Gents & Dames

Fifteen: The Crapshooter's Dance

Jack trudged back to the lodging house numbly. He was still aware enough to nod at the cop who passed by, and that actually did shake him a little; after all, it was just one more piece of proof that his childhood in the streets was completely gone. He looked like a respectable gentleman; he looked like he had money, and he did. No one would look at him and assume he'd been in jail. No one would assume he'd grown up homeless. No one questioned what he might be doing out on the streets at night.

But for all his money and luck, Jack knew in that moment he'd have traded it all to have his adolescence back. He loved his grandparents, and maybe anyone else looking at it would have thought he'd made the right decision when he'd gone out west...but he'd been thrown out of David Jacobs' life, forever.

When they were younger, David had given him courage and direction. David had turned his luck and charm into a force to be reckoned with; Jack knew he'd had enough going for him to get by, but David had unlocked the larger world for him. And it hadn't been just the strike and Jack's sudden passion for doing the right thing—David had given him a family, a home. And at the end of the day, Jack had always felt like he was coming home to David. True, Sarah was pretty and she was smart, and for whatever reason she'd cared about him...but he'd stayed in New York for David.

And he'd left because of David, too, he mused. He'd left because in one of his few moments of real surety, he'd known that marrying David's sister to have an excuse to stay close to him was wrong, and somehow tragic. Certainly not fair to Sarah. And the fact that he wanted to so badly to have an excuse to stay near David all the time, well, that had said a lot about him that he wasn't comfortable with.

He kicked a pebble down the cobbled street, remembering things that he wasn't quite comfortable with. Like about him and Racetrack, which had been fun, enough but... Not serious. They'd both known that neither of them was really queer, not like Blink, who pretended he was like them—just playing, just keeping warm at night—but everyone knew better. Except from the moment Jack had seen David, in the midst of a scrambling fistfight, he'd known. David was different. He'd wanted to impress David, to befriend him, to be near him. It wasn't normal, it wasn't playing. It was queer, and it was scary as hell.

So he'd run for it. He'd been offered a way out, and he'd taken it. And maybe it really was for the best. He had money, he had respect, and he had a chance to continue everything David had shown him—to help the people who needed help, to make the world better. He had the power to do it now, with or without David's help.

But the thought of having to do it without David's help...

Jack climbed the stairs to the lodging house, but didn't go in. Instead, he sat on the stoop and lit a cigarette. He needed to clear his head. David wanted him out of his life, but there was no way Jack was going without a fight. He had a day and a half left before he had to catch his train home, that was plenty of time to change things.

*

Nathan paced restlessly through the lodging house's front room. It was honestly a little crowded for pacing, but he was too nervous to really keep still. He only stopped when he tripped over a board he could swear had been loose since he was a kid. Irritated, he turned to Isaac and snapped, "You oughta fix that damn thing before a kid gets hurt!"

Isaac gave him a smile. "I'll get one of the boys to nail it down tomorrow," he promised. "Now sit still, you're making me dizzy."

Nathan sat, though not really because Isaac had asked him to. It was more because he knew his own nerves were spreading to the guys far too easily. Things had been tense since David had yelled at Jack, and even more awkward since they'd left. Now his pacing was putting people on edge.

He pulled out a cigar and began to chew on the end—well, and smoking, but mostly chewing. It was another nervous habit, but a less distracting one. And he didn't want the guys distracted. He wanted them slightly inebriated and feeling friendly—the best mood for spending money.

The game had pretty much petered out. No one was playing now, and though his cut had been a decent amount of money, it wasn't really that much, especially not compared to the debt he owed Thomas. He'd hoped to have more before Thomas arrived, so he could fork it over as a sign that he was trying, and that he was sorry.

But Thomas hadn't shown up yet, even though it was getting late and Nathan was sure the show at the Hotbox was done. And the later it got, the more nervous Nathan was that Thomas wouldn't come. Because for all of his "last chances," and for all they fought, Nathan had never heard Thomas as mad as he'd been that evening.

He chewed on the cigar and watched the groups of guys chatting, part of him wanting to join in. But he didn't, because all he could think about was what Thomas had screamed at him. He'd sworn to himself when he'd walked out that it was over, forever—but here he was, still angry, but mostly sorry. Because, he had to admit, Thomas had been provoked, and had every reason to be mad. The more Nathan thought about it, the more he realized that. For starters, there was the fact that the guy who loved him was so far in his debt, but didn't ever seem to pay any of it back. And then there was the fact that the guy who loved him kept throwing the past in his face. And finally, the fact that the guy who loved him couldn't get over a goddamn fixation on a fling he'd had as a kid.

And Nathan knew it was that last one that hurt the most. Because he and Thomas had already been together, on and off, when Jack had given him that intrigued look and they'd taken off together to find some privacy. And Thomas had taken him back without comment when it had ended abruptly, when Jack had met David and suddenly whatever Nathan was offering him just wasn't enough.

And now here was Jack, and Nathan still wasn't over it, really, and Thomas knew. And instead of reassuring Thomas and being with him, Nathan had done what he always did; had pissed him off and run.

Jesus. No wonder Thomas was always mad at him. But Nathan would make it up to him; would start by paying off the debt and then he'd be the kind of guy Thomas wanted. He was sure he could, if he had the chance.

The door to the lodging house opened and Nathan looked up eagerly, but it was Jack and not Thomas who walked inside. Jack was still looking quiet and contemplative. Not elated, which meant David hadn't forgiven him.

Nathan put out his cigar and looked away from Jack, who leaned against a wall. Ignoring him, Nathan stood and glanced at the abandoned game. He might as well try to get people playing again, so that maybe when he groveled to Thomas—assuming Thomas ever showed up—he'd be successful. Money probably wouldn't solve everything, but it sure as hell wouldn't hurt. He cleared his throat. "No more players? Hell, I'll even join in a round."

"You've made more money tonight than any of us," Specs mused. "Come on, we're broke."

"Nah," Jack answered, "I don't think anyone here's too broke." He reached for his wallet and produced a thick wad of cash, which he handed to Nathan. "Look, I owe you all—I owe you money and...an apology. There's the money."

"And the apology?" Sean asked wryly.

Jack sighed. "I left. I shouldn't have. I especially shouldn't have taken the cash when I did. I was a coward; I took the coward's way out. And I'm sorry."

Nathan wanted to tell him off again, but kept his mouth shut. Jack already knew how he felt, and anyway, the infusion of cash into the room might just get people playing again. Maybe Jack even knew that. When Nathan actually looked up and Jack was watching him in particular, he was sure.

So Jack was doing him a favor. It didn't make up for anything. But he did divvy out the money to the people Jack owed, and no one really said anything to Jack, but no one glared at him either. And when, rolling his eyes, Skittery agreed to another round of dice and a couple other guys joined him, so did Jack. And no one told Jack to get lost.

It was a relief, actually. And if only Thomas had been there, it would have been damn near perfect. He sighed. "Nick, Thomas say anything to you about when he'd be here?" he finally asked.

Nick shook his head. "Nah. I figure any time now—I mean, his show's gotta be done by now."

Nathan scowled.

But Sean spoke up, "He ain't coming."

"What?"

"He said before Nick and me left—to me," he clarified. "Didn't want to go breaking Nick's heart. But he ain't coming."

"Did he say why?" Nathan asked.

"You know why," Sean said, sounding accusatory. "Jesus Christ, Nathan, what did you expect?"

Nathan glared at him. "I expect you to mind your own goddamn business," he answered. "You ain't welcome in mine."

Sean snorted disdainfully. "As loud as you two shout, the whole goddamn city knows everything there is about your business."

"Come on, guys," Nick said quickly, "let's not fight about it."

"Shut it, Nick," Nathan snapped, not really thinking. He regretted it when he saw Nick's hurt expression; after all, it wasn't his fault. But sometimes—like now—he couldn't bring himself to care too much about hurting Nick. Not when he remembered that Thomas threw himself at Nick all the damn time, and not jokingly. If Nick had the slightest inclination towards men, Nathan knew full well he'd be out a lover. And as much as he liked Nick, he also sometimes wanted to strangle the guy for being so cluelessly tolerant.

"Come on," Jack muttered. He put down money for the bet. "Let's just play, okay?"

And, spitefully, Nathan answered, "You know, maybe I don't even want you in my game. Inviting you wasn't my idea."

"Nate, come on," Nick pleaded. "Let's just play. I'll even put some in—even though I'm pretty broke." He smiled his please-just-get-along smile of desperation, which just made Nathan more irritated.

"No," he said sharply. "Jack messed up—everything."

Jack sighed. "Come on, Nathan. If you don't want me to play, fine, I won't. But it ain't like I started problems with you and Thomas. Don't blame me for the one thing that ain't my fault."

"You don't know the first thing about me and Thomas," Nathan snarled. "So shut the hell up about it. Ain't like you've ever had anyone who means to you what he does to me. So just shut the hell up."

"Yeah, I have," Jack answered, his voice getting louder. "I have and I threw it away, just like you're doing. So don't tell me to shut up, 'cause in about two days you and me are gonna be in the same goddamn boat."

And that did it. Nathan, for all his faults, knew he was not Jack Kelly. "No," Nathan snarled, "you threw it away and didn't give a damn about it, not for a decade. You don't give a shit about David or anyone else—you want it back because you're greedy."

"That's a goddamn lie," Jack snapped. "I don't care what you tell yourself to sleep at night, but that ain't true."

"Who says it ain't?" Nathan said, smirking.

"I say," Jack snapped.

"Yeah? I'd like to ask David what he thinks."

Jack's eyes narrowed and he all but snarled, "I think if you wanna keep talking we should discuss this outside."

"Maybe we should," Nathan yelled back.

Jack stormed out and Nathan cursed and stormed after him. And Jack, apparently forgetting he was supposed to be respectable now, was rolling up his sleeves. Nathan glared at him.

"You know," Jack snapped, "I can't think of a single thing I've got to say to you. I already said I was sorry. I already paid up. I already tried to help you out and tried to make things right, and I ain't got anything else to say. I'm done trying. If you won't forgive me, fine, but for Christ's sake shut up about it."

"I'm not gonna shut up about it," Nathan answered, stalking closer, clenching his fists. "'Cause you're exactly the same guy you've always been. A selfish, greedy liar, and you think just saying you're sorry can make up for things you actually did. Words don't make everything better, Jack."

"No, but they can screw it up," Jack answered. "That's why Thomas isn't here, right?"

"Shut up about Thomas!" Nathan yelled. "You don't know him, and you don't know me! You left us both, you left us all!"

"Guys!" Nick broke in, hurrying out of the house. "Keep it down, okay? Isaac says the bulls come around here all the time, 'cause of the kids, an—"

"I'm not scared of the cops anymore," Jack answered, straightening up. "And I'm ready to have this out, be done with it."

"Figures," Nathan snapped. "You got cash, you look down on the rest of us. You're not just a liar, you're a traitor."

For just a second, Jack looked hurt, like Nathan had finally found his weakness. Well, good. If Jack was going to sneer about how the cops never bothered him anymore—

He didn't have time to finish the thought, because the look was gone from Jack's face, and Jack swung at him. Nathan was caught off-guard, a little shocked that Jack would actually hit him, but hell, he'd been in enough fights in his time to react. He dodged at the last second and Jack grazed his shoulder. Nathan turned quickly and punched back, catching Jack's gut. Jack let out a pained grunt and doubled over, but before Nathan could even get in another hit, Jack had grabbed his shirt. Jack hauled himself upright and shoved hard; Nathan sprawled backwards, barely catching himself, but not without flailing off-balance enough that Jack was able to get in a good hit. It collided with the side of Nathan's face, and he fell, hard. From the ground, he heard Jack's footsteps coming towards him, but then Nick was there.

As Nathan picked himself up, Nick pushed Jack back. "Come on, you guys, that's about enough—"

Nathan felt a trickle of blood at his temple and more on his hands where they'd hit the cobbles. "You son of a bitch!" Nathan snarled, and lunged past Nick at Jack, hitting them both. Nick dropped Jack as he balanced himself, and as Jack pulled himself away, Nathan punched him.

"Hey—!" Nick yelled again, and this time reached for Nathan. But Nathan dodged and evaded him, then swung at Jack again. Jack ducked and barreled into Nathan, knocking them both to the cobblestones. Nathan scrambled but Jack pinned him down with a rough knee on his chest. He was pulling back his fist and Nathan braced himself; then Nick knocked into Jack, leaving all three of them winded on the street.

"What the hell is going on out here?!"

The voice that cut through the air was authoritative and angry. Nathan took a few deep breaths and sat up. His whole body ached from that last fall, and he was still bleeding. But what he looked up to see was an angry beat cop, one hand on his hip and his other on his nightstick.

Jack was the first one to get to his feet. Nathan followed more slowly, and wiped his hands on his pants as Jack obviously tried to turn on his charm. "Sorry, officer," Jack said brightly. "Just—some friends having a quarrel."

"Some friends, feh," the officer snapped. "It's not fighting I mind, it's fighting in public!"

"Yes, we're very sorry," Jack said.

"Probably drunk," the officer scoffed.

"No, sir," Nick said quickly. "Barely had a drop all night."

"So you say. But I see three grown men, causing a ruckus—and setting a bad example." He gestured, and Nathan glanced around and saw faces pressed to the windows of the lodging house, saw the kids who'd been asleep on stoops and under awnings all creeping closer, staring. "And I don't give a damn what you're fighting about. Fact is, these kids are hard enough to control without adults who should know better encouraging 'em!"

Nathan winced. He knew from experience that the guy was right. As kids, they'd all tested the local authorities, gotten away with as much as they could—they had no choice, really, since sometimes it was pick a pocket or starve. And that seeing a couple of adults walk away from a cop scot-free would have emboldened them, convinced them to try and talk their way out of trouble. Which was how Nathan realized that no matter what they said, they'd be spending an uncomfortable night in jail.

Well, shit.

When the officer handed down the you're-coming-with-me edict, all three of them accepted it calmly. The officer kept one hand on his club, but didn't cuff any of them. He did, however, march them the five blocks to the nearest station house and leave them in the custody of a younger, slightly jumpier cop. He took their names down, informed them they could make a call if they had anyone to call, and that the fine was fifteen dollars. They could go when they paid it, or in the morning (with fines to be sent to them later, or jail time to serve if they didn't pay up), whichever came first.

Jack sighed. "Damn, I dropped the last of my pocket cash paying everyone back," he mused. "Barely got a buck on me now."

Nick shrugged. "I was flat broke already."

And Nathan sank down onto the flat bench of their cell, and muttered, "Shit. All my dough was in the game."

"I'm sure Isaac'll hang onto it for you," Nick said.

"That ain't the point. Either of you know the number of the lodging house?"

Jack glanced at Nick, and Nick glanced back at Jack, and they both shook their heads. Nathan groaned.

"I'll call Thomas," Nick offered. "You know he'll come for you, Nathan. And maybe us, too."

Jack hesitated, but nodded, then said, "I can—call someone, too. But the bank doesn't open 'til morning, anyways."

"Thomas it is, then," Nick said.

Nathan nodded wordlessly, as Nick called out to the officer. But despite Nick's surety, he couldn't believe it. For all Thomas had offered him a last chance dozens of times, he'd never been as mad as he'd been that evening. And so Nathan didn't believe he'd come. And now, Nathan was pretty sure, he'd never even get a chance to make things right.

He buried his head in scraped-up hands. He couldn't even bring himself to blame this one on Jack.

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