Brewin' in the Boroughs

Chapter 28

"A gun?" Finch hissed. "How'd one of them get their hands on somethin' like that?"

"The rumors 'bout Hook havin' connections with a gang ain't just rumors. I s'pose they got it from them."

"Thanks Rome."

Romeo nodded and began to head off, but Finch stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"Be careful," Finch warned.

"You too."

***

Race could honestly say that he didn't remember a time that he had fought harder than he currently was. He was dodging punches left and right, trying to avoid anyone with a knife, all the while worrying about Jojo as much as he could without completely distracting himself.

His friend was a good fighter, but Race had treated him terribly and figured it only made sense that Jojo would die as punishment for Race being so terrible the past month.

He hadn't seen his friend since the very beginning when he'd disappeared into the crowd, and Race was worried that he'd gotten mixed up with one of the armed boys.

Race swung at the boy who was currently using a small Richmond boy as a punching bag, earning himself a gracious smile. Then he risked a quick glance around the square. Jojo was nowhere to be found.

"Race! Watch out!"

Race ducked and Spot, who'd been a few feet away from him, threw an elbow into the face of the boy who'd snuck up behind him.

"Pay attention Tony! Where's your brain?" Spot hissed as he pushed his way further into the scuffle.

"Pay attention, concentrarsi!" Race muttered to himself.

Race pushed thoughts of any other people out of his mind, though it was difficult, trying to regain focus on the fight at hand. You made mistakes when you got distracted, and mistakes in a time like this could be deadly. The last thing Race needed was to get himself killed before he could even redeem himself.

No, he would have to forget about Jojo for now. There'd be plenty of time for worrying later on.

***

It turned out that Romeo had been right about someone bringing a gun. One of the boys had somehow acquired the thing. It was old and dirty, but it looked as though it would work.

Mush wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten in this position, staring down the barrel of a gun. The revolver coldly stared back at him.

There had been a warning, he supposed. If you could call a cry of, "He's got a gun!" two seconds before said weapon is pulled to be a warning. There was a warning effort, Mush wanted to say, even if it was to just calm down Henry who'd been the one to notice. He'd tried, it was just a little too late.

Mush's mind was racing, thousands of thoughts traveling through his mind at the same time. Would it hurt? How long would it take him to die? Would he even realize he was dead?

The world seemed to freeze. Mush could see a distraught Henry watching, barley even trying to break the headlock he'd been forced in to. Albert was watching through a swollen eye, head shaking furiously as he saw the gun.

And then there was Finch.

Good ol' Finch who'd always been there for Mush. When the nightmares were too much, Finch was there to talk. Mush didn't have enough money for dinner, no problem. Finch would spot him a nickel, no questions asked. Mush outgrew his only coat? Finch would find him a new one within a week.

Finch who'd promised not to let Mush die.

His mouth hung open, eyes as wide as saucers as the gun was aimed right at Mush's face. He seemed to be mouthing something but Mush couldn't make it out. It didn't matter anyway. Mush was going to die. He'd accepted that, though his stomach remained in knots, and he tried to face the boy bravely. He would not cry. The boy's finger ghosted over the trigger and Mush could feel his lip wobble.