After having known him for two years, Cheshire was pretty sure that Jakub hated him. But he wasn’t about to let something like that get in the way of their friendship.

“Slim used to be the style,” he explained as he buttoned Jakub’s dark suit coat for him—a wool three button with a high lapel. He would have preferred something with a pattern but he wasn’t about to push his luck. “Now everyone is going for a bulkier look. Loose-fit.”

Jakub held very still as Cheshire straightened the creases at his shoulder. He looked not unlike a feral alley cat that had been cornered, weighing the values of fight and flight. The expression, if it could even be called that, was a tiny variation on one of the very few faces Jakub seemed capable of making, which Cheshire had yet to fully tease a meaning from. Still, better than a scowl, he supposed.

“I guess it’s to try and look more imposing,” Cheshire continued to chat as he finished his fussing. “Puffing up, you know?”

“You don’t really need a larger suit for that,” said Jakub, the very definition of deadpan, so that Cheshire had no idea if it was a compliment.

He decided to take it like one anyway. “Maybe not! But a little extra can’t hurt, right?” He grinned as he stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “It looks good on you—look at the great angle on your shoulders, now.”

Jakub looked, but he didn’t seem to take any measure of interest in the well-fit proportions. “It’ll do,” he said, earning a miffed look from the shopkeeper. “At least if it fits big, I won’t have to get another anytime soon.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Cheshire protested. “This should be opening a door for you.” That didn’t seem to move Jakub in the least, so he added, “At least look in the mirror—see how handsome you are in it.”

Jakub turned away, red with irritation, but he did seek out the mirror. When he spent more than a few seconds looking himself over, Cheshire considered that a victory. “It’ll do,” he said again.

“I guess that’s the best we’re getting out of him,” Cheshire said to the shopkeeper, who was shaking his head. “Personally, I think it’s outrageously good work.”

“You would know,” the shopkeeper replied, only slightly less deadpan than Jakub as he opened his sales book. “I’ve never seen a kid your age with a better eye. Though I would have expected you to go with a better known brand.”

“Fiscella brand is up and coming,” Cheshire said knowingly, taking his wallet out. “You’ll see. In a few years, everyone will be wearing it. Jakub and I are ahead of our time.”

“In that case, I’ll keep stocking it.”

Jakub finally turned away from the mirror when he noticed Cheshire handing over a handful of bills. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.

“Paying the man?” Cheshire smirked to himself as the shopkeeper counted out the sum. “That’s how commerce works, Jake.”

Jakub hurried over. “You’re not paying for my suit.”

“It’s a birthday present,” said Cheshire, leaning against the counter to prevent Jakub from interfering with the transaction. “It’s next week, right?”

“It’s February,” Jakub protested. “My birthday is in Ap—”

He cut himself off, but it was too late—Cheshire was already beaming. “April!” Cheshire repeated excitedly. “Finally! Now I just need to narrow down the day.”

Ah, now there was Jakub’s famous scowl. Cheshire had found that in certain contexts it was actually kind of endearing. “I’ll pay you back,” Jakub said. “I’m the best man—I can at least buy my own coat.”

“It’s because you’re Barney’s best man that I’m buying,” Cheshire insisted. “If I left it up to you, you’d pick the cheapest, drabbest coat in here. You ought to be at least this fashionable.”

Jakub continued to grumble as he took off the coat and handed it over to be folded and bagged. Cheshire couldn’t have been happier. “He’s much more excited than he looks,” he said to the shopkeeper once their business was finished. “It’s just that, you see, it’s hard to admit you care about your looks when you’re a trained killer. Jakub the Kosiarz they used to call him back in Poland. ‘The Reaper.’ So please excuse him.”

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure.”

Cheshire looked for Jakub’s reaction, but didn’t get so much as a twitch as he wound his scarf around his neck. Too outlandish to acknowledge, or too close to the mark to admit? Cheshire was reasonably sure that if he tried enough different stories he was bound to guess right eventually. Whether or not Jakub would give that away was less certain.

They left the shop together and wandered the streets a while, finding themselves at the riverfront. A pair of women with a pushcart were selling yams for a nickel, so they each bought one and sat by the water, eating slowly to let the food keep their hands warm as long as possible. Despite the cold weather it was peaceful, and Cheshire couldn’t help but smile to himself as Jakub stayed closer to him than he normally would have.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he said between bites. “Barney, of all people, getting married.”

“It’s not as if he did anything,” Jakub replied. “The Boss is smart. If we marry into the Szpilmans, we’ll have a leg up in Maspeth. That will make it easier to chase the Foleys out of Greenpoint; we could end up taking the whole waterfront. It’s a win for both families.”

“That would be something,” Cheshire agreed. “Maybe we even extend across the river?”

Jakub snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. No one over here is taking the Lower East.”

Cheshire shrugged, nibbling on the last of his yam. The Manhattan skyline didn’t seem all that far. “You never know until you try.”

Jakub stared at him. Cheshire left him to it for a bit, just to see if he’d volunteer more cynicism on his own. But he wasn’t one for heavy silence, and he finally couldn’t help himself. “What? You really don’t think I can?”

“Your hair’s gotten long,” said Jakub.

“Huh? Oh.” Cheshire reached back, feeling out the length of his ponytail. “Yeah, I guess it has. Think I should cut it?”

“No,” Jakub said immediately, and then he squirmed a little before relaxing against Cheshire’s shoulder again. “No, it’s...fine.”

Cheshire wasn’t sure how to interpret that reaction; he finished his yam as he tried to puzzle it out. “Do you know how to braid?” he asked.

Jakub went red again, and as he sputtered over an answer, Cheshire added, “Do you think that would be too feminine? Or would I look like, maybe a viking? That’d be nifty, huh?”

Jakub squirmed some more, drawing his scarf up over his nose against the chill. “D-Do whatever you want,” he muttered. “Don’t ask me.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Hannah to help me? She has a lot of—”

“Don’t ask Hannah.” Jakub made a quiet, rumbly noise. “If you care so much, just ask Grace.”

Cheshire winced. “Actually, Grace and I—”

Something hard struck him in the back, and he jumped, yelping in surprise more than pain. He whirled and found a pair of brawny teenagers glaring at them from curbside. One of them was hefting a chunk of concrete plucked from the cracked street.

“The hell did you do that for?” Cheshire shouted, but it wasn’t until Jakub turned to glare as well that the pair actually looked intimidated.

“This is Foley territory,” said the girl, jutting her chin at them. “You’re trespassing!”

“You’re the ones that’re too far south!” Cheshire shouted back. “Buzz off!”

It looked like the girl was winding up to throw her other rock, so Cheshire beat her to it: he wadded up the paper his yam had been in and flung it at them. It wouldn’t have come anywhere near either, but a flick of his hand exploded the wad in midair. The fireball it made was a lot more impressive than he’d really intended, and both teens jolted back.

Cheshire was grinning to himself until Jakub said, “Chesh,” in that unmistakably displeased tone.

“They were asking for it,” Cheshire said with a shrug. “We’re nowhere near their turf.”

“You can poke them all you want after the wedding,” said Jakub. “But for now—”

Jakub pitched forward. Cheshire heard something shatter, but it wasn’t until he smelled the booze dousing them both that he realized the little shits had thrown a bottle at his head. He grabbed Jakub across the chest to keep him steady, his heart suddenly in his throat. “Hey! The hell—” He caught a glimpse of the pair turning to run and then focused on Jakub. “Damn, are you okay?”

Jakub wavered dizzily and touched the back of his head. His fingers came away red, but he managed to sit up by himself. “Shit,” he hissed. “I’m okay.”

“Hey, are you all right?” one of the pushcart women called, heading their way. When Cheshire looked past her he could see the Foleys turning down an alley.

“Stay here,” he said, making sure Jakub was stable enough before climbing over the back of the bench. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Jakub said, just like Cheshire figured he would, but he was too slow to stop him. “Don’t!”

Cheshire charged after the fleeing teenagers, through a narrow alley. They hadn’t run nearly as quickly or as far as they should have—he could already see them huddled at the alley mouth, arguing with each other. He should have found it suspicious, but all he could think of was Jakub’s fingers red with blood, and how he couldn’t let them get away with that. When they finally noticed him approaching they tensed, looking to run in different directions, and he picked up his pace. It was just enough that he was able to throw himself at the boy before he could escape, tackling him full on out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

They landed in a tangle, but Cheshire had plenty of size and muscle over the smaller boy, and he had no trouble pinning the little cretin. “You think you can mess with Kozlow?” he growled, and he punched him right in the nose. He hadn’t meant to really hurt him—just to bloody him a little, so he’d think twice about picking fights away from home.

But the teen jerked and howled like he was being murdered. He covered his nose and began to wail, “Oh God, help me! He’s gonna kill me!” And for a moment Cheshire felt like a total ratfink for hitting him at all.

“Hey there!”

Someone grabbed Cheshire by the elbow, and without thinking he shoved back, sending the stranger nearly off his feet. He still had the Foley kid by the collar and was trying to figure out what to do with him when he suddenly realized there were more people gathering around, shouting at him. And they were all wearing navy trousers.

Uh oh. Cheshire lifted his head and blanched. He was surrounded by half a dozen cops.

A pair of them grabbed him by his jacket, hauling him off the still squealing Foley brat. They weren’t strong but with so many he knew better than to fight, only grimacing as they shoved him up against a parked car. Don’t panic, he told himself as he tried to put his thoughts in order. What would Jakub do? He shrank into his shoulders in embarrassment. Not fallen for such an obvious trap, that’s what.

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded one of the cops. “You trying to kill this poor kid?”

“He started it!” Cheshire retorted. “He threw a bottle at—” He cut himself off; the last thing he wanted was to get Jakub involved, innocent victim or no. “—At me. Right at my head!”

The officer touched the back of his head, feeling around for a bruise or lump. “You’re fine—want to try again?”

“That’s not…” Cheshire squirmed in frustration. He couldn’t see the cops holding him, but there were people on the other side of the street that had stopped to stare. The shop beyond had many of its windows smashed in, hence the number of police around. Someone really worked for this, Cheshire thought, squashing a wholly ridiculous feeling of accomplishment. Am I really that important to them? Then he remembered who was really behind it, and he quickly sobered. Do the Foleys know about Shane…?

The cops pulled him away from the car and turned him around. A few had their billy clubs out, and Cheshire put his hands up in surrender. “He was throwing rocks and bottles at me,” he insisted while another cop helped the teen to his feet. “Just ask him.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” the teen said piteously. He faked like he couldn’t stand without the officer’s help, gladly accepting her handkerchief. “He called me a dirty firecrotch and just went at me!”

“The hell I did!”

“That’s enough,” said a very deep voice, and even the teen shut up as everyone turned to look. The officers parted for the arrival of a new man in a long overcoat and wide-brimmed hat, African American with strands of silver in his beard and at his temples. He took in the scene with a calm sweep of his gaze and finished at Cheshire. His long stare of thoughtful contemplation was infinitely unnerving, but Cheshire did his best not to fidget. His mouth, on the other hand, he had no control over.

“I guess you’re in charge?” he said, offering a hint of a smile he hoped the gentleman might find charming, or at least, maybe innocent? “I’m sorry for causing a scene—he and I are square now, so—”

“You said you’re one of Kozlow’s,” the man interrupted.

Cheshire prayed his expression didn’t falter as he debated how to respond. They can’t even nab Barney without evidence, and everyone knows who he is. These coppers have nothing on me. 

But the continuing pressure of the man’s heavy scrutiny wore at his attempts at confidence. “I was just having a scrap with the kid here,” he said carefully. “That’s it.”

The man considered that for another long moment and then reached out. Cheshire went stiff, even holding his breath as the man fingered a lock of his hair. Then he reached lower, giving his necktie a short, gentle tug. Cheshire’s stomach turned with confusion and he was fresh out of wits by the time the man pulled his hand back.

“This is a nice suit you’re wearing,” he said.

Cheshire gulped. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re—”

But the man had already turned away. “Take him to the station,” he told the officers. “I want to have talk with him in private.”

“Yes, detective.”

“Hey—” The officers pulled Cheshire away from the car so the back door could be opened. “Hey, I didn’t do anything!” he protested. “You’re gonna arrest me over—”

“You’re not under arrest,” said the detective. “Yet. You and I are just going to talk.” He fixed Cheshire with a stern look. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

“Wha….” Cheshire glanced between the officers, as if one of them might hold the answer to the test being administered to him, but they looked just as mystified as him. Mystified, but obedient—they resumed ushering him into the back of the car. He couldn’t have resisted without a great deal of effort, and judging by how closely the detective was watching him, it would have been a waste anyway. Helpless, he let them shove him into the back seat.

Just as the door was closed he caught a glance of Jakub ducking back in the nearby alley. His face was hard and Cheshire had to look away.