Strong language. Race and Spot friendship.
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He exhaled slowly. The curls of smoke drifted into his eyes but he didn't look away from the cards he was shuffling. He was used to the sting and could ignore it as easily as he ignored everything else around him.
Race paused long enough to take the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and flick the ashes out onto the street.
It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. Gawkers were out in full force from uptown, strolling the streets in their summer whites and staring at the sky because they had nothing better to do. Race didn't need to look at them to know they didn't belong. He could figure it out just by listening. They talked different uptown.
"Would you look at that!" a man said eagerly, pointing to the sun. "Marvelous. Look at it, darling. Marvelous! Simply grand." A woman murmured her agreement, holding a gloved hand to her nose as she pulled him along back toward the side of town they belonged on.
Race didn't bother to look at the sky and see what the fuss was about. A sunset wasn't 'marvelous'. It was there everyday for anyone to see, no charge. If those folks were looking to see something special, they should have seen the flush straight he'd gotten last week. Ten-high spades. Now, that was a sight to behold. It won him two dollars on top of bragging rights.
He bet a sunset never earned anyone anything besides a crick in the neck.
As he continued to shuffle, he looked up periodically to see if there were any stragglers. The card game was set to start a half-hour ago, but nobody had watches and the clocks were always off, so it was no surprise they were still waiting on good number to show up. It wasn't a big game, just the boys in Manhattan, maybe a few others. Race liked it that way. There was something about ending the night without being threatened or punched that put him in a good mood.
Race glanced to the street again, when someone moving toward the lodging house caught his eye.
His hands froze over the cards.
It couldn't be. There was no way in Hell.
He took a step to the side to get a better look, thinking he was seeing things. He wasn't. Instinctively, he felt his eyes narrow, hoping a shift in light would reveal it was just a stranger with a passing resemblance. So such luck.
With each step closer, Race grew surer of the fact it was Spot and that God truly hated him.
He stuffed the deck of cards in his pocket and considered making a break for it. There were only two reasons Spot ever sought him out: he wanted something he couldn't get anywhere else or to be a pain in the ass. Considering Spot had a talent for getting exactly what he wanted, especially from people who weren't willing to give it, Race could only assume it was the latter. Spot had probably caught wind of the fact he was having a game that night and felt the need to ruin it. As if he didn't ruin enough people's lives by simply existing.
Race watched him closely as he approached. Something wasn't right, he realized quickly.
Spot was alone.
He never went anywhere alone. He always had someone with him, following him, watching his back.
Race ground out his cigarette on the doorframe as his mind automatically went through the possible explanations. None of them were good. He was the last person on earth Spot would ever willingly go to for help, so it had to be bad. Catastrophic was more likely.
Spot tossed away the cigarette he had been smoking as he reached the bottom step. His expression gave away nothing, though that wasn't anything unusual. Indifference was as second nature to him as anger or pride. It didn't take much effort.
"What's wrong?" Race demanded.
Spot raised an eyebrow at Race's question, taking a moment to realize what Race meant. As he figured it out, his mouth turned up into a half-smile. He let out a short laugh, seeming to mock the idea that he would ever go to Race for help and the fact that Race was concerned in the first place.
"What do you want?" Race asked sharply, deliberately moving sideways to block the door. He had little patience for Spot on a good day and even less when he knew he was being jerked around.
"Do I gotta want somethin' to come and visit?" Spot said, still visibly amused by the fact Race had been worried.
"Visit?" Race repeated the word with clear suspicion. Spot didn't 'visit' anyone. He always had some kind of motive, usually of the unfriendly variety. Race looked at him closely, deciding on the only other plausible reason Spot had strayed so far from home. "Are you drunk or something?"
"Not enough to talk to you," Spot said, ignoring the dig. He indicated for Race to get out of the doorway. "Move."
"Leave," Race countered.
"That's real funny, you tellin' me what to do."
"In case you didn't notice, you crossed a bridge on your way here. What you say officially amounts to shit. Leave."
"You don't make the rules here," Spot said, taking obvious enjoyment in reminding him of that fact.
Race stood unmoving. "It's my house."
"Is it now?" Spot said condescendingly. "Kelly!" he called through the door.
"He don't tell me what to do."
"And you don't tell him what to do, ain't that right?" Spot said. "See, he invited me here and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."
Race's eyed narrowed even further. So, Jack had invited him. Race had no idea what possessed Jack to do that, but they were going to have a long talk about not being quite so stupid in the future.
"He said there was a game goin' on tonight," Spot added, just to rub it in. Race crossed his arms so he wouldn't be tempted to punch him.
There was no way in hell Spot was coming within a hundred feet of his game.
"He was wrong. No game," Race said. "Get lost."
"Lyin' is a sin, Higgins."
Race snorted. Spot was a walking sin.
"Spot," Jack called out from the hallway behind him as he reached the front door. There was surprise in his voice, though he recovered quickly. "How's it rollin'?"
"Good enough, Jacky," Spot said with a nod.
"Didn't think you'd come," Jack said. He tried to hold out his hand, but Race was in the way and didn't take the hint to move.
"It ain't often I get invited over here. Figured I'd better take the opportunity."
"Lucky us," Race said dryly.
Spot looked at him coolly before returning his attention to Jack. "Your boy ain't too friendly, says I should get lost."
Jack gave an uncomfortable laugh as he shot Race a look. "He jokes around. He don't mean it."
"Yeah, I do." Race said flatly. He didn't need Jack apologizing for him. Though, it wasn't Jack's fault, he didn't know any better. Race had never got around to mentioning he knew Spot as anything more than an unfortunate acquaintance. Spot never corrected Jack on it, more amused than anything else by the periodic re-introductions.
"See? A real cut-up. He's a good guy once you get to know him." Jack forced a smile as he subtly elbowed Race in warning. "You remember Racetrack, right?"
"So that's your name, wiseass," Spot said to Race, managing to keep a straight face. "What, you sell at the tracks? Or do you just like runnin' around in circles?"
Race opened his mouth to respond, but Jack took one look at him and decided that wouldn't be a good idea.
"Come on in," Jack said quickly, not giving Race a chance to reply as he gestured for Spot to come in, "we're just about to get goin'." Jack disappeared back inside, but Spot didn't follow him immediately. Instead, he waited until Jack was out of sight to turn his attention back to Race.
"Move," Spot told him again. He'd won and he wanted to make sure Race knew it. He didn't try to push past him. In fact, he didn't move. He just stood there, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he waited for Race to concede.
Race set his jaw, considering standing there all night if he had to. He'd rather do that than give Spot the satisfaction of ordering him around. That, and he had no burning desire for Spot to meet, talk to, or even be in the same room with anyone he considered a friend. Up to this point, he had managed to pull it off. But, he knew it was too good to last.
"We don't know each other," Race told him. It was the condition he would allow Spot inside.
"I'm hurt," Spot said sarcastically as he climbed the stairs. But, Race didn't move out of the way. Spot laughed under his breath, "You're serious?"
"Do I look serious to you?"
"Fine," Spot agreed with no real sincerity, "you don't know me, I don't know you. Happy?"
If only it were that simple.
His life would've been much easier if he'd never met Spot.
Much to his irritation, Spot was fitting in just fine. He hadn't insulted, threatened or punched anyone. He'd even managed to tell a clean joke. Race had forgotten Spot could be charismatic when he wanted to be. Though, he hadn't witnessed this particular act in a very long time: smiles, well-timed laughter, a compliment here and there. It would have been comical, if not for the fact everyone was buying it. This wasn't Spot. This was Spot pretending to be a civilized human being.
Spot never took pains to ingratiate himself with anyone, so there had to be an ulterior motive. Race didn't know what exactly Spot was trying to accomplish, which was odd considering he could usually stay a few steps ahead of him. It was unsettling to say the least.
They hadn't said anything to each other the entire time. They hadn't even looked at one another. Race just tried to concentrate on the game. Spot didn't play, because he never played, at least not when Race around. Cards was the one thing he could beat Spot at hands down. The day Spot figured out Race was the better player was the day he stopped playing. He said it was because Race was a cheat, but Spot cheated just as much as him. He just couldn't stand to lose.
"Race," Blink said. "Race?"
"What?" Race answered distractedly.
"Did you hear anythin' I said?"
"Yeah, sure. That's a real funny story, Blink."
"I just told you how I almost got eaten alive by rats last night."
"Sorry, I wasn't listenin'."
"No shit," Blink said. "What's the matter with you anyway? You been lookin' forward to tonight for weeks."
"Nothin'," Race said. "Just tired, that's all." He had been looking forward to the game. It was just between friends, no cutthroat competition or stress. It had promised to be mostly for fun, and even though everyone else was enjoying themselves, he hadn't been able to manage more than a brief laugh.
"Higgins, you don't deal too fast. This your first time in a big game?" Spot said with feigned innocence.
Race didn't dignify that with a response. He'd been expecting a cheap shot for the past hour and was surprised it took Spot that long. There was laughter from the table. Race wasn't smiling. He didn't take kindly to Spot worming his way in to his game in the first place and he certainly didn't like the fact he was sitting in such close proximity to his friends. He was sure Spot's bad attitude would poison everyone in the lodging house for eternity.
He just wanted the night to be over, Spot to go home and order of the universe to be restored.
Race just looked at Spot and deliberately slowed the pace of the dealing even further.
"He's real good," Jack explained to Spot, "he plays a lot."
"I bet he is," Spot said with a patronizing smile.
"Why don't you find out?" Race said before he could stop himself. He should have left it alone. By the smile on Spot's face, he knew a reaction was all Spot was looking for. He was trying to get him angry, probably just to make him look bad in front of everyone else. Two could play at that game.
"I don't play," Spot said.
Race wasn't going to let him out that easy. "That's right. I heard you were piss-poor at cards."
He felt a small kick in the shin. Jack gave him a warning look, seeming to sense Race was not in the best of moods.
"You heard wrong," Spot answered in a deceptively light tone. If they were anywhere else, Spot wouldn't have let that go. He would have at least come back with something biting. He was trying to hold out, trying to appear to be the better person.
"Hey, Race, I think I'm a card short over here," Jack said in an obvious attempt to distract him.
"No, you're not," Race said flatly, not looking away from Spot. "Seems to me, if you came all the way down here for a card game, you'd play. Seein' as how you too chicken to, I gotta ask myself why you're here at all."
"The pleasant company," Spot said, the slightly dangerous smile never wavering from his face.
"Oh, yeah? Did your hand get tired?" Race asked innocently. That did the trick. Anger flickered faintly in Spot's eyes.
Jack cleared his throat loudly. "Race, cheese it," he said under his breath. Blink looked at him like was insane, stupid or insanely stupid. The other boys at the table shifted in their seats and found sudden interest in the surface of the table. Spot didn't like to be made fun of. Jack knew it, the others knew it and Race knew it. That's why he took great pains to do it whenever possible.
"Jacky's pretty smart. I'd do what he says, if I was you," Spot said, managing to bite back whatever else he wanted to say.
"I ain't you," Race retorted, trying to push him just far enough to break. Spot didn't though. He kept his composure, at least outwardly.
Jack slung an arm over Race's shoulder and leaned in close as he passed him his cards. "Drop it, alright?" he said quietly. He waited for Race to nod before he leaned back in his chair.
Race had got what he wanted anyway. Spot was the first to crack and show anger, even if it was faint.
"So, how are the Dodgers doin', Spot?" Jack asked to calculated effect. Baseball was something Spot was willing to talk about year round, day or night, and regardless of whether or not anyone else actually cared. It was probably the reason Race developed a dislike of the game.
Things had barely settled down when there was a sharp whistle from somewhere out on the street. Everyone simultaneously stopped talking and glanced toward the door. A few seconds later, there was another whistle. Race exhaled in frustration. Great. On top of everything else, now this. It was just not his night.
"See ya," Blink said as he shot up out of his chair and pulled his hat on.
Half the players at the table hastily abandoned their cards and followed him. Around the room, boys were disappearing out the back or up the stairs.
Race gathered up the cards and slipped them out of sight.
"What the hell is goin' on?" Spot asked as he started to stand. His eyes were already moving, trying to figure out what was going on. Race didn't trouble himself to enlighten him.
"There's a cop comin' up the street," Jack explained, leaning out of the way as someone tossed a pile of old papers on the table for good measure. Any trace that there had been a game or gambling was now gone.
Spot relaxed slightly and sat back down. "So what?"
"They come in here. Pick up kids they been lookin' for," Jack said. "If they can find 'em," he added with a bit of a grin. Usually, by the time the warning came, everyone who wanted to had enough time to get out. If they were lucky, the bulls would come in, take a quick look and leave. The system worked good enough, nobody had gotten pinched in a few months.
"You let them come in here?" Spot said in disbelief.
"Not all of us got the cops under our thumbs," Race muttered. Spot ignored him.
"They're dirty, ain't they? You don't roll back nothin' to them?" Spot asked.
"We don't eat half the time. We don't got money to be payin' off no bulls," Jack said.
Spot glanced briefly at Race with disdain, as if every single suspicion he had about Manhattan's inferiority had been confirmed and Race was a moron for living there. He fell silent for a moment, considering the situation.
"Alright," Spot said finally, "Go get your boys together. We'll give' em a reason not to come in here no more."
"No!" Jack and Race said at once. Spot cocked an eyebrow.
"No thanks, Spot," Jack said quickly, as he moved to the door to get a better look. "We got our own way."
Spot snorted. "Sissies."
Race refrained from rolling his eyes. Spot would do it, too. Deck a cop the same as anyone else. Probably wouldn't think twice. Race knew in Spot's mind it was that simple. He was stupid like that.
"You should get outta here," Race told him, keeping his tone as casual as possible, trying to make it a suggestion. Considering the circumstances and the fact Spot got an unhealthy amount of pleasure from spiting him, he figured now wasn't the time for a battle of wills.
Spot glanced at him. "And miss the fun?"
"These ain't Brooklyn cops," Race said. "They ain't gonna cut you slack."
"They don't know me neither," Spot said, the chip on his shoulder growing larger by the second. "They got no reason to bother with me here." Race had the overwhelming urge to smack him. He honestly thought he was untouchable. One of these days, he was going to get what was coming to him and Race prayed he would be there to witness it.
"It don't matter," Race shot back, trying to keep his voice down. "You think they need a reason?"
"Relax. I ain't gonna do nothin'," Spot said, cutting to the root of Race's concern for his staying. Race wasn't reassured in the slightest. Even if he did take Spot's word that he'd behave, which he didn't, it wasn't Spot he cared about, it was the rest of them. Spot could waltz back to Brooklyn at the end of the night. They had to stay and deal with the mess he would no doubt leave behind.
"Last chance," Jack warned everyone that had stayed behind.
Nobody spoke, finding sudden interest in the floor or reading yesterday's papers. It was quiet enough that they could hear a set of heavy footsteps lumbering up to the building. Jack caught Race's attention and gave Spot a questioning glance. He wanted to know why Spot was still there, probably having figured out that Spot and sensitive situations didn't go well together. He didn't know the half of it. If he did, he would have been more than concerned. Panicked would have been appropriate.
In Brooklyn, Spot could do what he wanted. He carried that same sense of entitlement wherever he went. Some people called it confidence, Race called it arrogance. And, after years of getting what he wanted through whatever means he wanted, Spot had no regard for consequences, especially when they involved other people. It was part of the reason Race avoided him whenever possible.
He was sick of trying to keep him in line and he would be damned if he was going to let Spot bring them all down with him.
"Get out," Race said, keeping his voice low.
"Only if you ask nice," Spot said offhandedly, not bothering to even look at Race. He had no real intention of leaving.
Race tried anyway. If it meant Spot leaving without incident, he was more than willing to swallow his pride for the moment. "Please, get the fuck out."
Spot paused, as if giving the idea real consideration, before he smirked. "No."
Race stood up, gripping the edges of the table to keep from strangling Spot. He was only staying because Race wanted him to leave. Bastard. That was it. He didn't care what Spot did, but he was not going to suffer for it. "Get out or-"
"Or what? What are you gonna do? You gonna deal a hand of poker at me?" Spot said, amused at Race's anger. His attention returned to the door and he settled back in his chair. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready."
That's what Race was afraid of.
Jack coughed loudly as he backed away from the door. A moment later, the sound of footsteps climbing the few steps to the front door could be heard. There was no more time.
"Don't say anythin'. And for God's sake, don't look 'im in the eye," Race growled under his breath as he backed away from the table. He wanted to get as far away from Spot as possible. He would have left if he though he could make it. Race had a sinking feeling they'd all end up in jail before the night was over.
"Sure thing," Spot said easily. The smile that he couldn't quite keep from his face told Race he fully intended to do both.
They were definitely going to jail.
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A/N: This is a companion to 'Cut and Run', but not directly related plot-wise. It's less about history/back story than it'll be about interactions. So, if you'd like any extra info, on why Spot and Race don't particularly like each other, you might want to read 'Cut and Run'.
Thanks for reading!