Marconi! Now I remembered as I studied his face. Looking down at me, he said, "Can I put ya down now? I think we're far enough away from the refuge."

I nodded and he put me down rather roughly. "Watch it," I muttered.

Marconi turned to Skweeker. "Why'd ya tell me ta get her out, huh? Ain't she tha one who got us in trouble in tha first place?"

Skweeker shrugged. "You tell me." Marconi rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. Looking down at me, he said, "You can get goin' now. I'm sure your ma will be glad ta see ya."

"I have nowhere to go," I told him. "I'm out of a job and a home. Now I need to find somewhere decent to stay the night to sort things out."

The two stood there for a minute. Finally, Skweeker sighed loudly. "C'mon wid us, McCartney. We're headin' to da Bronx."

Relieved, I answered, "All right. I'd rather not tag along, but I really don't have a choice, do I?" No answer came.

We walked in uncomfortable silence through the streets of Manhattan, making our way toward the Bronx. I had never been in this part of Manhattan, and I frequently stopped and looked around, only to be dragged along by Skweeker. On one such occasion there was a violinist with a pet monkey. Stopping in my tracks, I joined the crowd that had gathered around the man. I had never seen a real monkey before.

This time, when Skweeker grabbed me by the arm, I stopped her. "Look at the monkey, Skweeks."

She started laughing at me, to my surprise. I had expected her to be angry. "C'mon, monkey girl, we gotta go." She dragged me away from the crowd and we headed down the street once again.

"Hey, fellas! It's McCain and Snake Eyes!"

We turned toward the yell. "Racetrack Higgins. What a surprise," Skweeker muttered.

"Howya doin'? Lissen, Snake Eyes, whaddya say you an' me get a poker game started, eh?" Racetrack suggested eagerly. I could tell that he'd been bitten by the gambling bug, just like Skweeker and Snake Eyes had.

Marconi rolled his eyes. "You'd just lose, Race."

Race laughed. "Ain't dat how it always goes? Who's dis?" he asked, pointing at me.

"Monkey McCartney," Skweeker answered for me.

"Monkey?!" I hissed through gritted teeth. She elbowed me, so I took that as a "shut your yap" command.

Race picked up on this and laughed. "Don' worry, there are worse t'ings you could be called. I's Racetrack Higgins. It's a pleasure," he greeted me, tipping his hat.

"Lissen, Race, we can't stay around, but can ya do a favor fer us?" Skweeker asked.

"Yeah, sure, I guess," he answered.

"Good. Can ya take Monkey heah off our hands? Just fer a few days, an' we'll be back ta get 'er," Skweeker said.

"What?!" I was floored.

"Yeah, so me an' Marconi can, uh, get some business cleared up," she lied.

"Not buyin' it, Skweeks. You jus' wanna get rid of 'er. If she's dat much of a bother, den I don' want 'er any more dan you do," Race said.

"Fine," she muttered angrily, grabbing my arm. "C'mon, Monkey."

"See ya, Race," Marconi called as Skweeker practically dragged me down the sidewalk.