t even start," and rubbed her hands over her eyes.

"Who’s startin’?" Fingers muttered in reply, throwing herself down on her bunk with a glare at Four Eyes.

He ignored her. "Ya shoa yer aw right?"

"Much bettah since yer heah." She smiled.

"Good, den." He smiled back uncertainly.

"Has anyone said anythin’ else about . . ." She seemed to have difficulty saying the name. "Luke?"

"No." He glanced at Fingers, then turned back to Ruby. "Dat was it."

She nodded and shrugged. "Well, it ain’t nuthin’. I made a mistake. He’s dead. Nobody gets up an’ walks away from a knife in da neck, now do dey?" But she couldn’t meet his eyes or Fingers’, once the other girl realized what they were discussing.

"Right."

His attempt at reassurance failed. "Ya don’t think ‘e’s dead," she stated softly.

Four Eyes could not look at her, either. "I don’t know." He swallowed. "I - if I t’ought anybody could . . ."

"Whaddaya know?" Fingers muttered, across the room. "Sense from da rat."

Ruby did not glance at the girl, but it was obvious she’d heard. "’E’s dead. I was dere." He doubted she even fooled herself.

"Yeah." He didn’t know what else to say.

Abruptly, she asked, "He didn’t try ta contact you when he foist got outta jail, did ‘e?"

Four Eyes was startled for a moment. Then he reddened. "Foist, I hoid was from Dove." He reached for his glasses again, but dropped his hand. "Latah, I expected . . . but . . ." He swallowed. "I t’ink I should go."

"Wait!" She grabbed his arm, distressed. "But what? If he had found ya, would you have . . . joined back up wit ‘im?" Her eyes pleaded with him to say no.

"Don’t expect da leopard ta change his spots, Gallagher."

"No!" he exclaimed, flushing further at Fingers’ comment. The hand dropped from his arm. To the floor, he whispered. "Ya know how many times I’se been asked dat?"

"I believe you," Ruby said softly. "Hoid it a lot, I’m shoa."

"Ain’t no reason ta t’ink odderwise," shot Fingers at the same moment.

"Would ya jus’ leave it alone, Fingahs?" Ruby cried.

"He agrees wit me!"

Beneath the exchange, almost inaudible, Four Eyes added, "Bastian asked me dat."

Ruby reeled around to stare at him. "When," she whispered hoarsely, then cleared her throat. "When was dat?"

Idiot! "I really oughta go," he said desperately. "I’m sorry."

"Fine." Her quiet words stung worse than Fingers’. "Go."

He closed his eyes. "I’m sorry."

"She said go!" Fingers snapped.

"Shaddup, Fingers!" Four Eyes finally dared a look up and saw her trying desperately not to cry. Idiot! he thought again. Ruby took a deep breath. "I thought you and Bastian hadn’t seen each other since . . ." Go ahead an’ say it. "Since Brooklyn."

There was no place he could look. He couldn’t describe that last meeting. "Dat was da exception."

"I’m sorry." She was trying to bring herself back under control. "Ya don’t wanna talk about it. I won’t keep ya any longer."

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I didn’t come ta - I’m sorry."

"I know ya didn’t. I’m glad ya came." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "It’s gonna be all right."

"Yeah." There was nothing he could say. Finally, he slunk out of the room and out of the building.
 
 

He took the long way back from Harlem, cursing himself all the way. It was - why didn’t he - he left the girl in tears every time he saw her. Then he’d had to bring up Bastian.

"Da Bronx, O’Malley? I thought you had bettah taste den dat." Four Eyes stopped as a cigarette glowed into life and then moved into the circle of a street lamp with its owner. Luke chuckled. "An’ comin’ back from Harlem no less. Who ya visitin’ in Harlem?"

It was impossible. Even after talking to Ruby, it was impossible. He seized on the first answer that came to mind. "I had a date." It was, in the broadest sense, true.

Luke took a drag on his cigarette. "Ain’t dat nice. Anybody I know?" He chuckled again.

He refused to bring Ruby into this. "Prob’ly," he replied, slowly, gaining a hold on himself. "Ya know most people."

"Ain’t dat da truth." Luke grinned. "Ya don’t seem too s’prised ta see a dead guy walkin’ around," he commented.

Four Eyes shrugged, falling into the familiar game with frightening ease. "I don’t often get visited by ghosts, an’ ya’s always had a talent fer da impossible." Jus’ like I’se got a talent fer da surreal. Luke liked to play cat and mouse, but Four Eyes made a very canny mouse.

Luke inclined his head at a well-played move. "Now dat’s exactly why I likes ya, O’Malley, ya gots brains."

"Brains enough ta wonder what’s up."

Forlani smirked slightly and offered him the cigarette. "Ain’t it enough ta make a social call on an old pal?" he asked.

"Nevah was," he replied easily, accepting the cigarette.

"No?" Luke feigned hurt. "Ain’t dat swell. I figured ya’d be rejoicin’ dat I ain’t dead afta all." He smirked. "So how’s da Bronx treatin’ ya?"

He could turn this conversation away right here, if he chose. "Well enough," he answered, knowing that was encouragement enough. He was thinking more of Fingers, than any of the Bronx newsies when he added, "Honestly."

"No burnin’ desire ta go back ta Brooklyn?" Luke asked casually.

He’d told Ruby he would say no. He’d told Bastian he would say no. But Luke never made things that simple. "I ain’t overly welcome." He raised his eyebrows, turning the deliberate misunderstanding into a question.

Luke smirked. "Maybe not at da present time." The statement dropped to the street and clattered like a coin spinning to a stop. Too easy, Four Eyes thought again. Too easy to get sucked back in. "But t’ings change, people come an’ go, ya know what I’m sayin’?"

He inclined his head in tacit understanding, echoing Luke’s own gesture, and handed the cigarette back. "Not easy . . ." He stated.

Luke took the cigarette and took a long drag. "Ya interested in takin’ back Brooklyn?" he asked abruptly. He blew out a stream of smoke. "See, now, me bruddah’s got ‘imself a new home in Queens, likes it dere a lot. So I needs me a new right hand man, so ta speak. Can’t t’ink of a bettah candidate."

There. All the cards on the table. He’d be a fool if he believed that. Luke never put all his cards on the table. "Interested?" Four Eyes gestured noncommittally, but he could feel himself slipping. "I oughta t’ink about it."

Luke nodded. "Do dat. Jus’ don’t go waggin’ yer tongue about it." He smirked. "‘Cause we know what happens ta waggin’ tongues." He made a chopping gesture and snickered.

"I nevah do," Four Eyes replied. That was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

Luke nodded again. "Fair ‘nuff. See ya ‘round." He melted back into the shadows.

"See ya ‘round," Four Eyes echoed to the darkness. He’d come to the disturbing conclusion that he was going to be dead before he reached twenty-one.
 
 

It was too much to hope that Dove would be bunking in the Bronx that night. Luke would never make such a mistake. Four Eyes kept his pace steady and wished he could control his heart rate the same way. The city was far too silent, as surreal as the midnight meeting. Years seemed to pass before he turned a corner and saw the Newsboys’ Lodging House growing steadily nearer. He almost laughed with relief when he climbed in the window and heard Pitcher’s snores. That racket could hardly be dreamed.

He sat down on his bunk. No one else stirred, and he controlled an upwelling of panic. Someone had to be awake. He had to tell someone before he began thinking too much. Ruby had to be warned, but he didn’t dare go anywhere near the river now - and Brooklyn was out of the question.. Luke did not trade in idle threats. I’m dead whatevah I do now, a voice pointed out far too convincingly.

"Damn it! You like danger!" The risk had been half of it from the beginning, from the very beginning. I done it once. I could do it again . . .

No. He rubbed his eyelids, distractedly. He was just too good at the game. Too easily, he could slip back into it. Don’t be a fool! He was going to have to do something . . .

Somebody wake up . . .

He couldn’t possibly sleep. Not after the night he’d had. And he had to catch Splints and Souther before either left to sell. He couldn’t sleep . . .
 
 

When he woke up, the lodging house was empty. He’d overslept and Brendan had let him. It was Thursday, wasn’t it? Thursday was bakery day. Even the landlord wasn’t in the building. He scrambled into his clothes, panicking. He had to talk to one of the guys and he couldn’t do it out on the street. He tried to tell himself that he was paranoid. Luke wouldn’t see anything suspicious in a simple conversation. He probably wouldn’t even know about it . . . An’ he should be dead now, not wanderin’ aroun’ da city at midnight. His stomach knotted and his throat stuck. There was no one on the street, either. The Mott Haven girls must be long gone as well. Harlem and Brooklyn were off limits. One way and another that would be suicide. He had to . . .
 
 

The floor woke him abruptly and painfully. He gasped and fought his way out of his blankets. Brendan was making his rounds as the boys groaned, yawned and reluctantly opened their eyes.

"Four Eyes, ya all right?" Doze asked with concern.

What was there to say? "Fine. Nightmares."
 
 

What was there to say? he argued with himself, walking down the street later that day. He’d seen a dead man walking the streets in the middle of the night, right after an upsetting conversation centering around said dead man, and - to put the cap on it – he’d woken up from a nightmare. Who would believe it?

Splints – Scratch that. Who would believe him?
 
 

"Ya shoa ya wanna stay heah?" Doze asked for the third time.

Four Eyes waved him away. "I’se fine! Goldie’s waitin’ for ya!" Shoe’s company would be more welcoming – and straightforward – than that at the Christmas party. He’d almost changed his mind about going since he’d seen Luke, but that would be too obvious . . . O’Malley, ya’s paranoid!

I’se stuck between double-crossin’ one a da most dangerous guys I’se evah met, an’ da closest t’ings I’se got left ta friends. One way or anudda, I prob’ly ain’t comin’ outta dis alive. I’d say I’se gotta reason ta be paranoid.
 
 

Solitaire could get extremely tedious. Dodging the not-so-subtle barbs of a hundred former friends who’d all had more than their share of rum might not have been pleasant, he reflected, but it wouldn’t be this boring.

Luke’s gonna want me answer soon. That reminder drove frustration away and left him suddenly longing for tedium.

The quiet tap on the doorframe came so close on the heels of the thought that he jumped before realizing that Luke would hardly have announced himself so politely.

But who had interrupted him? "Ruby, whaddaya doin’ heah?" She stood in the doorway, dressed in green velvet that made her eyes sparkle. She’d probably come straight from the party. He stood slowly, barely concentrating on her answer. He murmured thanks for the gifts she’d brought, a flask of eggnog and a slice of fruitcake and listened with half an ear as she joked about the Harlem girls.

When it came down to it, she’d come because of Bastian, because - however things had changed in a year and a half - they’d been friends. Equally certainly, Luke must know she’d come. He crossed to the window, abruptly, and looked out. "Ya shouldn’t be out runnin’ aroun’ by yaself. Ain’t safe."

She sat down on Souther’s bunk, grimacing. "It’s Christmas Eve, a coise it’s safe."

Ain’t nevah safe.

"What’s dat mean?" He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until she demanded an explanation.

He swore inwardly. He couldn’t bring her any farther into this. "Means what it means," he evaded, turning back to the window.

After an awkward moment, she commented that the party had been enjoyable. Of course, it had. Any party Medda threw would be. He answered absently. Was there someone standing in the shadow of that doorway? "Expectin’ someone?" Ruby interrupted his thoughts.

Four Eyes dropped the curtain quickly. "Nah."

"Well." She stood, briskly. "I jus’ stopped by ta say Merry Christmas an’ all. I’d best be gettin’ back now."

Bad enough that she’d come to see him. Worse that she was going back out on the streets with Luke anywhere around. "How’re ya gettin’ back?" he asked quickly.

"Dere’s a trolley comin’ soon. I’ll take dat."

Not now. "Ruby, ya shouldn’t be goin’ out dere alone . . ." He couldn’t say anymore without . . .

"What’s wrong wit you?" she demanded. "Ain’t like I nevah go nowhere by myself."

"Yeah, but . . ." He couldn’t be the one to tell her.

"If yer tryin’ ta be gentlemanly, it ain’t woikin’," she stated at last.

It’s a liddle late fer dat. "I ain’t. It’s jus’, dere’s a lot a bad people out dere . . ."

"Ain’t nobody ta be scared of-" She stopped. He wondered what his face must look like to provoke such a reaction. "What? Four Eyes, what’s da mattah?"

He looked away in defeat. "Nuthin’."

"Somethin’s da mattah." She crossed to him, trying to catch his gaze. "Gonna tell me what it is?"

One way or another . . . He shook his head. He’d already lost this battle. "Jus’ be careful," he whispered dully. She hadn’t asked to be drawn into this mess. Four Eyes could not claim the same.

"You’ve seen him."

He looked up to see the world stop in Ruby’s face, and stared back at her helplessly. Against his will, he nodded.

Ruby started shaking. "Are ya shoa it was him?"

He flushed and looked away. "I’m shoa."

"You talked to ‘im!" she yelled. Silence was admission. "What did ‘e say?"

"Nuthin’," he lied futilely. Ruby wasn’t fooled.

"He - you - How could you?" Hysteria kept her betrayed words from cutting no less deeply - and from being no less true. "He killed Bastian! He killed yer best friend!"

It wasn’t like that! "Ruby," he began. She was about to go running off. He had to stop her. He’d done enough-

"Don’t touch me!" She flinched away and struck at him. "Fingahs was right about you! Once a rat, always a rat! I can’t believe-" There were tears. There was silence. And she was gone.
 
 

Much less dramatically, the world ended for a second time that Christmas Eve. There was a decision made for him, Four Eyes reasoned. Once a rat, always a rat. Something he could stop worrying about - He dropped down onto his bunk, right on top of his nearly forgotten game of solitaire, sending cards scattering. Come heah, he thought desperately. Come heah. Leave 'er alone fer tanight at least an' come heah. Ya'd like dat, wouldn't ya? Knowing ya can get past anybody anywheah anytime ya like. Not quite as good as strollin' t'rough Brooklyn under Spot's nose, but good enough. He didn't have the least doubt Luke would know about Ruby's visit. But Ruby's too easy. Wouldn't be half as fun as waitin' ta find 'er in broad daylight, once da hysterics is ovah. He couldn't breathe. D*mn it! So come heah.

An hour passed. Apparently, Luke wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of appearing when expected. He could only hope Forlani wasn’t busy elsewhere. Be safe, he pleaded silently. "I’m sorry," he whispered aloud.

It sounded worse than feeble. Four Eyes pulled off his glasses and flung them across the room. They slid across the floor to stop against the attic door. He stood and crossed to look down at them. Stupid . . . Abruptly, angrily, he picked up his foot and stomped on them.

"Dat’s gonna be expensive ta fix," a voice remarked.

Four Eyes froze, but the immobility lasted barely a second. He relaxed and bent to pick up the glasses. The frame was twisted, but only one of the lenses had broken. When he turned around, still holding them, he was even smiling slightly. "Dat ain’t gonna be a problem, is it?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.

Luke chuckled. "Ya decided den?"

Four Eyes shrugged. "Be stupid ta say no." It would be stupid to say yes; it would be suicidal to say no. Amazing, he thought with disgust, that he could be so poor a liar and so good at these kinds of word games. It said something about him. What it said, he didn’t care to think.

"An’ you ain’t stupid." Forlani’s grin held just a trace of mockery. He leaned back against Roller’s bunk, regarding Four Eyes.

"Not dat stupid," he agreed, meeting Luke’s eyes for a moment. He dropped his gaze to his spectacles, as if considering them and then put them on. He could barely stand to wear them. He could bend the frame back into shape, but the cracked lens fractured his vision. Breaking them had been a badly timed move, but there was no point in making it worse. "Eggnog?" He gestured at the dresser where he’d placed Ruby’s gifts. A part of him rebelled at the idea of Luke touching them, but he’d had practice ignoring that part.

"Don’t mind if I do." The twins had a pair of silver cups somewhere, inherited from their grandmother. Four Eyes found them and poured two drinks. "Ya gots good taste in odder people’s goils, O’Malley," Luke remarked, lifting his cup in an ironic salute. It was said with a smile, but the warning was clear.

Four Eyes kept his expression steady and sipped his own drink. "We was tawkin’ ovah old friends," he replied.

"A coise," Luke grinned. "Jus’ stay away from me goil from now on." He took a sip from his cup. "Don’t wanna upset ‘er or nuthin’." Still smiling, he patted Four Eyes on the arm, toasted him again, set down his cup and vanished.

Four Eyes closed his eyes briefly. Then, deliberately, he picked up the two cups, emptied and rinsed them out in the washroom, and returned them to the box under the Smithy’s bunk. The eggnog left in the flask held no appeal, so he poured that out as well. After a moment’s consideration, he carried the fruitcake downstairs and left it on the kitchen table for Brendan. Shoe followed him back upstairs where he collected his scattered cards, tied the deck with string and placed them in the drawer of his nightstand. This house-cleaning completed, he returned to the washroom and was quietly sick.
 
 

"It’s Christmas! C’mon, ev’rybody up! Four Eyes!" Smithy shook him awake. Four Eyes groaned. The one day of the year Brendan didn’t come around to roust them out of their beds, the twins did it for him. And the fourteen year old’s voices were much more piercing than the landlord’s.

Memory hit him, then, and he groaned for a different reason. If only he hadn’t woken up . . .

"Four Eyes." Doze nudged him with a grin. "C’mon we don’t want da kiddies ta get too antsy."

Corks responded to this remark with a Bronx cheer.

Cap tumbled unceremoniously out of bed. "O’Malley, you don’t even got half da reason ta sleep in as da rest a us. Speakin’ a which, Doze, why are you so awake after las’ night?"

"Dat’s my secret," Doze grinned.

Not half the reason, Four Eyes repeated to himself. He grabbed his spectacles from the night stand. Not half the reason.

"What happened?" Souther asked with a nod, when Four Eyes finally dragged himself out of bed.

He adjusted his lopsided glasses and shrugged, grimacing. "Stepped on ‘em."

‘I stepped on ‘em. Da las’ poison ta trust me t’rew da name of a friend I as good as killed in me face an’ I capped it off by sellin’ out once again. So I stepped on ‘em.’

Unaware of any of this, Souther made a sympathetic face and turned to follow an impatient Bouncer down the stairs.

Christmas gifts were inexpensive, but abundant. Brendan had provided a stick of candy for every one of the boys, and even Shoe received a fish head fresh from the market. The cat showed his gratitude in typical fashion by dragging the prize off to a corner of the kitchen and scratching anyone who came near him.

"And who do I owe thanks for this?" the landlord asked gesturing at the fruitcake on the table.

Four Eyes concentrated on bending his glasses back into shape while the other boys denied any knowledge of it. It was hardly something he deserved thanks for. He wondered when the news would come from Harlem. He should be packing right now . . .

"Yer in a great mood fer Christmas Day!" Doze exclaimed, finally noticing his silence.

Four Eyes shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly. "Jus’ ain’t me fav’rite time a yeah," he replied. Which was true in itself, but hardly to the point.

"Well, ya ain’t mopin’ aroun’ heah all day," his friend muttered. "C’mon, Duke an’ Cap an’ Splints an’ me’s goin’ callin’ in Mott Haven."

Doze’s grin was infectious under the worst of conditions. Four Eyes allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. There was no reason why he shouldn’t go, at any rate.
 
 

Scratch that.

Lazybones met them at the door in better humor than anyone usually found her in. "C’mon in!" She ushered them into the parlor, rolling her eyes. "Ev’rybody else is! T’ink people had no place else ta go . . ." Her mutters trailed off as they entered.

Four Eyes leaned against the wall and smiled slightly as Doze tipped his hat to the ladies. Dove, with somewhat less confidence, but equal enthusiasm greeted Mouse. Spacey and Cap were talking with Splints and Flint. Flint looked slightly pale, and though he knew better than to mention it to her, Four Eyes wondered what was wrong. He could see what Lazy had meant. Dare’s brother Race was visiting also. He had a petite, laughing girl at his side who might be his girlfriend. And Lower Manhattan was further represented by a curly-haired, smart-mouthed boy who seemed rather attached to Dare, and Lazy’s beau, Pie Eater. Queens, Hoboken, Manhattan, Long Island – was any territory not represented? Among the many unfamiliar faces, he caught a glimpse of one rather too familiar.

He drew breath and hunched his shoulders slightly. He’s tawkin’ ta Race an’ Dare. Ain’t even facin’ dis direction. In this crowd – and how on earth so many people managed to fit into the parlor he didn’t know – there was no reason why Spot should glance his way. "Long time no see, O’Malley."

Faint hope. Four Eyes straightened up. He should be used to this by now. He flushed involuntarily. Any minute now, he would be forced to become a whole lot more accustomed to it. For that matter, news reached Brooklyn faster than anywhere else. "Spot." He nodded. The Brooklyn leader had to throw him on the defensive. "Mrs. Matthews’ parlor ain’t da best place ta soak me," he murmured conversationally.

"Lucky fer you."

There didn’t seem to be anywhere he could go without it following him. You asked for it, his conscience lashed back. "Ya wanna go outside, yer welcome ta."

"Somethin’ wrong, Spot?" Splints stepped between the two.

Before Conlon could answer, Doze interrupted. "Hey guys, poker?"

It was easier to face Spot’s anger than his friends’ defense. Four Eyes closed his eyes and slipped out of the room.
 
 

Doze found him sitting on the front step, fiddling with his glasses. "Ya din’t have ta do dat," he muttered.

"Shoa, we did. It’s Christmas," Doze replied.

Shoulda let ‘im soak me. In a few hours they’d be wishing they had. Four Eyes sank as far into himself as he could manage.

"When ya gonna stop punishin’ yaself?"

"Doze . . ." he pleaded. Stop. He might be contradicting everything he’d ever said, but he didn’t care.

"Do me a favor an’ don’t ring in da new year dis way, huh?" Doze was trying to be flippant, but he didn’t succeed too well. He frowned, then sighed. "Ya need a drink?"

"G*d, no!" He laughed without humor. He didn’t need alcohol to stir up his memories any further. For that matter, if they got him drunk enough to loosen his tongue, they wouldn’t care to defend him. "I’ll be fine."

The lodging house door opened and Cap bounded down the steps. "We’s headin’ back. You two comin’?"

Four Eyes stood up rather more quickly than necessary, grateful for the interruption. "Yeah."
 
 

"Heya!" Souther caught up to them as they approached the lodging house. "I jus’ ran ovah ta Harlem," he explained. Four Eyes didn’t tense. His expression didn’t alter.

"Hey," Cap replied with a knowing grin.

"News from Harlem?" Doze asked archly.

Four Eyes braced himself, his stomach knotted, but Souther only blushed. "Fingahs fin’ly got Lansin’ off ‘er back." He blushed further at the name and added hastily, "Dere’s a new goil. Name’s Gwen. Fifteen or so."

Nothing more.

"I’ll hafta introduce meself," Doze grinned. The other four laughed and rolled their eyes, but Four Eyes could barely move.

She hadn’t told. The realization hit. Ruby hadn’t told. She’d –

He blamed his stinging eyes on the wind.
 
 

"I’m out!" said Roller.

"Two bits," said Doze.

"Call," Four Eyes replied. He’d finally removed his glasses. The squint he developed from not wearing them was no worse than the headache the cracked lens gave him. This couldn’t last, he thought to himself not for the first time.

He’d given his word to Luke – his stomach turned – and Forlani would be calling it in soon. Bastard. Best to leave while someone would still miss him.

And Ruby hadn’t told. He’d waited a week, then another. Why on earth hadn’t she?

"Pair a’ tens." Souther made a face, throwing down his hand.

Cap scowled. "Beats me. Pair, sixes."

"Aces, t’ree of a kind." Doze looked rightfully pleased with himself. He cocked an eyebrow at Four Eyes.

He tossed down four jacks without comment. Doze groaned. "I gotta find somebody else ta play wit. Ya’s jus’ too d*mn lucky."

Lucky. Right.
 
 

There was no point in putting it off any longer. Four Eyes frowned at the piece of paper in his lap. What to say? ‘I’m sorry?’ That was laughable. ‘Good-bye. Next time ya see me, be shoa ta soak me?’ He ought to just wait for the others to return, confess and hop the next train. He could come back to attend the funerals. He laughed again, painfully. Bastard.

"Goin’ somewheah?"

The pen jumped across the page. "Splints." He turned, willing himself not to appear defensive, then dropped the effort as pointless. "Yeah, I’se goin’. It’s-" He looked down at the note – it might as well be finished – and shoved it away, then stood. "I-" Sorry was such a feeble word. He laughed inwardly. "‘Shame on me.’" The little he owned was already packed. He picked up the bundle. Don’t ask, he pleaded silently. Don’t follow me. "Bye," he burst out finally and escaped out the back.
 
 

He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. Intellectually, Four Eyes knew that. There was too much at stake to treat it like a game. Luke was a dangerous enemy to make, but he couldn’t help getting a thrill out of it. He walked down the hall to the room he shared with Bastian – shared with just Bastian and not thirty-odd guys which was an unheard of luxury. Almost too bad it ain’t gonna last, he thought.
 
 

He studied the room in a new light. It was more private than the bunkroom at the lodging house not more than a few blocks away, but it could be better. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he was now in a perfect position to get information for Spot. He frowned inwardly. That was what he was here for, after all. Don’t wanna blow me cover too soon, he reminded himself and felt obscurely relieved. He’d best not say anything yet. There was nothing to say yet.

"Heya, Four Eyes," Bastian entered. "Got anyt’ing?"

"Naw, not yet."

And here he was again. Four Eyes surveyed the gathering in the room, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. A different room, a different building, a different borough, even, because Luke had set up shop in a forsaken corner of Queens this time, but fundamentally the same. Too easy. Too easy and far too familiar. But Luke would never have taken no for an answer, and Four Eyes refused to simply run off and leave Ruby to his mercy.

"Four Eyes. Why ain’t I surprised?" He turned a cool gaze on Wick, a tall, blue-eyed assassin-for-hire with a taste for arson.

"Same reason I ain’t s’prised ta see you," Four Eyes replied evenly. Wick’s associate – Bacio definitely had the lesser end of that partnership – stood on the other side of the room. Among the other notables in the group were Breaker Dempsey and Brick Kaice of Brooklyn, and Cain Monroe, a thief with aspirations to being the leader of Lower Manhattan’s underworld. An’ Four Eyes O’Malley, well-known opportunist.

"So we’se on da same side now?" Berto sauntered over and cocked an eyebrow at him.

Four Eyes turned. "I can be convinced," he replied coolly, gaging the thug’s attitude. Berto had a long memory and an uncomplicated mind, and the last time they’d crossed paths, he’d been giving Four Eyes the pounding of his life.

Berto leered suggestively. "I bet she can be convincin’."

"Ev’rybody awready knows each odder," mourned a miniature rat-like boy dryly, joining the gathering. "An’ I’se left outta da reunion." Ferret was one of the newer members of Luke’s gang, fresh from Atlantic City. That was reason enough to dislike him, but his interruption proved fortunate. Much as Four Eyes would have liked to punch Berto for his last comment, it would be pure stupidity. The smaller boy’s change of subject came at the perfect time. He nodded an emotionless greeting.

"Yeah, we’se old pals," smirked Berto. "Jus’ like fam’ly."

"Gentleman," on cue, Luke manifested himself in the center of the group, almost out of thin air. "We gots woik ta do."
 
 

"Aw right," Doze said, dragging him down to sit. "Time ta explain." Dove had just left his own version of events in Brooklyn hanging in the air. "An’ if ya tell me one more time dat it’s a long story, I’ll soak ya."

Four Eyes shrugged. "Spot wanted a few people who could tell ‘im what Forlani was up to. Bastian an’ me was his spies."

"An’ Flip," Doze interrupted.

"An’ Flip," he agreed. "Dat didn’t las’ too long, though. An’ Ruby. Luke decided I was more use ta him." He studied his glasses closely. "I wasn’t givin’ da odders away, jus’ . . ." he trailed off. Doze was silent, and he felt compelled to defend himself. "Ya t’ought I was woikin’ fer Luke anyway! Dere dat much diff’rence in how I was doin’ it?" He looked up challengingly.

Doze, brown eyes wide open to regard him, looked almost like a stranger. He wondered if he appeared the same way to his friend. "I ain’t Brooklyn," Doze said at last. "Yer an idiot, but yer me friend."
 
 

"Ya found me," Four Eyes said quietly. Doze glanced around the cemetery. "Lucky guess."

"Who knows yer heah?"

"You, me an’ him." Doze nodded aside, and Four Eyes’ face flamed. He’d chosen this spot to think after Luke’s first ‘council of war’ as a reminder to himself, but he wished his friend hadn’t come. Luke might derive some form of amusement from the idea if he learned Four Eyes was spending his time at Bastian’s grave, but a meeting with Doze was more serious and could have consequences for them both. "How are ya?"

"Livin’," he replied, unable to face his friend for a moment. "Ain’t shoa whedda dat’s a good t’ing or not." He attempted a laugh and a shrug.

"Ya know, dere’s a debate goin’ on as ta whedda ya’s dead or not," Doze informed him.

Four Eyes winced. "No."

"Luke said somet’in ta Ruby dat made ‘er t’ink he’d killed ya."

D*mn! "I din’t want ‘er ta-" He swore again, then considered the implications of the statement. "He said to Ruby?"

"She went lookin’ fer him. He gave ‘er yer regards. Left da interpretation up ta debate." Doze asked; he didn’t accuse.

"Dat was . . ." He flushed. "Ya didn’t tell ‘er odderwise? She shouldn’t hafta-"

"I wasn’t shoa meself."

He stared at the ground. "So half me friends t’ink Forlani killed me an’ da odder half t’ink I joined ‘im."

"Did ya?" Doze asked bluntly.

"Not-" He stopped, reddening, and started again. "I don’t know what I’se doin’. I don’t know what he’s doin’. I’m tryin’ ta find out. I-" He hesitated. "He ain’t gonna touch Ruby, though. I’ll – if anyt’ing happens ta her, ya’ll know I’se dead."

There was an awkward silence. Doze shifted. "Ya must be da stupidest poison I know," he said lightly. After a long pause, he added, "If ya gets yaself killed, I swear I’se gonna find a way ta soak yer ghost, so be careful."

Four Eyes released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "T’anks."
 
 

Three days passed uneventfully. It was funny to think that the excitement had been partly responsible for drawing Four Eyes into Luke’s circle in the first place. Things happened around Forlani. Four Eyes recalled a tour of the warehouse Scythe Wakeford had given Luke the use of. Things still happened, of course. Forlani’s operations were hardly as extensive as they’d been at the height of the territory wars, but they were enough to turn the stomach of anyone with a single remaining scruple. It didn’t bodder ya once! Four Eyes lashed his own hypocrisy.

Occasionally, he wondered if Luke were testing him somehow – trying to see what it took to crack the poker face. Ya gots a high opinion a’ yaself, O’Malley! he laughed. Ya ain’t woith no more dan Ruby cares for ya. He closed his eyes, lifting a cigarette to his lips.

"Dere’s a debate goin’ on as ta whedda ya’s dead or not."

He swore. If she didn’t worry about him, he couldn’t hurt her. She shouldn’t have to worry, but what could he do? I’m sorry. Bastard! The smoke irritated his eyes. He tossed away the cigarette butt, grinding it into the snow, straightened decisively and hurried down the street.
 
 

"Runner." The boy turned and studied him for a moment.

"Four Eyes, right?" he recalled after a moment. "Splints need somet’in?"

"Naw, I was hopin’ ya could take a message ta Harlem," he replied in a rush before he lost his nerve.

An’ ya come ta Long Island ta get a message dere? Four Eyes could almost hear the thought, but Runner only nodded. "What’s da message?"

He pulled the broken spectacles out of his pocket. "Give ‘em ta Ruby Gallagher. From me. Nobody else gave ‘em to ya."
 
 

Four Eyes sighed as he climbed off the trolley. Long Island was a long way from Queens – which was, of course, the point. Any amounts of time, large or small, that he spent in Harlem or the Bronx would be suspect. Brooklyn was borderline. He had more reason to be there, but it was potentially even more dangerous. Besides, it wasn’t high on sympathetic figures these days.
 
 

The world looked strange and unfamiliar without his glasses. He could distinguish faces and the shadows and corners of the warehouse, but his eyes seemed to be straining after something, peering through a barely visible curtain. The cards in his hand, for example, were a mixture of sharply defined lines and blurs of color. It made his head ache. Not that his broken spectacles would do any less now. They were far more use where they were. Ruby. He hoped she understood. What else could he have said? Telling her what he was doing would only cause more trouble. Telling her he was sorry would not be enough. I’m sorry, an’ ev’ry day I walk back in heah an’ - Oh, certainly, he knew what he was doing, but he didn’t deceive himself into thinking it would really do any good. He followed Luke’s orders because he was too much of a coward to do anything else, because he’d long since forfeited a second chance.

So whaddaya doin’ heah, den? a caustic voice mocked. Shoot yaself an’ have done wit it. He knew why he didn’t. He’d be getting off too easily while the rest of his friends suffered. Cain was looking at him. Silently, he pushed a half dollar toward the middle of the table.

"Hey, Luke!" He glanced toward the door at Berto’s voice and froze. "Got a present fer ya!"

A present. A fiery-haired girl stumbled into the room ahead of Luke’s brother. No. No, no, no. Four Eyes gaped back. She caught herself and looked straight at him.
 
 

No, no, no, no. He ought to wear a sign around his neck with the words ‘I’m sorry,’ on it. Sorry for, for everything, sorry for past betrayals, sorry for the present filled with Ruby’s sickened expression, and altogether a sorry excuse for a human being. Come to think of it, there were a few other choice epithets he should stick on there as well. Traitor was the least of them. She didn’t know, of course. It wasn’t the same. That wasn’t why he was here. But there must be something else he could do. There must be some other way, something that could have kept that dull pain from Ruby’s eyes. How had Berto gotten to her? She must be the most well-protected girl in New York right now. How . . .

He realized staring wasn’t the most intelligent thing to be doing under the circumstances, not under Luke’s eyes, not in this corner of nowhere, but for once he couldn’t seem to manage his expression. Ain’t like it matters now, anyways. Ruby broke the gaze first and turned to Luke who favored her with his best smile.

"T’anks, Berto," Luke said, eyes still on Ruby’s. He seemed to draw strength from seeing her so broken. Four Eyes felt sick. "Dey’s playin’ poker, get Cain ta deal ya in." His smile broadened and he held out a hand to Ruby. "Me an’ da lady’s got business."

Ruby-

"Don’t even t’ink about it." Four Eyes didn’t even realize he’d stood until Berto warned him to take his seat again. "He’ll swat ya like a fly if ya interfere," he continued with apparent relish. The younger Forlani looked just as smug as Luke, a crude copy of his older brother, as he came around the table to sit next to him.

"But-" Why couldn’t he keep a reign on his tongue? Surely there was some argument he could find. Surely Luke wouldn’t kill her right now. There had to be -

"She ain’t yer concoin," Berto interrupted. He wasn’t half his brother for threats, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. His face split into an ugly grin. "Although, if t’ings go well, maybe latah Luke’ll let us have a taste."

A few appreciative snickers echoed the suggestion, not from everyone, but from enough. Fighting the need to be sick, Four Eyes did the next best thing and slammed his fist into the smirking face.

It was a stupid thing to do. He knew from painful experience that if Berto had a talent, it was his ability to fight. Four Eyes was losing as soon as the other boy recovered from his surprise. Berto may have had none of Luke’s style, but his punches hit like a bag of bricks.

At least, the punches were only Berto’s. If this went on, the others might decide to join in the action, but for now they seemed content to watch and place bets. My money on Forlani, all da way. And, in a way, it was a relief. He was going to ache in the morning – if he saw the morning – but he was receiving a beating he couldn’t help feeling was long overdue.

The fists stopped falling finally, but by that point he was too weak to take advantage of the fact – or wonder at it. Something told him it would not be wise to get up just yet.

"Dis don’t look friendly," a voice chided. Four Eyes would have winced, but he hurt too much. At least he ain’t off torturin’ Ruby. A fact Luke did not sound pleased with, for that matter. Now would be the time to stand up, if he could manage it. "Me an’ me goil’s catchin’ up on old times an’ I gots ta leave ‘er ta come keep me pals from soakin’ each odder. It ain’t polite."

Late fer dat. Four Eyes found he could indeed get his feet underneath him, albeit with a certain amount of pain. He met Luke’s eyes with all the lack of expression he could muster. Amazing what stress did for his poker face.
 
 

Yer a handsome sight, Four Eyes thought wryly at his reflection. He rinsed his face and sucked briefly on his lip which apparently didn’t intend to stop bleeding any time soon. He cursed himself. I’m sorry.

"Nice try," Cain remarked from behind him. Four Eyes glanced at the boy’s image in the mirror and returned to washing his face without comment. "Rough," he added brightly. "Ya still in da game?"

Four Eyes laughed silently at his reflection before turning. The face in the mirror remained perfectly composed. "Shoa."
 
 

He held the key in the lock and hesitated. ‘Dat all ya got ta say?’

‘Fool me once . . .’

Four Eyes swore under his breath. He didn’t have the time for this. He turned the key and opened the door. Ruby leapt to her feet and faced the door wide-eyed. "Four Eyes!" Relief relaxed her shoulders; a moment later, pain rendered her completely boneless.

Reflexively, he glanced over his shoulder before slipping inside and closing the door with care. The room was far too small for the unspeaking ghosts that hovered around them. "Are ya awright?" he asked at last. But a searching look had already told him she wasn’t hurt. Not physically, at least.

"What do you care?" Ruby spat. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away.

Suddenly, he felt Berto hadn’t hit hard enough. "Ruby," he bit back yet another apology, wishing for more to say. "Ev’rybody’s gone or asleep," he informed the floor. "Ya can get away now."

"Yer helpin’ me?" He shouldn’t be hurt by the disbelief in her voice. "What about Luke?"

He flinched anyway. "I’m a bastard," he replied quietly. "We’s covered dat. Gettin’ you outta heah is more important."

"I can’t," she whispered, shaking her head.

He mistook her meaning. "Ain’t nobody up but me. Nobody’ll know ya’s gone till mornin’. If Harlem’s too far, da Queens goils’ll take ya. Or we’se close enough ta Brooklyn an’ ya can’t be safer dan wit Spot." He was aware of the note of urgency creeping into his voice, but he didn’t bother to control it.

"I can’t," she repeated. "Leave me alone. Luke’s my problem, an’ I’ll deal wit ‘im."

"Ruby-"

"No!" She turned on him, eyes blazing. "If I go, he’ll hoit someone else, prob’ly someone I love, an’ I will not let dat happen, do ya understand? Now go away, jus’ go away an’ leave me alone." Her last words were too choked with tears to be quite coherent, but Four Eyes managed to understand them.

He swore inwardly. He didn’t want to say it, but it was the only argument he had. "If ya leave," he replied, steadily, at first, but rapidly losing volume, "he’ll know d*mn well who ta blame an’ he won’t need ta go all da way ta Harlem fer revenge." He swore again. He didn’t mean to sound like a martyr. He drew breath and pressed on. "I’se-" Self-disgust coated his voice. "-always been good at takin’ care a’ meself." If I can’t keep you safe, I ain’t got nothin’ left. He’d been determined not to beg. "Ya ain’t got nobody ta worry ‘bout but yaself right now."

The words echoed back at him in the silence. I nevah asked ya ta trust me! he defended silently. An’ dat makes it woise. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Ruby–"

"Go away!"

He went.
 
 

He didn’t even attempt to sleep that night. He hated to think what jewels his conscience would conjure up for him if he did. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . D*mmit! It was a long night. I’m sorry. Let it be ovah.
 
 

What, he wondered, was Mercy Forlani doing in New York? She’d left Brooklyn before he had, gone to live with her grandmother in New Jersey, if he recalled correctly.

Not that that mattered. What mattered was that she was back in the city – that a day ago, she’d been walking the streets there to be found by Mess Anthony and now to be used as Ruby’s ransom.

It wasn’t going to work.

Whatever he thought about dragging another – relative – innocent into this coil was superceded by that knowledge. Luke cared as little for his sister as she did for him. There was only one reason he would bother even to reply to Anthony’s proposition.

No one had the gall to threaten Luke Forlani.
 
 

"Cut out ‘er heart an’ send it to ‘im," Cain sniggered. Luke’s ‘lieutenants’ were gathered in Ruby’s prison, debating how best to answer Mess’ ultimatum.

He wouldn’t! Four Eyes’ face remained blank.

An’ what would ya do if he did? lacerated a voice. Luke wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. One or the other of them would die first.

"Nah, too permanent," Luke replied after a moment’s thought.

"How ‘bout an eye?" Wick put in. Four Eyes fought the urge to be sick and was, perversely, even more disgusted at being successful. "Pop one out witout killin’ ‘er."

Luke considered for a moment. "‘If thine eye offends thee, pluck it out . . . .’ I’m radda fond of her eyes."

You – He ached to jump between them, to slit Forlani’s throat as should have been done long before. An instant later, he recoiled at the idea. Not that it would achieve anything anyway. Even if he managed to kill Luke, the others would take revenge, and they had no reason to keep Ruby alive.

Luke nodded decisively. "Take off yer blouse."

In his own mind, Four Eyes leapt on the gang’s leader and threw him to the floor at that. He beat out all his self-hatred on Forlani’s smug face and – and earned himself a lovely plot in the cemetery. Da bottom a’ da riva, more likely.

He stood frozen, watching, trying not to see the smirk on Wick’s face or the unconcealed lechery on Cain’s as a shivering Ruby removed her blouse.

Berto frowned. "I don’t t’ink jus’ ‘er blouse-"

Luke cut him off. "Come heah, Maggie." When she complied, he took her hand, drew out a pocketknife and, with the barest hint of a smile, began to cut.

He watched. He watched. It had to be a dream, but even his nightmares . . . He wanted to grab the knife out of Forlani’s hand and use it on Luke. Or himself. Or both. But he watched.

Luke handed back the blouse and Ruby wrapped her hand in it. Four Eyes continued to watch as the white cotton turned red, as Ruby turned over her precious rosary, as Luke smiled. "Dat oughta get me point across."

And he wondered which point Forlani meant.
 
 

‘He ain’t gonna touch Ruby,’ he’d said. ‘If anyt’ing happens ta her, ya’ll know I’se dead.’ It had been a lie, but that was no surprise. I’m sorry. Berto had taken several of the guys off to deliver Luke’s answer to Harlem. Luke himself had gone somewhere, but Four Eyes couldn’t take advantage of his absence. He didn’t dare face her now. I’m sorry. The words had long since ceased to have any real meaning.

He should have tried harder to convince her, given her no choice, picked her up and carried her to Brooklyn, if necessary. Ruby wouldn’t have protested too loudly. She wouldn’t have given him away. Even afta’ ev’ryt’ing . . . He could still do it. There was time . . .

But he wouldn’t.

Of course.

He regarded his bare arm. His sleeve had been rolled up past his elbow. Though barely touching the skin, the metal of his knife felt seductively cool. A tense eternity passed. Ya’s a coward, O’Malley. He moved the knife away, contemplated throwing it across the room and instead calmly replaced it in his sleeve. He dropped his head into his hands. Long Island. Tomorrow.
 
 

It was actually several more days before FourEyes was able to get a message to Harlem. Runner, oddly enough did not seem surprised to see him.

"Ya’s bein’ asked about," commented the Long Island messenger.

I bet. He could guess who was doing the asking, too, as well as the form it took. There must be a line a mile long of people wanting to kill him by now. "Ruby . . ." he began hesitantly.

Runner’s eyes hardened slightly.

"She won’t go . . ." Four Eyes whispered, looking away. Cursing himself, he steeled his shoulders. "Jus’ tell ‘em-" He paused and studied the ground. "Tell ‘em she’s alive."
 
 

Back across the length of the island. It was difficult to believe he hadn’t been to Brooklyn in almost three years. It had changed little in the interim. The itch between his shoulderblades didn’t count. With careful timing, he managed to slip across the bridge without Ostrich seeing him. The boy had finally stopped shooting up, but he still cast a long shadow. The wreck of the Forlanis’ old building had been torn down and rebuilt into something equally unsavory.

Four Eyes turned up an alley, doubling back under the bridge towards the docks and abruptly found himself on close terms with a wall.

"Four Eyes." He closed his eyes briefly. Apparently someone was still looking kindly on him. "Whaddaya want?" Keet asked.

He was allowed to turn around. "Dere was easier ways ta get me attention," he commented.

"Not ev’rybody’d ask," Parakeet replied matter-of-factly. "Whaddaya want?" he repeated.

"Tawk ta Spot," Four Eyes answered wearily. "Preferably witout any broken bones."
 
 

"Sneakin’ aroun’ ain’t da best way ta manage dat," Spot remarked a short while later. Four Eyes didn’t reply. "Whaddaya got ta say?"

He was not going to run, however much he felt like it. "I can tell ya wheah Luke is."

"I could say I awready know." Spot watched him through narrowed eyes.

"Cross is a lousy spy an’ ya wouldn’t leave Ruby dere if ya knew. Not afta-" Four Eyes was forced to look away.

"Afta?" Spot repeated, eyes hooded.

He must know. "If killin’ me would help ‘er, I’d’a done it awready," Four Eyes mumbled in a rush. He braced himself for a blow that never came. He’d sometimes thought Spot drew his reputation as much from the blows he didn’t deliver as from those he did. Although why Conlon didn’t soak him, he couldn’t imagine.

Finally, he whispered an address and turned, almost hoping Spot would not let him go.

The Brooklyn leader called after him. "Tell Forlani ta come hisself."
 
 

D*mmit! He couldn’t say the remark wasn’t deserved. With grim humor, he wondered what Luke would say if he actually delivered the message. Then he wondered who exactly Spot had trailing him. Dove, perhaps; Four Eyes winced and thrust the thought aside. Dove had trusted him the last time they talked. Maybe Cross. Cross Persichetti had been poking around for awhile without any luck. Spot couldn’t really have expected him to find anything with his bullish approach to gathering information, which made Four Eyes wonder if the Brooklyn leader had any other spies about.

The was a clock on the street corner up ahead. Four Eyes glanced at it and swore inwardly. He picked up his pace for the last half a block, ducked down an alley that brought him to a narrow hallway. Smoke and voices drifted out of the first door.

" . . . didn’t woik ‘cause a’ da rats we had in our midst den," Luke was saying when he entered. "We’s bein’ more careful dis time."

A poifect cue, Four Eyes thought wryly, taking an empty seat.

Wick threw him a hard glare and turned back to the group. "We don’t hafta make it painless," he said. "Burnin’ ain’t painless if ya do it right."

"I don’t care ‘bout painless or painful, as long as it’s permanent." Luke eyed him. "Yer late, O’Malley."

"I had ta take a detour," he replied calmly.

"Detour." Luke’s eyes were hooded. "Right."

Four Eyes didn’t reply. There was no point in protesting too much. Nor, he noted, was he the only late arrival. Cain had not shown up yet, either. Berto drew the attention away, and for once, he was grateful to the thug. "We wouldn’t get one foot inta Brooklyn ta burn nothin’ anyway."

Luke smirked. "Ya got no faith, brudda deah."

"What, ya t’ink dey’re gonna let us waltz in dere an’ set ‘em on fire?" grumbled Berto.

"My question is: whadda we do about da boidies?" Wick put in, ignoring him.

"Boidies?" Ferret looked confused.

"Conlon’s spies," Wick murmured.

"A diversion a’ some sort, distract ‘em," said Luke, thoughtfully.

Ferret spoke up. "What if dey thought we was gonna do one thing, an’ we did anudda?"

"Start a big brawl ta get deir attention while Wick goes an’ woiks some magic," Berto suggested with a proud grin. Four Eyes glanced at him without comment. If all of Luke’s men were as insightful as his brother, Forlani would pose no threat.

Luke nodded at Ferret. "Dat’s a thought." To Berto, he replied, "Dat would defeat da poipose of a fire."

"Who’d Conlon care," Wick sneered, "enough about ta leave Brooklyn for?"

"Lure ‘im out, ya mean?"

Unfased by Luke’s dismissal of his last idea, Berto slammed a fist onto the table. "’E’s got ‘is sista an’ ‘is goil in Manhattan."

Wick nodded. "Buy us some time ta get in, set a trap, an’ when dey returns, we toast ‘em."

Four Eyes watched Ferret throw a sideways look at Wick, apparently realizing how Mauvais got his nickname.

"We’d need ta get more den jus’ Conlon out ta do dat," Berto argued.

"A coise," Wick sneered back. As Berto glared at him, he continued. "Damned watchers’ll smell us comin’ ten miles away. It’s gotta be low key, but big."

Under other circumstances, Four Eyes would have laughed at the words. "Oh, yeah," Ferret smirked, echoing his private thoughts, "Big an’ low key. Dat’s easy."

"I nevah said it was easy." Wick glared. "Shoa as h*ll won’t be simple."

"Shaddup, McBride," Berto defended, "I don’t heah you givin’ any betta ideas."

Luke watched the argument for a moment, then looked expectantly at Four Eyes. "Whadda you t’ink, O’Malley?"

"Look," Ferret said simultaneously, "Ya can’t look at it like gettin’ a big group a’ people. Ya gotta figure out how ta get each of ‘em alone like ya was jus’ goin’ afta one person. Den ya figure out how ta do all a’ dat at one time."

Four Eyes didn’t know whether to be relieved not to have had to make the suggestion or worried that it had been made. Luke had picked well when he brought Ferret in. He nodded to the small boy. "Beat me to it."

"Pick ‘em off one by one . . ." Berto muttered with relish.

Coldly, Luke cut off whatever fantasies his brother was entertaining. "One by one would take too long. Dey’d get too wise to us."

Ferret nodded back and sighed. "Naw, not pick ‘em off one by one. Pretend ya’s gonna, plan ‘em each separately, but do it all at da same time." Four Eyes considered. With Scythe’s help, Luke might have the manpower to pull it off. Properly done, at least from Forlani’s point of view, it was nearly perfect. Spot, River, Sunrise, Keet, Dove, War, Swifts, Ostrich if dey want da bridge clear . . .

"No doubt Conlon’ll be da hardest ta get outta dere," Wick remarked. "Don’t leave his post fer nearly nothin’."

Berto smirked. "’E’ll leave if ‘e gots a real good reason," he replied. "What’s ‘er name? Lily?"

Naturally, Spot’s girl would be a target, Four Eyes thought sickly. As would his sisters and his cousin and Rise’s Storm and River’s China and Dove’s Annie.

"I need him outta Brooklyn fer about t’ree hours," Wick gave his professional assessment. "Dat’s all."

Luke frowned and lit a new cigarette. "So we’re lookin’ at gettin’ ‘em out long enough ta set a trap. Dey’re gonna be very canny right now, expectin’ somethin’ from us."

"Dey’d be idiots not to." Wick scowled thoughtfully. "An’ we all know Brooklyn ain’t run by half-assed idiots."

Berto snorted. "Half-assed in size maybe." Wick joined in his snickers.

"Do we know if dey’s got people lissenin’ in Harlem? Manhattan? Queens?"

"Prob’ly," Berto replied darkly. "Liddle boidies an’ all."

If Luke wanted quiet, it might work. Four Eyes finally spoke. "Use what dey know we ain’t got nothin’ ta do wit."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "Like what?" Wick leaned back in his chair, actually looking interested.

"Dey’s holdin’ a funeral in Manhattan fer one a Cowboy’s goils in a few days." Silently, he begged Bethany’s forgiveness. He’d barely known her as a friend of Lazy’s, but . . .

"One a’ Cowboy’s goils kicked da bucket?" Berto perked up.

Luke exhaled a stream of smoke, thoughtfully.

"Bethany," Four Eyes replied expressionlessly. "Pneumonia."

Wick continued to watch him. "Conlon’s attendin’, you’re sayin’?"

"’E would," Luke mused. "’E’s good friends wit Kelly."

"Ask Cain about ‘er," Four Eyes replied.

Berto opened his mouth to do so and appeared to notice Cain’s absence for the first time. He stood up and left purposefully.

"Small window a’ opportunity den, wouldn’t ya say?" Luke murmured, barely acknowledging his brother’s departure.

Wick shook his head. "Conlon ain’t da type ta hang around a funeral more den necessary. He’ll go, pay ‘is respects, an’ come straight back. An’ ya know he’ll hurry back wit da likes a’ us hangin’ around. I don’t know if I’ll have enough time."

Da likes a’ us.

"I don’t rush me woik, Forlani," Wick continued. "I did it once, wit dat Villaflores goil, an’ me job wasn’t completed." Luke frowned at him. "I’m a perfectionist," Mauvais pressed. "T’ree hours."

"Ya don’t t’ink it’ll take t’ree hours ta go from Brooklyn ta Manhattan ta a funeral an’ back again?"

"Not da way Conlon woiks. An’ if it’s in Kelly’s territory, it ain’t dat far across da bridge." He turned to Four Eyes. "Ya know wheah dey’s buryin’ her?"

Cain sauntered into the room, oblivious to being forty minutes late. "Who died?" He sat down and lit one of the cigars Berto had left.

"Some bitch called Bethany," Wick replied flippantly, still looking at Four Eyes.

"All Saints’," he answered quietly. At least this way there would be no ambushes or abductions of innocents. He flinched inwardly. No more, that is.

Cain snorted, then choked on the cigar smoke. "No kiddin’?" he laughed. "Ain’t dat justice." He looked around the table, pleased. "How’d dat happen?" he asked, eager for details on the death of the girl who’d gotten him thrown out of Manhattan for the second time.

"Ya know ‘er, Monroe?" Wick raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, made da liddle tramp’s acquaintance once. Unfortunately."

Mauvais smiled slowly. "Well, den, maybe you should go ta her funeral, Monroe. Keep an’ eye on t’ings dere. Whaddaya say, Luke?"

Forlani smiled, just barely. "How well did ya know ‘er, Monroe?"

"Not well enough," Cain snorted. "How’d she die?" he repeated.

"Pneumonia," Four Eyes replied. "She’s bein’ buried in All Saints’ Cemetery."

"Has merit, though," Luke continued, frowning. "Him showin’ up would cause jus’ da distraction we’d need ta keep Conlon in Manhattan longa."

"’Ey! Ya tryin’ ta get me killed heah?" Cain protested. "Only pneumonia? D*mn."

Wick smirked at him. "Ya t’ink you an’ a few boys could put up half a hour’s woith a’ trouble on da island?"

He sighed. "S’pose." He began to brighten then, seeing a new opportunity for revenge, no doubt. Four Eyes would have been disgusted if he’d been able to silence the voice that kept reminding him he was no better. He watched Luke who was still frowning thoughtfully.

"When’s da funeral?" Forlani finally asked.

"Saturday." Four Eyes paused for a moment, almost wishing he dared lie. "Two, I t’ink." He watched a sly grin start across Luke’s face and reflected that he really was much too good at this sort of thing. I gots a natural talent fer treachery, he thought disgustedly.

Wick nodded. "Dey’d get back at dusk. Dat’ll work."

"How much damage can ya do?" Cain asked eagerly. "Enough ta take down da whole house?"

"I could take down da d*mn block if ya wanted it," Wick replied, contentedly.

Cain grinned. "Yeah?"

"Not da whole block, Mauvais," Luke cut it, coldly. "Jus’ da house."

"Only if necessary, though," Wick amended stiffly.

"Just. Da. House," Luke repeated calmly, but firmly.

"Wasn’t plannin’ on it."

Cain looked crestfallen. "Aww, why? Take down half da block, show ‘em who’s boss."

Wick snickered. "When dey sees da big boom on Long Island, dey’ll know, Monroe."

"Boss of what?" Four Eyes murmured quietly. "Ashes, by dat point."

Ferret cocked an eyebrow at him.

"An’ have ev’ry cop in da state lookin’ fer us," Luke continued. "No. Just da house. No big explosion, jus’ a fire."

Wick swore, disappointed. Luke raised his eyebrows. "Why don’t we send ‘em a message?" Mauvais said. "Only da newsies’ll know it was us. Da cops won’t figger it out."

"Message, right," Cain chuckled. "We’se good at dat."

Four Eyes’ stomach turned.

"Da cops won’t care," Wick persisted. "Jus’ a bunch a’ no good rats dat pollute da place anyways." He smiled menacingly at Four Eyes, then turned to Luke. "Speakin’ a’ ashes, can we get rid a’ da Villaflores goil? She’s still da one dat got away."

Villaflores girl? He didn’t know that story, did he? Wait. Yes. A Harlem girl, the object of Mess Anthony’s devotion, those two being the only ‘business’ Wick Mauvais had ever failed to complete.

"Be my guest." Luke waved a hand, unconcerned, then stopped. "No. She ain’t yer concoin no more, Mauvais."

"Whatevah," Wick frowned in disappointment.

"Latah, maybe," Luke said calmly.

Cain smirked. "Speakin’ a’ goils . . ."

Four Eyes looked at him, keeping himself from tensing by sheer force of will. To his right, Wick raised his eyebrows, smirking himself.

"Fergit it, Monroe."

"I was jus’ gonna say we oughta get rid of ‘er. She’s a liability. If ya ain’t gonna do nothin’ useful wit ‘er . . ." Cain shrugged.

"She’s useful ta me," Luke said coldly.

Ruby.

"Havin’ ‘er heah is dangerous. We need ta get rid a’ ‘er."

Forlani leaned back and folded his arms dangerously. "An’ what do you suggest?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Wick shifted. "Ya t’ink Callahan’s plannin’ anyt’ing?" he asked, trying to ease the tension. "Ya gotta imagine he wants ta get ‘er back, bein’ da peace-keeper dat he is."

Cain shrugged. "Dere’s a big ol’ rivah out dere, ya know?" He glanced at Wick. "Yeah, we don’t need da extra . . . agr – uh – agrav’tion."

Four Eyes watched, not daring to comment, or even to appear to have an opinion.

Luke leaned forward. "Ain’t none a’ yer business, Monroe," he warned quietly, "so keep yer nose outta it."

"I don’t like Gallagher," Wick commented. "But I’ll give ‘er dis. She’s got willpowah. Ain’t much chance a rivah’s gonna hold ‘er back." He smirked and nodded to Forlani. "Like Luke an’ a knife wound."

Luke flicked him a glance and smirked slightly in reply. "I don’t imagine Cain was suggestin’ jus’ tossin’ ‘er in da rivah."

"More like a final restin’ place," Monroe agreed. He shrugged. "Fine, whatevah. But somebody’s gonna come lookin’ fer ‘er eventually." He raised an eyebrow. "Whadda you t’ink, O’Malley? Keep ‘er or get rid a’ ‘er?"

Four Eyes exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. Anything he said would be suspect. Returning Ruby to Harlem was not a viable option, and he didn’t dare dodge the question anymore than he dared show a bias. Wick mumbled something and snickered, but he didn’t catch it.

"Well?" Cain smirked.

Ferret observed with sharp eyes and a faint tugging at the corner of his mouth. Four Eyes’ stomach revolted, but his face showed no sign of it.

At last, he shrugged. "Unless I’se missin’ somet’ing, neidda’s much help." He paused and nodded to Luke. "But I can’t read minds."

Cain frowned at the answer.

The room seemed to grow noticeably colder as Luke looked around the table at each of them. Deliberately, he said, "She ain’t none a’ yer business. None a’ ya." He stood. "Now, if ya’ll excuse me, da lady’s waitin’ fer me."

Cain rolled his eyes and the other three nodded easily, but there was silence as Luke left the room. After a moment, Wick turned thoughtful. "I need a blueprint a’ da whole house," he mused.

"Wheah ya gonna get dat?" Cain wondered, as Ferret raised his eyebrows.

Mauvais shook his head, produced a pen and several small sheets of paper and began writing. "Dunno. I need da whole d*mn layout," he murmured. "Ev’ryt’ing. Furnaces, if dey’s got ‘em. Pipes, fireplaces . . ."

Four Eyes stood up. Forlani’s eyes were off him – he refused to let his thoughts follow Luke just yet – he wasn’t needed here, and he didn’t think he could wear that blank mask for a minute longer. Ya’ll manage! a voice jeered. Ya always do. Nodding to the three boys left in the room, he walked out the door.

"Wouldn’t ‘e know?" he heard Cain comment. "’E used ta live dere."

As the door swung shut, Wick replied, "Question is, would ‘e give us da right information."

As if I’d have da noive ta lie! Four Eyes laughed bitterly, leaning against the wall for a moment. He turned, glancing down another hallway as he headed for his room. Luke had already passed out of sight. He won’t, he told himself. Not yet. The conversation of a few moments ago had proved that, hadn’t it? He won’t. He reached his room, closed the door and went limp as he dropped the pretense. Be safe. I’m sorry.

It was too late to make another trip to Long Island that night. Runner was probably in Harlem by now anyway. It was late. He ought to sleep, he’d certainly had far too little rest in past days. If he could sleep without nightmares, without having to wake up to this again . . . Stop feelin’ sorry fer yaself, O’Malley! he ordered. You ain’t da victim heah.
 
 

Ruby pulled him down to sit next to her. "Luke’s plannin’ ta burn down da lodgin’ house sometime real soon, he didn’t say when though. An’ he’s got some kinda plan ta send Spot to da refuge."

He stared at Ruby’s flushed face. She didn’t even know who she was talking to. Boin down da lodgin’ house. "He tell ya dis?" he asked.

She nodded, eyes sparkling. "Yeah. Jus’ now – braggin’."
 
 

Burn down the lodging house and leave the boys with no place to go and no leader to unite them. Four Eyes lay awake in bed long after Ruby had left. A simple plan with no one harmed. He shoved the memory of his single month long stay in the Refuge to the back of his mind. The decision was already made, after all.

There was a creak from the window and Bastian climbed inside, swearing cheerfully under his breath. Four Eyes raised his head. "Find Flip a place?"

"Yeah," Bastian sank into his own bed. "Anyt’ing excitin’ happen while I was away?" he joked. "Forlani get struck by lightenin’ or any odder acts a’ God?"

He laughed quietly. "Naw. Nothin’."
 
 

"Heya." Four Eyes sat down on the blue trunk in the corner, stretched out his legs and smiled.

"Hey," Bastian replied.

Four Eyes blinked at the tone. He stood up. "What’s wrong?"

"Tawked ta Spot." Four Eyes glanced automatically at the door, then back at his friend, forcing calm on himself. Something was coming . . . "Flip said somethin’ about da Refuge an’ a fire, an’ he was wonderin’ why he ain’t hoid earlier."

His ears filled with a sound that might have been the roof caving in. He swallowed, controlled his expression and did not reply.

"Ya ain’t even gonna try ta explain?" Bastian exclaimed with disbelief.

Four Eyes glanced away. "Ain’t nothin’ ta explain."

Bastian’s face darkened. "Ya sayin’ Ruby didn’t tell ya?"

"She told me."

It wasn’t as if he could offer an excuse. For that matter, he hadn’t actually done anything . . .

Silence settled in. When it had lasted long enough to build an unscalable wall, Bastian turned away to pace the tiny room. "Ya ain’t scared – ya don’t scare." He stated a fact. Four Eyes watched him. "Forlani ain’t got nothin’ on ya. Ya’s da cleanest poison I know." He didn’t bother to point out the illogic of that. It was, after all, true. "An’ it ain’t a matta a’ not havin’ a chance ‘cuz ya d*mn well coulda told me." He stopped.

"Dere’s money in it," Four Eyes replied impassively.

Bastian’s fists clenched. Past the anger, past the contempt, lay a disappointment Four Eyes refused to acknowledge. He stared back. "An’ how much ya told him?"

He answered the meaning, rather than the words. "Ya’d be dead now if I had." Another simple fact.

"Waitin’ fer a higher price?" Four Eyes refused to react. "You-" They stared at one another. Bastian unballed his fists with disgust. "I don’t wanna get me hands dat dirty."

Silence. The wall grew taller.

"Ya done wit me?" he asked at last.

"I hope so."
 
 

Four Eyes looked up as the morning sun invaded his room. He’d never expected forgiveness from his best friend, but – it suddenly occurred to him – he’d never asked.
 
 

Ferret was watching him. Four Eyes knew perfectly well that neither Wick nor Luke trusted him out of their sights, and Berto disliked him on general principle – He stretched at the thought, several joints popping into place – Cain could be counted upon for pure obliviousness, but Ferret bothered him.

Saturday. That gave him four days to warn Brooklyn. Four days to make a counterplan and four days to get Ruby out of harm’s way. He flinched automatically.

With present preparations a trip to Long Island was out of the question. No matter how he covered it, he’d be missed if he were gone that long. The Queens lodging house was closest, but he doubted he could find anyone there willing to listen to him. Besides, they’d been shut up as tightly as clams since Berto started showing an interest in Birdie’s second-in-command, Faith. Doze might, and Splints would feel honor-bound to, but the Bronx was as far as the Long Island house. On the other hand . . .
 
 

"Dove," he called quietly. Parker looked up and opened his mouth. "Gimme half a’ minute ‘fore ya soak me," he interrupted. "I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important."

"I’ll give ya more dan dat, if ya’s gonna explain," Dove replied, wary, but open.

Four Eyes winced. He hadn’t known what he would do if he failed at getting Dove to trust him. He was even less prepared for success. "Ain’t nothin’ ta explain. It’s exactly what it looks like."

"Ruby?"

He seemed to remember a similar conversation. "She’s alive," he said quietly. "He only touched ‘er da once." Strict honesty forced him to add, "Far as I know. I’ll-" He cut himself off angrily. "She’s afraid he’ll go afta da odder goils."

"He ain’t gettin’ in dere again," Dove replied, brown eyes cold. Four Eyes looked at him, startled. What had happened that he hadn’t been told? "What else?" the younger boy asked, returning from his thoughts. Immediately, Four Eyes averted his eyes.

"Luke’s gonna try ta boin down da lodgin’ house. He’s havin’ Wick set a trap durin’ da funeral in Manhattan on Saturday."

Dat’s an’ old fav’rite. Parker didn’t say it. The voice in his mind didn’t even belong to Dove, but Four Eyes could not ignore the truth of it.

"Saturday," Dove repeated. "Spot’s gonna wanna heah it from you."

A coise ‘e will. Four Eyes shrugged, eyes on the street. "If Ruby-" Once again, he stopped himself. He was no hero and refused to pretend to be one. "I gotta get back," he muttered.

Dove frowned. "I’ll try."
 
 

He didn’t return to the warehouse immediately. He’d made up his mind that morning to make a certain visit. Who knew what would happen in the next few days? In all likelihood, it would be his only chance. I – He took a deep breath. I know we ain’t had much ta say ta each odder fer awhile, but I – Even imagining the conversation was difficult. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . ." The words poured out of him like tears. "I’m sorry . . ."
 
 

Wheah to now? It hit him rather abruptly as he left the lodging house that he’d burned all his bridges. If Luke learned what he’d just done, all the fast talking in the world wouldn’t get him out of it, and he refused to ask Spot to let him back.

Gingerly, he touched his swelling nose. Definitely broken. Well, he’d deserved worse. Maybe Spot hadn’t wanted to dirty his hands. He flinched at the thought, and socked an available fence. All that did was relieve him of the skin on his knuckles. Four Eyes regarded the hand and sighed, unsure whether his anger was directed at Spot, Bastian, or himself and unwilling to probe his feelings deeply enough to find out. He was gradually becoming aware that he’d lost his best friend in the midst of this mess.

Fer what? An’ would ya even be t’inkin’ dis if ya’d gotten away wit it?

But it wouldn’t have been like that . . .

Dey’d’a broken Spot out. An’ ya t’ink anybody dat loyal ta Conlon woulda let it go? An’ whaddaya t’ink Luke – He tried to silence the thought, but it forced its way through. Ya ain’t dat naïve, O’Malley!

Wheah were you two weeks ago? he shot back at his conscience.

Bein’ ignored. It’s a lot easier ta lissen when nobody else’ll tawk ta ya, ain’t it?

Wheah to? he repeated, then looked up from his thoughts to find himself exactly where he belonged.

Four Eyes climbed the stairs. He’d left his things in his room. He might as well collect them. He’d need something to start with, wherever he went. Money didn’t grow on trees – or get handed out by smiling bastards who only asked you to betray your best friends. Naw, ya made dat choice all on yer own.
 
 

He’d gone back. He’d waited. He’d seen it through. Just like he was doing now. Four Eyes looked up from his cards to Ferret’s eyes with a bored expression and bet another ten cents.
 
 

Yer lucky as heck, O’Malley, he reflected, taking a gulp of chill air after the game. It was almost funny, really. Yer lucky as heck, ya’s clever an’ ya gots a great poker face. An’ look wheah it got ya – da top a’ da world. Laughter interrupted the night’s stillness.

"Four Eyes."

That voice did not belong to any of Luke’s crew. Four Eyes scanned the shadows for listening ears as Dove emerged. He waited uncertainly. "Four Eyes?" Dove repeated.

"Yeah."

"Can you get ta Ruby?" Dove asked. "We can give ya a pretty good distraction, but it ain’t gonna quiet when we goes in."

Startled, but trying not to show it, Four Eyes asked, "We?" Brooklyn, naturally. Stupid question.

"We. Brooklyn, da Bronx, Harlem an’ a few odders."

It was less vague an answer than Four Eyes expected. Apparently Dove, at least, trusted him enough to share that much information. In the lamplight, his face flushed. Still – "Now?"

"Now," Dove confirmed.

They’d taken no chances on him until the last minute, then, to limit the potential for betrayal. Everyone had learned in three years, it seemed. He sighed. "I can get ya in-"

Dove shook his head. "It’d be dat much harder. Ya’s got a reason ta be dere. None a’ us do."

Four Eyes winced. He did, at that. Bastard. I can’t face her! he protested. He hesitated until Dove shoved him away and turned to go. Dis ain’t da time. It was harder to obtain the key this time. It was earlier and more people were awake and about. Ferret, in particular, seemed to have a rodent’s ability to turn up everywhere he was least wanted. Four Eyes knew the Jersey boy had been suspicious of him lately. Well, if I’se caught . . . He stopped. If he was caught, Ruby would have no chance at all. That was reason enough to take care.
 
 

"Ruby?" he called tentatively, opening the door. The only answer was a startled jerk in the corner. Four Eyes held his breath. What had he done to her? Ruby didn’t seem to be hurt when he helped her to her feet, however, only weak and frightened. "Da fellas are comin’," he mumbled, searching for something to keep her warm and turning up a thin blanket.

"What – what do ya mean?" she whispered, tensing. He cursed himself. Of course she wouldn’t know.

"Brooklyn," he answered, quietly. "An’ Harlem, an’ da Bronx. Ta get ya out." He tried to put reassurance in his voice. Trust me dis one time, he would not let himself plead. Why should she? Wrapping the blanket around her, he moved to get the door – and stopped.

"O’Malley." Luke’s voice was laden with mocking disappointment. "What did I tell ya about odder people’s goils?"

In a hand to hand fight, Four Eyes might have been able to distract Luke long enough for Ruby to get clear of the room, but no one he knew could have beaten the pistol in Luke’s hand. He shoved Ruby behind him, knowing it was a useless gesture, even as he did it.

"I hoped ya was smarter den dat," Luke chided, clearly enjoying the control the gun gave him over the situation. It was, Four Eyes thought, the kind of situation that turned some people instantly and devoutly religious. He would have prayed if he’d thought it would do any good.

"Give ‘er ta me an’ ya can go." Luke couldn’t have expected him to believe that. Den again, he might. But if he turned Ruby over, he wouldn’t hafta kill me. I’d do it meself. Luke cocked his head, slightly. "Sounds like da cavalry’s heah." Four Eyes could hear it, as well. The growing sounds of a fight somewhere beyond the room. But that room was all that mattered at the moment. He’s gonna kill me an’ den he’s gonna kill Ruby. He would stand there until Luke shot him, but once he was dead there would be no one to protect her. Four Eyes stared at the gun. As much as he expected it, the prospect still frightened him. The thought of Luke’s plans for Ruby just frightened him more. "Not much time now."

Under his arm, Ruby strained against his grip on her wrist. He longed to argue with her and refused to. She had people worrying about her, things to do. Da only t’ing I can do woith doin’ is die an’ even dat . . . The injustice of life was not something Four Eyes spent much time complaining about; he’d certainly brought this on himself, but . . .

Luke’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t be as stupid as Bastian." A bullet would have been less painful. Four Eyes shook from head to toe, but his grip remained steady. If anything, it tightened. Forlani smirked. "She ain’t woith dyin’ for." That didn’t even deserve acknowledgement.

People about to die were supposed to be calm, accepting, at peace. They must also, Four Eyes decided, be extremely drunk. "Suit yaself." Luke shrugged.

There was a click.

It took Luke’s disbelieving expression for Four Eyes to realize that something had gone wrong – or horribly, wonderfully right. Shoving Ruby aside, he launched himself at Luke before Forlani could fix whatever had gone wrong.

He wasn’t prepared for this kind of fight. He could defend himself as well as any Brooklynite had to, but he’d never been great and he was hardly in shape at the moment. He supposed desperation counted for something, but that only went so far.

The clamor outside the room had grown more and more immediate and finally spilled through the door in a mass of violence. Four Eyes shouted for someone to help Ruby, but even he couldn’t have said who.

"C’mon, princess," he heard between punches. "Let’s get you back ta Harlem."

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He need keep this up only a bit longer. Only until Ruby was safe – in his relief at hearing Mess’ voice, Four Eyes let down his guard and a blow knocked him headfirst into the wall. Luckily, the boys now filling the room wanted their own chances at Forlani. He retained enough sense as he abandoned the fight to find it ironic that the boy who had taken his place fighting Luke was Spot.
 
 

It seemed to be understood that he was returning to the Bronx. Souther had taken it for granted, though he hadn’t seen Splints to confirm it.

"He an’ Mess are seein’ Ruby back," Doze murmured, sitting down next to him.

Four Eyes shot a wary look at his friend.

"An’ may I say," Doze grinned, oblivious of a nasty cut on his chin, "Dat you look like h*ll."

Even Doze couldn’t win a smile out of him right now. "T’anks," he replied automatically, unable even to summon sarcasm. The description was probably accurate. Luke had not been gentle, and he was still recovering from the fight with Berto. Besides, he could count the hours of sleep he’d had in the last month on one hand.

Doze frowned. "Ya aw right?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Ya said Ruby’s safe?"

"She’s fine. Prob’ly back in Harlem by now." He nodded vaguely.

"Hey!" called Souther. "C’mon."

Four Eyes stood to follow. Somewhere, somehow, it seemed to make sense.

"Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, O’Malley," said a calm voice.

He turned.

"Ain’t no need, Spot," Souther said quietly.

Four Eyes shook his head at him. "It’s aw right." He looked back at the Brooklyn leader, without fear, without anger, without feeling. He didn’t know if he was still capable of feeling.

Spot tapped the handle of his cane, blue eyes unreadable. "I seem ta owe you a soakin’," he remarked conversationally.

Four Eyes braced himself. "Doubt ya’s in any betta shape fer it dan I am," he replied, uncertain where this was leading and unable to care much in any case.

"I don’t usually welch a debt," Spot mused, holding his gaze.

He wet his lips, trying to look away. "Well, seein’ as I owe ya a few . . ."

"Such as?" Spot’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

He managed to pull his eyes away and focus them somewhere across the street. "An apology."

The Brooklyn leader regarded him from beneath lowered lids for a moment. Easily, he stuck the cane through his belt and crossed his arms. "Poisonally, I was t’inkin’ a’ callin’ t’ings even. If ya’s willin’."

"I’se willin’," Four Eyes managed, returning his gaze to Spot’s eyes, still not sure what to think.

"Den we’se even."
 
 

Although, I wouldn’t go askin’ any favors, he qualified, walking through the streets of Queens. He wasn’t sure how to respond to the unlooked for gift. Even. Was that possible? It ain’t nevah even. Da scar’s still dere. Da grave’s still dere. He wasn’t quite dead. Guilt still lurked beneath exhaustion.

"Trolley!" Doze called, distracting him. Four Eyes looked up, took hold of a railing and jumped aboard. He landed with a jolt that inspired protests from every one of his muscles. I am gonna ache tamorrow.
 
 

Brendan was sitting at the front desk, arms crossed, when the boys returned. With shamefaced grins at him, they filed through the lobby. The landlord did not comment, but waited until the last boy had trailed in to seek his bed. Shoe snarled evilly and was disregarded.

Four Eyes let himself drift upstairs with the others. "Didja see dat?" whispered the irrepressible Corks. "Now tell me dat ain’t . . ."

"Quit yer boastin’, awready! We all know how ya took down Luke single-handed," replied his twin sarcastically.

"Bet yer jus’ itchin’ ta show off yer scars ta Sideline."

"Aw, shaddup . . ."

"Gotta admit, Keyseear," someone else murmured in the darkness. "Din’t t’ink ya had it in ya."

"Enough wit da short comments!"

"Wheah’s Splints?" Bouncer asked anxiously.

"He’s fine, kid. Jus’ stopped in Harlem."

"Man, my bones ache . . ."

Four Eyes took his old bunk automatically. No one had claimed it in the time he’d been gone. That was – kind of them. It didn’t seem real. It was over. It was over and, miracle of miracles, he seemed to have survived it.

So what now?
 
 

"All right, boys," Brendan called from the doorway. "I don’t know what you were up to last night and I don’t want to know, but there’s still papers to be sold."

Groans answered him.

"Aw, Brendan!"

"Ev’ryone dat t’inks da heroes should get da day free?"

"Heah, heah!"

Despite their grumbles, the boys slid out of bed and began their morning ablutions.

"Look at dat!" Doze cried from the washroom. "Me poifect face! Dat bum!"

"Look at it dis way," one of the other boys laughed, "What betta’ way ta get sympathy from da ladies?"

"Shoa’ll ya find somebody ta kiss an’ make it betta’, Doze," Eagle agreed.

"I might at dat," he replied cheerfully.

"Hey, Dunromin, what kept you out so late, anyways? We was da ones doin’ all da woik!"

"Ya wasn’t in Harlem all dat time, was ya?" Corks put in, knowingly.

Splints waved a hand at the hecklers.

Four Eyes could barely move. As expected, there wasn’t a single muscle not protesting the abuse he’d put it through lately. At his first movement, a lead weight dropped on his chest. With chagrin, he realized it was only Splints’ hand. He didn’t seem to have any strength left in him. "Sleep in," the Bronx leader ordered.

He couldn’t protest.

"We’ll tawk latah if ya’s set on it." Splints paused. "An’ Ruby’s fine."

Four Eyes turned grateful eyes on the boy and allowed the darkness to tug him gently back. He awoke, yawning, sometime around midday. The sun lent the room a cold light. He barely had time to wonder why, with all the sleeping he’d done that day, he still lacked the strength to lift a finger before sleep claimed him again.

Brendan was leaning over him, frowning, the next time he opened his eyes. "I’se gettin’ sick?" he asked the landlord. A rhetorical question to start, it came out in a hoarse whisper. Brendan nodded, still frowning. "Sorry," he said weakly. Somehow, he still managed to be trouble for everyone. But then it didn’t really matter.

The landlord rolled his eyes heavenward. "Apologize to yourself." He stood up, with a slight smile. "That’s another day you won’t be selling."

Four Eyes found that he actually had some energy now, enough that he couldn’t return to sleep. He glanced at the window and saw dusk creeping in the room. Brendan turned on the fitful electric lights, then lit a lamp and placed it on the dresser just in case. "The boys will be back soon," he said. "You can get up, but don’t go far."

Four Eyes was not entirely sure whether he wanted to be awake to face his friends, but he tested his legs, anyway, and found they would carry him to the washroom. After a moment, he realized that he was penniless. His money, all his possessions, were back in Scythe’s warehouse in Queens. He didn’t think he could face returning there.

"Hey, O’Malley," Cap called. "Company!"

He tensed as Mess Anthony followed Golden into the bunkroom. Sympathy flashed across the Harlem newsy’s face as he sat down on Bouncer’s bunk. "I’se under orders from a lady ta see how ya are," Mess said, smiling slightly.

Four Eyes tensed further. "She’s aw right?" he asked the blankets.

"Good as evah. Jus’ worried about you." Once again, along with amusement, he caught a tinge of sympathy in Mess’ voice. Anthony had a talent of his own for making enemies. Four Eyes had still been in Brooklyn when he and his friend Sham managed to make themselves unwelcome there through a rigged game of poker. It wasn’t until half a year later that – his face heated.

"Ain’t no reason ta be." Worried about him? Good God, why?
 
 

Four Eyes continued to stare at his hands after Mess’ departure. He was actually aware of a faint feeling of gladness, of relief, but it was too uncertain. Everything could still come crashing down any minute. Besides, his conscience whispered, what right had he to be glad? After everything he’d done? After everything that had gone wrong?
 
 

The attic was still the best place to be alone. The cold and dust probably didn’t help his health, but he still didn’t feel comfortable with the other boys.

Behind him, a throat cleared. "Ya should be in bed."

"Splints." Dunromin sat down across from him. Four Eyes waited, but Splints was silent. "Ya wanna tawk?" he finally asked.

"T’ought you might."

Four Eyes concentrated on the dust-covered floor. "Nothin’ I done gots anyt’ing ta do wit you." He flinched inwardly at his own words.

Splints sighed. "Ya’s good at dat, ya know?" Four Eyes looked up in question. "Readin’ people. Ya oughta try yaself sometime."

"I can," he replied, glancing away again. "Jus’ ain’t too fond a’ what I see."

"Ya done yer best outta a big mistake."

"It ain’t da same, Splints. I wasn’t tryin’ ta do right. Ain’t no excuse fer me." There was a pause filled, no doubt, with memories of Splints’ fight with Clay. Four Eyes cursed himself without energy for the comment.

"Ya made up fer it."

"You tell me if dat’s possible." He’d done it once. He done worse than a tactless comment. What did it really matter?

Splints drew breath, audibly. "Bastian ain’t yer fault-"

"It mighta happened anyways," Four Eyes interrupted, trying to keep his voice from shaking too much. "But it wouldn’t’a happened dat way." Give it up, awready!

"An’ dere wouldn’t’a been nobody ta save Ruby."

Four Eyes clenched a hand, massaging the palm involuntarily. He’d done quite the job of that. But it wouldn’t’a happened dat way. It wouldn’t’a happened.

Splints sighed at his silence and stood. "At least go back ta bed. Don’t make yaself sicker." Obediently, Four Eyes stood and returned to the bunkroom.
 
 

He wasn’t, Four Eyes thought rebelliously, even sick enough to forget about his problems. All the next two days’ enforced rest did was give him more time to think.

Dis is ridiculous! The other newsies were bewildered. Forlani was firmly behind bars along with the better part of his gang, even if Berto had managed to escape the police yet again. Ruby was safely back in Harlem, and Spot had extended his tacit forgiveness for possibly the first time in history. Four Eyes was the hero of the hour and didn’t seem to give a d*mn about it.

Brendan interrupted his thoughts long enough to carry in a bowl of soup. Four Eyes avoided his eyes, fixing his gaze instead on Shoe who had followed to investigate the smells drifting from the bowl.

"A few of the boys are stopping by. Morning papers are gone." He nodded vaguely, still not meeting the landlord’s eyes as Brendan left the room. What had he done to be waited on? Hero? He’d finished what he started. And he hadn’t even managed that without hurting everyone. Most of the Bronx boys sustained bruises from the fight. Harlem, by reports, was wavering between hysterical relief and paranoia. He’d stood by and watched while Ruby was a prisoner, and Bastian had died still thinking . . .

There was no one in the room from whom to hide his face, but he felt the urge to all the same.

He’d heard all the arguments Splints, Doze and Souther could muster between them. Lazy had even come by to tell him, in her most tactful manner, that he was being an idiot. Intellectually, he could see all their points. That didn’t make him feel any less guilty.

Neglected, the soup cooled in its bowl. Unable to stomach anything, Four Eyes climbed out of bed and crossed to the window. It was too much. With Luke in jail – it should be over. He was supposed to be dead now. He’d be free from his memories. Coward.

"Hey," whispered a voice behind him.

No. Four Eyes spun around fast enough for his light head to protest dizzily. "Ruby." His eyes darted around the room, hopelessly. It was empty except for them.

She left the doorway and crossed to him. "How are ya?"

"Aw right," he whispered, back to the window.

Ruby hesitated. "I jus’ came by ta say thank you." Don’t. "And to say I’m sorry."

Sorry? He searched her green eyes. "What for?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Fer not believin’ in you, fer thinkin’ that ya’d joined Luke ‘cause ya wanted to. I should have known betta."

Dan what? Why? His chest knotted. What reason had he given her? He shook his head.

"Dat’s twice now ya’s saved me life, ya know." Four Eyes couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. "An’ I realized I nevah thanked ya fer da foist time."

To be thanked for . . . She might as well have slapped him. He swallowed. "Ruby-" he begged.

"Anyway, thank you," she smiled.

He shook his head, the window sill pressing into his back. The hand Luke had cut was still wrapped in bandages. Ruby followed his gaze. "I think savin’ me life kinda cancels ev’rythin’ else out," she said gently. As if that were possible. He’d rather she cry, yell, write him off. It would hurt less.

"I t’ought ya might want dese back." Ruby held out a pair of spectacles. Numbly, Four Eyes took them. He turned them over, taking in both clear unbroken lenses. "Noah, in Queens, wears glasses too, an’ ‘e gets ‘em fixed real cheap, someone ‘e knows." He hardly dared put them on for fear of staining the new lens with tears. Of all people, of all things . . . "I guess I’ll see ya round."

He looked up. She was leaving. Suddenly, he didn’t want her to go. There had to be something he could say first . . . "Me own stupidity," he whispered, straining for a light tone. "Ya din’t hafta." He gestured vaguely at the glasses, but meant far more than that.

Ruby stilled her movement at his first words. "It was the least I could do."

For once, he didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the words and listened to her voice. He knew that tone. There would be no saving the glasses now. He shook. She couldn’t . . . he wasn’t . . . of all people . . .

"Heya – Sorry!" Doze began to back out of the room, a suspicious grin on his face. Taking advantage of the distraction, Four Eyes fled for the washroom.
 
 

He collapsed on the floor behind the washroom door. How could she – she couldn’t – He’d done so much . . .

The door opened. "Four Eyes-" Doze dropped the doorknob, searching for a moment before thinking to look down. He shut the door and knelt down. "Dat ain’t no way ta act when ya gots a lady caller," he tried to tease. When he received no answer, he sighed. "What happened? Ruby jus’-"

He shook his head desperately. She can’t! I ain’t – It’s jus’ Bastian! It’s jus’ – it’s gotta be!

"What is?" Doze demanded, frustrated. D*mn this fever! He hadn’t meant to speak. "She didn’t say anyt’ing ta-" Doze began to rise to his feet angrily.

"No!" he gasped. "She din’t-" It had to be Bastian. Lord knew, he’d done nothing to – Ruby was just seeing Bastian and her own guilt. There couldn’t possibly be anything in him . . . Why? He was a mess! He didn’t even have a sense of himself to offer. Why . . . "I’m sorry," he whispered into his hands. "I’m sorry. Don’t . . ."

Doze swore and stood up. Four Eyes heard him slam a fist against the door before kneeling down again. "Come on." Four Eyes didn’t move, and he sighed in exasperation. "You-" Doze sighed again and left him alone.

He finally returned to the bunkroom to find an empty bowl on his nightstand and a smug Shoe curled up on his pillow.
 
 

Four Eyes studied his cards. A six of spades, a six of hearts, a ten of diamonds, a ten of hearts and a jack of clubs. Two pair, and he still had a chance to draw. And this was the pressing concern of the evening! Cain shifted restlessly, scowling at his hand. Wick’s blue eyes gave nothing away, and Ferret appeared far more interested in his fellow players than his cards. Neither Forlani was present. Berto had some business with Scythe – what, Four Eyes couldn’t guess, although he was sure it meant unpleasantness for someone – and Luke was with Ruby.

Poker, he reminded himself firmly. He traded his jack and drew a six of diamonds. Luke was with Ruby. He wouldn’t touch her. He hadn’t yet . . . Four Eyes faced the accusation that triggered. But he hadn’t. Not really. Not when he could do so much worse. I shoulda gotten ‘er out when I had da chance. What else was he here for, for goodness’ sake? She wouldn’t go – but he should have . . . somehow . . . After everything . . .

His knife – he could have at least given her the knife to protect herself. Lord knew, it had been no use to him. Why hadn’t he thought – Luke was there now. Who knew what Forlani would do to her. He had to get it to her. ‘If anyt’ing happens ta her ya’ll know I’se dead.’ If anyt’ing happens ta her . . . He ought to be dead now. ‘He ain’t gonna touch Ruby . . . ya’ll know . . .’
 
 

"Four Eyes!" Doze was shaking him awake and the boy sounded angry. This impression was reinforced when Four Eyes opened bleary eyes and focused on his friend’s face. "Ya idiot!" Doze sat back stormily when he turned his head.

Bewildered, Four Eyes stared back.

"She’s aw right, ya heah? An’ in case ya ain’t noticed, dat happens ta be yer doin’, an’ if ya even t’ink-"

It was less rationality than fever that led him to patch together his dreams with this tirade. Oh, God. "I was tawkin’," he whispered as the rest of the boys looked on in confusion. Doze’s glare was answer enough. The blood fled his face. Four Eyes buried his face in his pillow. "I – I swore . . ."

"Yeah, well, I swore, too, d*mmit! If ya don’t care ‘bout yaself, Ruby don’t need dat grief! Ya wanna put yer blood on her hands?"

He flinched.

"Doze!" he heard.

"Stay outta dis, Dunromin! An’ you," Doze continued, "is gonna swear right now dat ya’s gettin’ yaself betta. Dat means ya’s gonna eat. Ya’s gonna sleep, an’ not go wanderin’ aroun’ da house an’ aroun’ da city. Ya’s gonna stop wishin’ ya’s dead, or I’se gonna tell Ruby jus’ what you tol’ me when I give ‘er da date a’ yer funeral!"

"Doze!" Cap exclaimed, the clearest of the outraged boys.

"It don’t concoin ya, Golden," Doze said, through clenched teeth, glaring at Four Eyes who had finally raised his head to gape as if Doze had slapped him.

"Ya can’t – ya couldn’t do dat ta her," he whispered harshly.

"Could you?" Doze shot back, crossing his arms.

His breath came short and raggedly, not quite sobs. He turned his face away once more. "Why d’ya t’ink I din’t do it before?" His voice only broke once on the words when they finally came.

"So swear." Doze’s tone brooked no compromise.

A minute passed.

Then another.

The silence stretched out, taut as a heart string.

"Do ya wanna heah me say I can’t?" Four Eyes said, at last, barely audible. "I can’t say it. I can’t promise. I’se awready broken ev’ry one I evah made." He cursed the fever for making him say things he’d never say otherwise, things he could never take back.

Bedsprings groaned as Doze sank down next to him. "Ya’ll keep dis one," he whispered. Four Eyes wondered who was doing the promising.

"I’ll keep it."
 
 

He sat on his bed watching the card game and ignoring the looks Doze kept shooting in his direction. This couldn’t go on. He had to break sometime. He pulled off his glasses. Of all the . . . He was beginning to think he wasn’t capable of breaking. He wished he would. Somehow this had to end. He dodged another searching glance and gripped the spectacles fiercely. He couldn’t break them again; they were her gift. Why?

"I’se tawkin’ ta O’Malley," a voice said tightly. "I ain’t got nothin’ else ta do heah right now."

Four Eyes looked up and replaced his glasses. Fingers, standing stiffly in the doorway, snapped into focus. She scowled back at him. Warily, he joined her. "I don’t like ya," she bit off. "I ain’t nevah gonna like ya, but she does, so ya’s comin’ wit me."

No need to ask who she meant. Four Eyes grabbed the ragged coat Splints had forced on him and followed. The pickpocket turned on her heel and strode back out of the room, forcing him into something near a run.

"What happened?" Fingers strode on, stubbornly silent. "Is she aw right?" She turned briefly to glare at him. A hundred possibilities ran through his mind. Luke had escaped again, somehow. She was hurt, she was sick. She’d . . . "What’s wrong?" he pleaded. "Fingers!"

Fingers came to an abrupt halt and whirled on him. "Don’t you even pretend ta care." Four Eyes opened his mouth to protest the injustice of that, but cut himself off even before the pickpocket continued. It was deserved. "I’se doin’ dis as a favor ta Gallagher, an’ if ya so much as touch ‘er, I’ll kill ya." Presumably, this made sense to Fingers, at least. They continued walking.
 
 

"Stay heah," Fingers ordered when they reached the foyer of the Harlem lodging house. She left him there, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, and stalked up to the newsgirls’ bunkroom. Barely a minute later, she returned, gesturing behind her resentfully. "Go."

Ruby stood in the hallway upstairs. "Fingers, what – Oh. Hey," she said softly. "How are ya feelin’?"

"Aw right," he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Good." She hesitated. "Souther said ya was sick."

Had he? Four Eyes shrugged.

Ruby sighed quietly. "So yer feelin’ betta?"

Four Eyes nodded. Say somethin’ at least! What was there to say? He sighed himself, shifting slightly. He shouldn’t have come; he’d been certain something was horribly wrong.

"I’m glad. I was worried." He flinched. She worried about him. All he could find by way of words was the old stand-by, ‘I’m sorry.’ That would go over well.

Ruby threw up her hands with an explosive sigh. "This is bloody ridiculous! We useta be friends." She reached out and took his hand. "Are ya shoa yer all right? Shouldn’t you be at home in bed?"

"I’m fine," he assured her, pained. Dropping his gaze to their clasped hands, he shrugged again. "I figgered it’d be important if Fingers would come lookin’ fer me," he confessed weakly.

A smile touched Ruby’s voice. "I guess she knew how worried I was."

He looked up, half in plea. "Why?"

The smile disappeared. "I’m allowed ta be worried when me friends are sick, ain’t I?" Ruby retorted.

Friends. He’d betrayed her countless times. He’d watched Luke stab her, let Bastian die, allowed years to pass before even admitting he was wrong – and she called them friends? "I’se-" he cried out in protest, then let the words fade away.

"Would ya cut it out?" she burst out. "Things happened dat ya couldn’t control. Ya did da best ya could, an’ ya saved me an’ Brooklyn in da process! Give yaself a break, love, please."

"I couldn’t’a done anyt’ing else," he begged her to understand. I can’t bring ‘im back ta life. Ain’t nothin’ evah gonna make up fer dat. Doing what he should be doing shouldn’t earn him praise, especially not when . . . "It ain’t bravery when . . ." He cut himself off again. He couldn’t say that to her. It ain’t bravery when ya’s half hopin’ he’ll kill ya anyways. Ya gotta have somethin’ ta lose ta make it a risk.

"Stop it! Please, jus’ stop it!"

What could he do? Stupid . . . bastard . . . idiot . . .

"Sugar, it wasn’t yer fault. Stop punishin’ yaself fer what odder people do."

"If it’d stop matterin’ ta ya . . ." he whispered desperately. But if it stopped mattering to her, he’d die.

"It ain’t gonna stop matterin’ ta me because yer not gonna stop matterin’ ta me!" Ruby shot back in frustration.

I ain’t Bastian! He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He’d never intended – Ruby swayed as if he’d hit her.

"I nevah said ya was," she whispered, wounded. "I think," she said deliberately, "Ya should go now. I’m glad yer feelin’ betta."

"I-" His mouth worked. "I’m sorry," he whispered, appalled. "I’m sorry . . ." He backed away until he reached the top of the stairs, then turned and bolted.
 
 

You – The things he was capable of shocked himself. He hadn’t thought – Obviously. He sank down on the snow-covered steps. Bastard! Maybe she’d finally realized he wasn’t worth her time.

But I don’t want her to!

He covered his face with his hands. What he wanted was to hold her away from anything that could ever hurt her, but he always seemed to be the one hurting her.

Yet another gift he’d thrown away. Despair crept up on him again. Four Eyes cursed it and cursed himself and cursed whatever fate refused to allow him to die. His knife had mysteriously gone missing. Doze, he suspected, but dared not ask. D*mmit! All ya do is feel sorry fer yaself! If only he could silence his own thoughts.

Doze was sitting up in bed, waiting, when he finally left the doorstep and climbed inside. "Wheah-"

"Harlem." Four Eyes could hear his surprise in the silence. He crossed to his own bunk.

"What happened?" Doze finally asked.

There were no words for it. "I hoit ‘er. Again."

I ain’t capable a’ anythin’ else! he cried to the nightstand beside the bed. I ain’t anythin’. I ain’t got nothin’ ta give, except pain. It seemed, suddenly, like a brilliantly insightful thought. To offer anything to anyone, he needed something himself.

An’ wheah da heck is dat gonna come from? Four Eyes was not a particularly religious person. He assumed his parents had believed in God, but it was one of the few matters he hadn’t given much thought since the priest pronounced the last rites over their bodies. He raised a tentative, wordless query, then abandoned it. An’ what would God want wit me?

It wasn’t so much the night he hated, as the inevitability of morning.
 
 

What did he think he was doing? Four Eyes took a steadying breath, raised his hand and knocked on the door. It’s past ten – prob’ly more like eleven. What am I doin’ heah? But he’d knocked. He had to go through with it. He had to apologize. The lodging house door had no eyes, but he looked away at the thought anyway. I’m sorry.

A whirl of motion opened the door. Slightly off balance at not recognizing her – Well, who’d ya expect? – Four Eyes stuttered a greeting. "Is Ruby heah?"

"Coise she is," the girl replied with a bright smile. "She’ll be right down, Ty."

He blinked and reddened. "I ain’t – I-" She’s expectin’ somebody. He shook his head, backing up. "It’s prob’ly a bad time."

"Gwenny, love," Four Eyes looked up as Ruby came clattering down the steps with a smile that outshone her friend’s. "I’d invite ya, but yer too-" She halted on the bottom step, smile disappearing. "Oh."

"Dat ain’t a good look on yer face, Ruby," worried her friend, quietly.

It wasn’t at all; Four Eyes stole a look at her and had to look away. He reddened further. I got no business heah.

"It’s all right, love," Ruby replied. "Hey," she said expressionlessly.

"I t’ought ‘e was Ty," fretted the younger girl.

"It’s all right, Gwenny." Pause. "Do ya wanna come in?"

Four Eyes barely heard the question. "I came ta apologize," he replied to the steps. He opened his mouth to add more, then shut it in frustration. There were too many things to say! I din’t mean ta . . .

"It’s all right. Yer fergiven."

He flinched. How many times is ya gonna do dat? How many times is ya gonna let me hoit ya?

"Dat ain’t enough." He swore at himself silently. How many times were they going to have this conversation? "I’se awready said it too many times, but . . ." D*mmit! "I ain’t – I can’t-" He sighed in frustration.

Ruby shook her head in reply, and Four Eyes sighed again. "Look, I’se-" I’d give ya ev’rythin’ I had, if I had anythin’ ta give ya.

"Yer what?" she asked.

"Dere ain’t nothin’-" He gave up. "I’se a mess. Even I know dat. Maybe someday I won’t be, but-" Someday . . . But he couldn’t ask that of her. Who knew how long that would be? Who knew if there’d be a someday? "I can’t ask nobody ta put up wit dat."

"Ya didn’t hafta ask," Ruby replied, voice filled with hurt.

Four Eyes glared at the icy doorstep. All he could do was hurt her. "I don’t mean – It ain’t – I’d radder – I don’t see what-" I don’t mean ta hoit ya. It ain’t you. I don’t see what you see. I can’t live up ta dat. More den anythin’ I’d radder . . . I’d say I love ya, if I t’ought I was capable of it. Tears pooled in the lenses of his glasses, blurring his vision. "Da only t’ing I can give ya is sometime. I ain’t no use ta nobody right now."

"If dat’s how ya feel . . ." she whispered. "Even though I think yer wrong."

He should have left it there. He should have let it go . . . "I know. I don’t know why, but . . ." He took a deep breath. "I don’t want ya ta stop t’inkin’ dat." He couldn’t ask, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if she stopped.

"Den why. . ." Ruby burst out, then trailed off.

"I don’t know!" he cried helplessly. "I’se a mess," he whispered. "I told ya . . ." He shook his head and sighed. Best to stop before he made things any worse. "I gotta get back. Doze is awready gonna yell at me."

Ruby nodded slightly. "All right. Be careful," she added, barely audible.

That, at least, he could give her. "I will." He remained on the doorstep a moment longer, unable to leave.

At last, she swallowed, looked up and demanded his eyes. "It had nothin’ ta do wit Bastian."

And then he was facing a closed door again. He stared at it, wondering how he’d managed to fail so completely at what he’d meant to say. He blinked, futilely, then pulled off his glasses to dry them. A tear fell on the glasses in his hands, spoiling his efforts. This one he didn’t bother to wipe away. Deliberately, he folded them up, knocked on the door and placed them on the steps. I can give ya someday.
 
 

"Four Eyes." He turned just in time to catch a small bundle tossed at him.

He looked questioningly at Dove.

"Ya left ‘em in Queens," Parker answered. "T’ought ya could prob’ly find some use fer ‘em. ‘Specially since ya been sick."

"T’anks," Four Eyes replied quietly. There was no need to check the bundle. The pillowcase would contain one yellowed photograph of the newlywed Ryan and Peggy O’Malley, a pair of wedding rings belonging to the aforementioned, aproximately five dollars in newspaper earnings and poker winnings, a comb, a razor, a lock of blond hair folded in paper, a ratty deck of cards bound in string, and a white handkerchief. "T’anks," he said again, but Dove had gone – back to Brooklyn, probably, or over to Mott Haven to pay a call on Annie.

Not that it mattered. Four Eyes headed toward the lodging house. A few minutes ago he’d possessed nothing but the clothes on his back and a helpless, hopeless – better left unsaid. Now . . . What do I need dis for?

He would need it. If he intended to live. Which he’d promised to do. Why can’t dey just let me go?

Doze fell into step beside him. Four Eyes barely acknowledged him, but he sensed something on his friend’s posture. "I got something for ya," Doze said at last.

Four Eyes looked at him in question, then at the pair of spectacles in his hand. He came to a halt without realizing it. Without a word, he took the glasses from his friend. She’d seen . . . at least she’d . . . He clenched his teeth and put them on, then turned determinedly calm eyes on Doze.

The other boy studied him with his most distracted gaze. "Yer an idiot," he said at last.

He shrugged. "Dat ain’t news." She’d . . . He clamped down ruthlessly on the thought.

"Don’t gimme dat!" Doze glared. "Da goil t’inks ya hung da moon, an’ you-"

"She don’t deserve dis," he replied quietly.

Doze seemed surprised that he didn’t deny it. "Deserve or not don’t seem ta concoin her."

"Her fergivin’ me don’t give me da excuse ta hoit ‘er again."

"Well, what da h*ll d’ya t’ink yer doin’ now?"

He flinched. "I ain’t gonna make t’ings woise."

Doze sighed explosively and muttered something to himself. "She said ta tell ya she didn’t mean ya ta feel she was demandin’ anyt’ing of ya."

No. He didn’t reply aloud.

"An’ she wants ta see ya."

"She what?" His head snapped around.

"She wants ta see ya," Doze repeated with a sigh. "Dere’s a party in Harlem on Saturday an’ she wants ya ta come."

He wasn’t able to stop the color rising in his face. She wants me ta come. "Aw right."
 
 

Love, in all its myriad forms, has few equals among the wonders of the world and fewer superiors. Four Eyes waited in the parlor of the Harlem lodging house, feeling rather awkward. He’d been invited, but . . . He sighed. Doze had gone on ahead to prepare some surprise or other. No celebration for him, he hoped. That would be too much to bear.

Ruby was not dressed for a party when she walked into the parlor. She looked beautiful – she always looked beautiful – but there were no signs of special preparation. Nor did she look like she was expecting him when she came to a halt just inside the door.

"Oh."

Four Eyes looked away. Doze had misunderstood. He must have. Ruby had every reason to wish never to see him again and her expression demonstrated that perfectly. "I-"

They were both startled by the shutting of the parlor door and the click of a key in the lock. Ruby’s eyes widened. "What the-" Quickly, she tried the door. It stuck. "Oh my lord, you’ve got to be jokin’ . . ." she whispered.

Loud laughter filtered in from the hallway. Red with anger, Ruby called back. "Mess Anthony, you open this door this instant!"

"I . . . it wasn’t my idea!" Mess protested, still laughing.

"Dat-" Doze. It had to be.

Ruby leaned against the door, looking painfully fragile. Four Eyes approached, wishing he could comfort her. As if anythin’ I did could do dat! She backed away to the seatee as he came closer. Four Eyes glanced after her and clamped down on a twinge of hurt. "Doze?" he asked instead.

"Yeah?" Doze’s voice came back, as expected, accompanied by the sound of jangling keys.

Ruby stood up. "Doze Malone, I swear . . ."

Even in the past few weeks, he’d never felt quite so beaten. "Doze," he said tiredly. "Open da door." I know what ya’s tryin’ ta do, but d*mmit can’t ya see it’s a lost cause?

"Why should I?"

"Yeah, heaven forbid ‘e spends two seconds alone in my presence," muttered a voice behind him. He turned back to her, wanting to protest, but the words died at the look on her face. He could only stand that gaze for a few frozen moments. He looked away. At his silence, Ruby returned to the seatee, curling her legs up beneath her. "Might as well sit down, we might be heah awhile."

Rather than answer that, Four Eyes searched for something to concentrate on, finally settling at the piano. He stared at the worn keys, not daring to break the silence by touching one or disrupt the balance by looking away.

"Do ya play?"

The question startled him. "Naw."

"Oh."

Silence once again, save for the grandfather clock ticking relentlessly away at his left. He watched the dust settle on the ivory keys and studied the crest which proclaimed this the masterpiece of Masters and Sons, Piano Crafters. Ya can stare down Luke an’ not hold a simple conversation? he mocked, then shook his head at himself. I ain’t scared a’ dyin’. Of course, that wasn’t entirely accurate. No, he corrected himself yet again, he wasn’t frightened of dying. He was frightened of pain.

He slammed a hand down on the keys and stood up angrily and leaned against the wall. "I’m sorry." With a sigh, he slid down to sit, head in his hands.

"Ya didn’t do nothin’ ta be sorry for," she replied.

What else could he say? "I’m good at doin’ nothin’."

"What ya do is yer choice." She meant to be gentle, but Four Eyes could hear the slight edge to the words.

My choice. Every single . . . "I don’t need nobody tellin’ me dat."

An explosive sigh answered him. "What I meant was if ya don’t wanna do nothin’, ya can do somethin’ – Oh, nevah mind!"

More tyrannous silence.

"D*mmit, Four Eyes! Don’t be an a**!" He started at Mess’ yell, then sank back into misery. His thoughts picked up the accusation, prodding him until he faced the figure curled up on the seatee.

"Are ya cold?" There was no need to whisper, but the thought of breaking the silence terrified him. She shrugged. "Look, dis is what ya get wit me!" he tried to explain. "I-" His shoulders slumped, and the moment of protest ended. "I’m sorry."

"Would ya stop sayin’ yer sorry, please?"

His turn to shrug. Ruby turned away. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was cold. Standing decisively, he removed his coat, crossed to hand it to her and retreated back to the wall.

"Yer da one jus’ got ovah bein’ sick." She offered back again, finally carrying it to him when he didn’t reply. "You are da darnedest person, I swear."

I’m shoa.

It wasn’t really silence. It couldn’t be – so bloated with words that could never be spoken and acts that could never be forgotten.

"Ruby," Doze called from the hallway, at last, "I wanna tell ya somethin’ about a friend a’ mine-"

He couldn’t! "Doze-" Four Eyes was on his feet, staring at the door in horror almost before the words were finished. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

He didn’t. There was no further word from the hallway. Ruby, also standing, turned to Four Eyes in confusion. "What was ‘e gonna say?"

He could only shake his head.

"Dis is ridiculous." She crossed to the door. "Doze Malone, you let us out right now. Whatevah ya thought ya was gonna accomplish ain’t evah gonna happen, so open up!"

Ain’t evah gonna happen. Four Eyes watched her slap an ineffectual hand against a door that remained stubbornly closed. ‘Hold her away from anything that could ever hurt her . . .’ He stepped forward. He caused this. And he’d go right on causing it.

Ruby turned. "What a way ta spend a Saturday night, huh?" she murmured, attempting a grin.

"Ruby . . ." he whispered, pained.

"What?"

What? he repeated. What? He shook his head. "I ain’t no good at dis . . ."

"Ya seem ta be unda da impression dat ya ain’t no good at a lot a’ things," she commented, smiling crookedly.

Oddly, the desire to hold her didn’t fade as the sparkle began to return. "Ev’rythin’ I got, I got from you," he whispered to the floor. "So what’s I s’posed ta do?"

"Ya do what ya want ta do," she replied quietly.

Want? His wants had always led to pain. He said as much. "Not dat dat’s anyt’ing new."

Gently, she replied, "Da person yer hoitin’ most is yaself, love."

At least, I desoive it. "Betta me." Betta me dan you or Doze or . . . somebody dat ain’t done nothin’.

"No, not betta you," she said firmly.

He looked up, disbelievingly. "Yer sayin’ dis . . ." He gestured at the grandfather clock, the piano, the locked door with one sweep of his hand. ". . . don’t hoit ya?"

"Yes, it hurts me." He flinched at her tone, so familiar now. Could he even remember how she spoke when not in pain? "It hurts me a lot, but what hurts me most is the fact that you jus’ seem ta keep hurtin’ yaself."

It was the best he could do! "I can’t seem ta exist witout doin’ dat." In his desperate attempt to convince her, he seized on the one shameful secret he still kept. "Dat’s what Doze was gonna tell ya. Dat I don’t wanna." He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. "So what use," he pressed on, fiercely, "can I be ta anyone else, when I ain’t even any use ta meself." Drained, he completed, "So I can’t win."

Ruby swallowed audibly. "Four Eyes . . ." she trailed off.

He turned away, shaking uncontrollably. Any moment, he was certain to be sick. "Doze, open da d*mn door."

Behind him, barely audible, Ruby whispered. "I can’t convince ya of yer own worth if ya can’t believe it yaself, but I do care about ya. Dat ain’t gonna change."

He slumped against the door, still shaking. "I don’t want it ta. I wanna-" Someday . . . But he couldn’t ask that. He had no right . . . She’d given him the right. "I wanna – make some sense outta meself, so I can . . ." Someday. "If ya want me, I’ll be heah, but I can’t do nothin’ else." He finally looked up. She was staring at the floor as helplessly as he stared at her. "I would . . ." The door gave slightly behind him. "It’s open."

Ruby nodded, still looking at the floor.

Is dat all dere is ta say? As anxious as he’d been to escape the room . . .

She looked up, at last, quirking a smile. "Do you wanna smack Doze or should I?"

He smiled. He hadn’t smiled since . . . he couldn’t remember smiling. "You betta," he answered, shakily. "He’s too much of a gentleman ta hit back."

Ruby laughed. If this was all, it was enough.

Four Eyes searched his hands helplessly. If he could at least leave her with something . . . He picked up his coat and wrapped it around her. She looked down at it. "Ya betta take yer coat, love. Yer da one goin’ outside." And she smiled again.

"I want ya ta . . ."

"Don’t be difficult." She shrugged out of the coat. "It’s cold out."

He received it uncertainly, then pulled it on. But there had to be something. Awkwardly, shyly, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Good night."

"Good night."
 
 

Doze lingered outside the lodging house. He began walking when his friend emerged. Wordlessly, Four Eyes fell into step beside him. Doze nodded a greeting to a girl, a straggler coming home at last. "I’m sorry," he said quietly.

To the snow, Four Eyes replied, "Thanks."
 
 

He’d known he would pay for all this traipsing through the city in February. Even before they reached the lodging house, he could feel it creeping up on him. He stood at the bottom of the fire escape and looked up, unable to even attempt the climb. Doze glanced sideways at him and frowned. "Hey, ya aw right?"

Four Eyes shook his head, swaying slightly. "I-"

Doze swore, propping an arm under his shoulder just in time. "I shouldn’t’a had ya out. Come on." They shuffled around to the back door. Ordering him into a kitchen chair, Doze knocked on the landlord’s door. "Brendan. Brendan!"

Mr. McConaughy did not protest at being roused from his bed, though he did scold a bit until he entered the kitchen. Four Eyes smiled weakly. "Sorry." The landlord rolled his eyes and sent Doze for the telephone.
 
 

God, he was hot! It felt like mid-July under the blankets the doctor had piled on top of him. Four Eyes tossed feverishly. He could barely breathe! So hot . . . He struggled out of them, desperate to escape and kicked them to the floor.

He shivered. Someone – Brendan, had it been? – had told him he needed to stay warm. He needed to keep the blankets around him, no matter how hot it got. He was going to freeze. He hadn’t listened and now he was dying. He’d broken his last promise. His last promise. Ruby was going to blame herself. She couldn’t. He could see her. And Doze standing over his grave, shouting at him . . .

Fever tossed him back in time. There was no one to stand in front of the gun now. He’d failed yet again. He watched from a corner as Luke first took Ruby’s bandaged hand – another failure – and began waltzing her around a room suddenly infinite in space. And smiling all the while. They glided past Four Eyes and Luke handed him a knife.

And he was in an alley somewhere in Queens watching a couple walk slowly to their homes, and Bastian turned to look at him. "Fool me twice . . ."
 
 

"Jesus!" someone was shouting. "Get some water!"

"What happened . . ."

"The fever went up," Brendan’s voice carried above the clamour. "All of you boys back to bed. He’s going to be fine."

He shivered uncontrollably. Someone had retrieved his blankets from the floor. His heart began to calm its pace. Dreams. Fever. He could understand that. That made sense.

"I thought it would break," Brendan murmured to himself. "Didn’t think it would send the fever up so high . . ." Hands fussed around him. One of the surplus blankets was removed. Something damp and just the right temperature was laid across his forehead. Before he could even whisper a sound, oblivion, warm and dreamless crept up to catch him unawares and carry him away to morning.
 
 

"He’s gonna get betta, right?" Bouncer asked anxiously. "Brendan said he’s gonna get betta."

"Aw, shaddup," grumbled Sandy.

"He’s gonna get betta," Doze’s voice reassured.

Four Eyes didn’t open his eyes at first. He only lay, becoming gradually, but acutely aware of the world. It was a miracle of sensation; every rough inch of the sheets, every lump in the mattress, every hair brushing the back of his neck, every current in the air on his face, every clop of hooves and crunch of snow and rattle of wheels from the street below, every whisper of a turning page, every fall of a coin to the bunkroom floor demanded his instant attention and declared that he was inarguably alive. More, he was glad to be. I been dead fer six months. If Four Eyes had been particularly religious, he would have prayed. If he’d been musical, he would have sang. Under the circumstances, all he could do was open his eyes and let the tears run down his cheeks.

Before he realized it, he was laughing.

There is nothing quite so remarkable as hope.