Okay, folks. It's been grand writing this story and even better getting all these reviews. Hell, I've even made a friend. Yep, that's you, Ginny.

Anyway, what I want to say, is that the story's over for now, but a sequel isn't completely out of the question. Plus, I'll be restarting Call Me Whistler. So, even though A Key Round His Neck may be over, there'll still be lots of writing from yours truly. Heh, like I'd stop writing just because I finished something. Silly, silly

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Epilogue

"I propose a toast to the new King a' Queens!" Spot said, raising his full mug of beer.

"Hear hear!" came shouts from every corner of the room. Whistler was pushed up to the front of the room, blushing furiously. He, too, was holding a beer, although some of it had spilled down the front of his shirt after hearing Spot's pronouncment.

"But Spot, y'know I don' wanna be a leader!" he protested.

"Well, tough," Spot returned. Several people laughed. "Somebody's gotta take care a' Queens, and you'se the best man for the job."

"But those Queens boys, they'll cream me for switchin' sides."

"Y'didn't switch sides—"

"They think I did," Whistler pointed out. Spot considered this.

"True," the younger boy said. "But you'se famous as the only guy who can beat up Spot Conlon. No way you'se scared of a couple a' bums."

Spot's admission and challenge hit a nerve with the redhead.

"I ain' scared a' nuthin', Spot," Whistler said dangerously. "Nuthin', y'hear me?"

Spot smiled. "Then here's to the new King a' Queens!" Whistler shut his eyes and nodded, then raised his own beer.

"BROOKLYN!" he yelled, then knocked back the entire mug in one swig.

"BROOKLYN!" the cry shook the rafters.