Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Not another,” sighed Jerome, waving over the disposal officer. They dashed over and lifted the body onto a stretcher.

“There’s one here too,” his partner, Harris, said. Another stretcher, another bloodstain on the pavement.

“I wonder what happened,” Jerome said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Who cares,” Harris snapped, flicking the end of his cigarette at the evidence of another fatal street fight. “These losers burn out like my wife’s cheap candles. Early, and smelling nasty.”

Jerome rolled his eyes.

The hearse arrived soon after. The bodies were placed in the back, and the vehicle drove off, leaving the two officers to be joined by reinforcements as they started taping off the scene.

The morgue was a horrible place. It was dark, and dusty, and smelled horrible. The occupants didn’t care, though. Being on their way to the afterlife, they had more immediate concerns than where their bodies ended up.

Living people didn’t come down very often. They only visited to collect the bodies for disposal. As such, they didn’t know how prolonged exposure in the cold room slowed blood flow.

Riff found out when he opened his eyes and saw where he was. With a curse, he tried to move, but only found searing pain in his stomach that was only somewhat soothed by the cold.

There was a groan to his immediate left. Riff turned his head agonizingly slowly to see that Shark guy clutching his chest. Bernardo.

“You killed me!” Riff rasped.

Bernardo looked over, and his eyes widened. “I thought I did-”

“Oh, good job, ya messed that up too…” Riff winced as his stomach reminded him that a knife had been implanted in it not too long ago.

Bernardo said something in response, but Riff couldn’t hear him. There was a ringing in his ears, and his vision seemed to go sporadically dark. He grimaced and let his hand fall back to his side, biting his lip to keep himself from making a sound and showing weakness.

He started to drift away; while he might not be dead yet, he was still dying. Riff knew it. He felt it in the way the strength seemed to sap out of his bones, in the way everything seemed to tunnel before his eyes, in how his limbs felt heavy and light at the same time.

Bernardo had stopped making that noise or whatever he was doing. Riff was glad. He didn’t want to spare energy tuning out his murderer while he tried to die peacefully.

A slamming sound. Footsteps, but they faded behind the ringing for a time. Riff let his eyes shut.

Dying was kind of boring. He wished it was over.

Then a voice, closer to him than he’d expected. He’d forgotten someone had come into the room. Wait, when did that happen? His memory seemed kind of fuzzy.

“Rotation’s in half an hour.” It was an unfamiliar voice, with a lilt.

“This… fresh… matches records…” Another voice. Why was he cutting out like a broken record?

“...too…”

Riff smelled garlic. Riff didn’t want to die smelling garlic.

“Let’s go.”

After the increasingly disrupted dialogue, the last two words came clear as a bell before all awareness fled him.

Bernardo was not having a good day. First, he killed a guy. He hadn’t really meant for it to go that far, even if the bastard had totally deserved it. Second, some random kid stabbed him in the chest. Not Bernardo’s fault the idiot had pulled out the knife and let his friend bleed out. Come on, it’s the 20th century. There was a hospital not five minutes away. Third, the guy he stabbed-- Riff?-- didn’t even have the decency to die properly, so they had to lay there awkwardly in the morgue until they both started to fade out from blood loss anyways.

So, all in all, he had ceased to expect good things from this de mierda day. That’s probably why he was surprised that he even opened his eyes again at all, much less to find himself in a moderately comfortable bed.

I guess this is heaven.

Then he heard a groan to his right. Looking over, he saw that Riff bigot laying on his own bed.

Nevermind.

No way any benevolent deity would make him spend eternity with that guy.

Lifting his head slightly (and frowning at the effort it took), Bernardo looked around at his surroundings.

It hit him that they were in a hospital, and that he and Riff weren’t the only people in the room. It was a longish, rectangular space with multiple beds laid out on both sides. It appeared to be some kind of open ward. Judging by the blood stains, it was for injuries. Judging from the patients it was for injuries resulting from a certain source.

Streetfights.

A nurse entered the room, saw him awake, and hurried over.

“Hey miss,” he managed with a shaky smile, “I think I’m in the wrong room. I’ve got some class.” The attempt at a joke fell flat.

She leveled him a stare. “And a classy knife wound.” She shook her head and lifted the medical records hanging from his bed railing. “You’re just lucky the surgeon was able to repair your lung.” She stepped over and reached for the bandage around his chest.

When did that get there? And what did she mean, repair his lung? He’d been stabbed just to the right of his sternum, hadn’t he?

She frowned as she removed it. “This is a terrible dressing. I swear, the shift before us could hardly be described as basically trained.” He didn’t react as she rebandanged it, cleaning the wound and rubbing some kind of salve on it before using a fresh wrap.

She moved on to someone else, but Bernardo remained staring at the ceiling above him. There was a swirling sense of unease; as though he were swimming in the ocean, but the waves were calm, calmer than they ever had a right to be.

No surgeon could have “repaired” his right lung. Bernardo didn’t have a right lung. It’d been removed when he was only a teenager, after a bad accident left it scarred and prone to infection.

Something was terribly wrong, and nobody knew it.

Chapter Text

Something was terribly wrong, and Riff was sure of it.

Guys like him didn’t just end up in a hospital, being taken care of by nurses, after landing in a morgue. Guys like him didn’t have the luck. The world spits on guys like him, so the better his body felt, the worse his mind did.

What really made him jittery, though, was the medical records hanging from his bed railing. After the nurse left the ward, he’d ignored the sharp pain in his stomach to reach over and look through them.

According to the records, he’d been admitted three days ago. The fight had been… how long ago was it, now? The timing didn’t feel right. He could’ve sworn the fight was only two days ago.

He couldn’t say for sure, since he’d been out of it for a while, but he wasn’t about to ask Bernardo. Bernardo, who always managed to say something charismatic each time the nurse walked in to make her smile. Bernardo, who’d stabbed him.

Riff didn’t want to stay here. The longer he was here, the more things seemed wrong.

So he bided his time, and when night fell and the lights were dimmed down, he tried to stand.

“Jimminy-” he hissed, clutching at the rail as his knees buckled. He waited a few moments for the nausea to pass before straightening up again.

“You’ll never make it out like that,” a smooth voice said from behind him.

He slowly turned to glare at Bernardo, who was sitting up and smirking at him.

“I ain’t staying here,” he replied, taking one shaky step. “Can’t afford the bills.”

Bernardo let him struggle halfway across the room before calling, “You might want to disguise yourself.”

Riff twirled to snarl some reply but swayed as he moved too fast.

“Didn’t get your sea legs yet?” Bernardo said.

Riff briefly considered strangling the guy, but decided he didn’t have the energy. He settled for displaying his favorite finger instead.

Then, to his surprise, the guy struggled to his own feet.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Leaving,” Bernardo replied. Riff opened his mouth to say something, but Bernardo cut him off. “Look, don’t worry, I still hate you, but something’s wrong about all of this.”

“What’s that,” Riff said derisively, but he was listening. It surprised him that the Shark had also picked up on it.

“That,” Bernardo said, pointing at the clipboard hanging from his bed rail, “isn’t me.”

“How do you know? We could’ve been here for a while,” Riff said, more for the sake of argument than because he disagreed.

“Because it doesn’t match up,” Bernardo said. “Are you going to mess up our escape chance by arguing or come along?”

Riff struggled to agree to anything the guy said, but finally gave a tight nod.

“Let’s go then.”

The two gang leaders left the ward, which was unlocked, and started down the hallway. No one was around, or they would’ve been forced back to their beds.

Abruptly, Bernardo tapped his shoulder.

“What?” he snapped, then saw that he was pointing at a storage closet.

“Wait,” Bernardo said, opening the door and going inside. He emerged a moment later with two lab coats, tossing one at Riff. “Put this on.”

“Anyone within twenty feet is gonna look at our faces and know we ain’t doctors,” Riff snorted.

“Twenty feet and it’s too late anyways. Put it on.”

Riff did, grinding his teeth the whole time.

“How’d you know that was there?” Riff asked as started down a ramp to the floor below.

“We took Maria here when she broke her wrist,” Bernardo replied. “They wouldn’t let us in after hours, but Anita wanted to see her, so we put on lab coats and snuck in anyways.”

Riff glanced over in surprise at the amount of information he’d just been given, but missed the fond smile of recollection.

“Right,” he said, not having any response to give.

“This way,” Bernardo suddenly said. “Side exit.”

Riff followed him out of a side door that only had a doorknob on the inside to a dirty alleyway. “How’d you… ya know what, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

Bernardo smirked slightly and pointed. “There’s the harbor.”

Sometimes, Riff thought, it was really annoying that the immigrant was better at English than he was.

“The harbor? What’re we doin’ out here?”

“This,” Bernardo said, nodding his head at the hospital, “is where they bring people who can’t pay.”

Riff looked up at the building, taking in the peeling paint, barred windows, and missing letters in the signs. “Guess so.” He turned back to Bernardo. “Great working together to break out,” he said sarcastically, “but I think it’s time we split now.” He started to walk away, but was stopped when Bernardo spoke up.

“Don’t you want to find out what’s going on?”

Riff stopped.

He hated Bernardo. Hated his gang, hated the way they came in and took their territory. More than that, he hated how everything seemed to be shifting around him. Things had been fine before Bernardo and the rest of the Sharks showed up, and he didn’t see why things should change now.

But standing here, staring at the Puerto Rican neighborhood boxing hero who had a white bandage stained red with blood across his chest, all Riff could think about was how that red was the same exact shade as the red on the bandage around his own stomach.

The bandage I need ‘cause he stabbed me, Riff’s brain argued, but it was a weak protest, and he knew it.

Shark and Jet, they’d both almost died from bleeding out. Both of them, bleeding out matching red blood. They should have died. Not only did Riff’s prior experience with the world tell him so, but common sense did too. How did they go from laying in the street, to a morgue, to a hospital? Now they were back on the street, and Riff had to make a choice. Should he walk away, and keep doing what he’d been doing, and go on hating? Or, should he put aside the feelings that got him stabbed and almost killed in the first place and figure out why it hadn’t worked?

“Yeah,” he finally said. “I do.”

Chapter Text

They were on their way to the fight scene first. Both agreed that whatever weird thing that happened had started at the morgue, but neither knew where that would be, so they decided to first investigate the fight scene.

They arrived early morning, just as the police were removing the tape marking the place off. Judging from the fish seller who was standing nearby, arms crossed, they’d been getting pressure to open up the docks to allow regular business to commence.

“I lost two days of business because of those streetfighters,” the vendor was saying. “When are you gonna take care of them?”

The officer responded, but Bernardo and Riff didn’t hear it.

“He said two days,” Bernardo said.

“I heard,” Riff rolled his eyes. “Guess we were right then. My papers said three days ago.”

“Mine four,” Bernardo mused, returning his attention to the now open docs as the officer left and the vendor began setting up his stall.

Riff looked over incredulously. “Well why didn’t you say somethin’? That’d be a pretty obvious-”

“Callate,” Bernarndo said.

Riff scowled. “You know I don’t und-”

“Shut up!” Bernardo translated.

Riff, always wanting to get the last word, started to argue, but Bernardo had already emerged from behind the crates where they were hiding and walked over to the spot where they’d fought. No one had apparently cleaned up the bloodstains yet.

Riff walked up too. Bernardo was surprised when he said, “I wonder what happened after we ‘died’. You think anyone else got hurt?”

“After your friend Tony stabbed me, the cops showed up and everybody bolted. If they did, it wasn’t here.”

Riff was staring at him. “Tony… stabbed you? Tony?”

Bernardo nodded slowly, circling the area. “I don’t see anything strange here.”

Riff apparently hadn’t gotten over the fact that Tony stabbed someone. “Tony?? After what happened last time…”

“Hey!” a voice shouted. It was the fish vendor. “If you ain’t buying, then you can go back to where you came from!”

Bernardo gave him a dry look. He hadn’t missed the implications.

“Hey, why don’t you stuff a fish in it?” Riff called back.

Bernardo raised an eyebrow. Riff shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes. Bernardo hid a surprised laugh by picking up something off the ground.

“What’s that there?” Riff asked as the fish vendor turned away, muttering.

Bernardo frowned down at the rectangle of paper in his hand. It looked like a standard business card, except there was no address or phone number. Everything else seemed to be listed, including a business name, associate name (Loretta), and some cutesy slogan. Several light smudges and mud splatters proved that it had spent more than a few minutes on the ground, but it had to have been dropped after the fight. It wouldn’t still be this legible after two days in the elements. He handed it to Riff, who flipped it over.

“There’s some drawing here,” he said, showing the back. It was more dirty, but Bernardo could still make out a pencil sketch of an unassuming building with posters plastered all over the brickwork.

“You recognize that place?” Bernardo asked.

“Not at all,” Riff said. He turned it over to the front again and read it. “Says here that it’s a Dovetail Theatre. ‘A little birdie told me it’s the best place to be on a Saturday night’. Weird thing for a cop to have on ‘im.”

“Who says a cop dropped it?”

“Well it’s still fresh, ain’t it? And no one else’s been over here since the fight”

“And if someone else was, that’d be even more telling,” Bernardo mused.

Riff glanced at him. “Sure.” He handed it back. “I don’t know where it is, but Grazi might.” He gave a little laugh. “More her scene than mine.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah,” Riff said, with a little smile. “You saw her. At the dance.”

It was a jibe. A test, to see if Bernardo would rise to the bait. Riff was definitely a cocky bastard, but his attitude had seemed to change over the past day. He was still as sarcastic as ever, but his comments seemed to have a little less bite to them and more habit.

“You might not want to bring her into this,” Bernardo said slowly.

“Why not?” Riff said, the slight smile dropping instantly and his eyes hardening. He was preparing for some grating insult, a taunt. Bernardo consciously kept himself calm.

“Because it might not be safe.”

He waited as Riff slowly deflated.

“I’m not going to involve Anita either,” he continued. “We don’t know what’s going on, and until we do, I’m not willing to risk it.”

Riff stared at the ground before nodding slowly. “Okay then. So, we find this Dovetail Theatre?”

“Our best lead.” Bernardo didn’t say it, but there was another reason he didn’t want to involve either the girls or their… friends. Any tentative cooperation the two leaders had formed would dissolve the moment their people were together and trading insults.

From the way Riff accepted the little Bernardo had voiced, he guessed he didn’t need to say anything at all.

“So, we just have to search the rest of the city for a place that only might exist.” Riff said, starting off away from the docs. “Nothing two dead men can’t handle.”

“Right,” Bernardo caught up with him.

“Won’t take more than, eh, two months? Three, tops?” Riff blithely said. “After all, we have these swell knife wounds to keep us moving quickly.”

Sometimes, Bernardo wondered about this guy.

Chapter Text

They had found the Dovetail Theatre. It was only four days after they had escaped from the hospital, but Riff was already feeling better than he had before. He wasn’t healed by a long shot, but the wound had stopped its sporadic bleeding. Somewhere along the line, he’d been given stitches, but they were shoddy. So were Bernardo’s. Riff suspected that they weren’t administered by the hospital, which added to the mystery of just what had happened to them. Bernardo, as a boxer, had plenty of experience with stitches and had told Riff that both of theirs would need to come out again. Riff, as a person disliking the idea of ripping out stitches, had told him to go jump in the Hudson. Bernardo had laughed.

At the moment, still bearing uneven stitches, the two men were loitering in a back alley across from the theatre with cigarettes and clothes Riff had “borrowed” while Bernardo got some food. The Dovetail was closed at the moment, seeing as how it was early morning on a weekday, but they wanted a look around before going in during a show when there were people (and possible suspects) around. There was a single light on inside, and a solitary girl was sweeping the floor.

“I guess we’re gonna have to break in the back door,” Riff shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of his new jacket.

“That sounds like a mala idea,” Bernardo said doubtfully. “And it’s illegal.”

Riff looked over in disbelief. “What are you worrying about breakin’ the law for? You’re a gang leader.”

“We’re not a gang, Riff,” Bernardo said, keeping his eyes on the theatre. “We formed the Sharks to protect our people.”

“From what?” Riff asked, baffled. This whole time, he’d been under the impression that the Sharks were a rival gang that deserved to be fought off.

“You.”

Bernardo’s reply should have surprised Riff more than it did. He’d learned a lot over the past few days about Bernardo, and each new thing surprised him less than the last.

“Then I guess I’ll just smooth talk the cleaning lady,” Riff said sarcastically. “I’m sure she’d be happy to let two dirty nobodies in after hours."

“No, you’ll send her screaming. That, or she’ll slap you. I’ll do it,” Bernardo said, adjusting his own jacket and strolling across the street. Riff hurried to sumdge out his cigarette and followed.

Bernardo reached the door and rapped on it gently with his knuckles a few times. The girl looked up, frowned warily, and walked over. She pointed at the “closed” sign in the window, but Bernardo smiled and shook his head. The girl hesitated, then unlocked and opened the door a fraction.

“Can I help you?” She had long brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and an apron tied over her clothes.

“Hola, mucho gusto. My name is Ben. My friend and I were here last night, but he thinks he might have left his wallet by accident.”

Riff gave an awkward wave when she glanced over momentarily.

“He’s Rand. What’s your name, if I may ask?”

Riff cursed Bernardo’s warm tone and personable manner as he tried to suppress an amused snort and look suitably pleading.

“I’m Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah, is it alright if we come in and look for it? I promise we won’t be any trouble.”

Sarah frowned, but gave in under the begging look Bernardo was giving her. “Aright, but you have to leave if you can’t find it. I’m not supposed to let anyone in if the manager isn’t here.”

“Loretta, right?” Riff asked, casually as he could manage, as they entered. The main room had several small circular tables with chairs around them, vaguely facing a stage along the opposite wall to the entrance.

“That’s right,” Sarah said, seeming relieved to hear this ‘proof’ that they were, in fact, customers. She reached for the handle of the broom again, then paused. “I’ve been cleaning this main room, but haven’t seen any wallet.” She looked suspicious again.

“I wouldn’t have dropped it in here,” Riff said, spotting a partially open door to the left of the stage that appeared to lead into a hallway. “I went out back to talk to one of the performers. I’ll just check on back there, yeah?” he started to walk towards the hall.

“Oh, no, I don’t think you should-” Sarah began, but Bernardo cut her off.

“His cousin or something. We came to see them perform last night, but Rand had one to many…”

Bernardo’s voice became more distant as Riff walked farther down the hall. He could only distractedly be chagrined at Bernardo painting him as someone who couldn’t hold his liquor, but had more important things to focus on.

There were three doors in sight before the hallway turned to the right. The first and only door on the right opened onto the stage. The first on the left was a dressing room, bursting at the seams with colorful costumes and a couple stools. One of them was knocked over. Two vanities had mirrors and lights, makeup displayed across the desk-like surface. He stepped inside momentarily, glancing around, but didn’t spot anything particularly suspicious. Deciding he didn’t have time for a more thorough search, he set off to check the next room.

The second door to the right was a storage room. Shelves held boxes, a broken table was in the corner, and a few spare chair dotted the place. He opened one box to see extra dishes. With one last glance, he left the room.

“Did you find it yet?” Sarah’s voice called. Bernardo’s voice rose momentarily as he brought up Jazz. Jazz? Really?

He rounded the bend to see two more doors. One, at the end, was an exit that led into an alleyway. The other, on the left, opened into an office. There was a name plaque to the side: Loretta.

He tried the knob.

It was locked.

“Da-” he was tempted to kick the door, but didn’t want to alarm dear Sarah anymore.

Sure enough, high-heeled footsteps were coming down the hall. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started in the direction of the main room, doing his best to look despondant.

“Well?” Sarah asked as he turned the corner and they almost ran into each other. “Did you find it?”

“No-”

“Then get out.”

She ushered the two of them toward the door, kicking the door to the stage shut with her foot as she passed.

At the door, Bernardo turned around. “Lo siento, I’m so sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

She lost a bit of her indignant huff and sighed. “Yeah, but you have to go now.”

“Of course.” Bernardo gave an elegant bow.

“Uh, yeah, thanks a lot,” Riff said awkwardly.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look mad. “You can come back when the theatre opens again tonight to look more, if you need to.”

They exchanged a glance.

“Perhaps we will, at that.”

Chapter Text

They'd been in the Dovetail for two full hours before Riff had a chance to dart into the side hall unnoticed, intending to search the office. Bernardo was surprised to find himself enjoying the smoky but cheerful atmosphere of the theatre. Places like this got a bad rep for being sleazy, but Bernardo got the impression that this place wasn't like that. It was certainly poor, and the entertainment wouldn't be winning any awards, but he found himself tapping his foot along with the music every now and again.

While waiting for Riff to return with something useful, so not just himself, he had to ignore a couple girls’ flirtation. The memory of Anita's beautiful smile had kept him honest all the way from Puerto Rico, and it wouldn’t be any different when they were both in the same city.

The door opened behind Bernardo, and he instinctively turned around to see who it was. He locked eyes with a short man who had a mustache. Most distinctive were the different eyes. One blue, one light brown. They both, however, widened upon seeing Bernardo. The man actually physically reared back. Bernardo quirked an eyebrow, but the man stumbled to a table near the window. Eyes darting nervously around, he pulled out a white kerchief and mopped his forehead with it. A server came over with a glass of water, and he drank greedily from it.

At that moment, Riff came out of the office. A beautiful, but tired-looking woman followed on his heels, appearing extremely vexed. The disaster man was trying to placate her, but she pointed at the door with a stone expression.

Riff left with a hangdog look about him, but Bernardo caught the slight smirk on his face. Head lowered, he didn’t notice the strange-eyed man turn to look at him and choke on his water. Bernardo could’ve sworn his face went ash-gray. Riff loitered outside of the theatre, clearly waiting for Bernardo.

Bernardo sighed, rising from the table. The only patron to take any undue or suspicious notice of them had already connected the two. The strange man’s blue and brown eyes were darting between Bernardo and Riff through the window. Ignoring him, the Shark left some money on the table and followed him out.

Riff was all smiles by the time Bernardo approached him. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper with an address on it and a key taped to it. He pulled the key off and dangled it in front of Bernardo’s face. “Look!”

Bernardo grabbed his elbow and pulled him into an alley. “Where was it?”

“In the top drawer of her desk.”

They heard the door open again, and the suspicious man from earlier stepped out. Bernardo pushed Riff farther in the shadows, cutting off the muted protest by saying, “Escucha. He knows something. You should’ve seen his face. He turned whiter than you when he saw us.”

Riff rolled his eyes. “Right. Here he comes.”

They watched him walk past, then exchanged a glance. With a nod, they waited half a minute before emerging. They watched him turn a corner up ahead and began following. Their wounds ached after the long day, but they ignored it.

Six blocks later, they watched as their target ducked into a nondescript apartment building. They waited and followed. He started up the stairs, and they watched from the bottom until he left the stairwell and went onto one of the floors. When the door swung shut, they made their own way up. The hallway immediately after the doorway (opening onto floor six) was empty, but they could hear a stuttering voice with an Italian accent somewhere in the distance. They got close enough to distinguish his words and stopped, realizing he was speaking from inside one of the rooms. They started leaning against the wall in an attempt to look casual to any passersby.

They realized that he was speaking on the phone to someone, as he kept pausing.

“No, I tell you… of course, I realize how it sounds… It was them! I swear it was them!... They’re working together… Ai, believe what you want, don’t blame me when you find a knife in your back. What about the others?... Not good enough. When can I talk to him?... Tomorrow? I can’t… Are you sure? Fine. I’ll cancel it. When does his boat leave?... I can be there by six. No earlier… Yes, I do, in fact… Good… He’d better not. Tomorrow, I expect him off his precious Mariangue by the time I get there.”

The clack of a phone being replaced in its recieved, and footsteps. Bernardo and Riff hurried around a corner as he went off in the other direction, towards the staircases. After hearing the door shut, they returned to the door he came out of.

Bernardo tested the doorknob. It was locked.

Riff suddenly asked, “Hey, is this Haver street?”

“Maybe, que?”

Riff pulled out the key and address. “Room numbers match.” With a shrug, he tried the key in the lock.

It worked.

Exchanging incredulous, but pleased looks, they went inside. Closing the door behind them, they began searching the room.

There was some sparse, generic furniture. No decorations, except a single droopy houseplant that probably needed some sun. There were no windows. A small kitchen was stocked with no food. The cabinets held guns instead.

“Uh, Bernardo? I think we’ve stumbled across something bigger than we thought,” Riff breathed.

Bernardo had opened the two other doors in the apartment. One led to a dingy bathroom; the other, a bedroom with a single bed and wardrobe. He opened the wardrobe to find bags inside. One was partially open, and he saw the telltale pale green of money. “I’ve noticed.” He closed the wardrobe and joined Riff in the sitting room. A stack of papers on the coffee table had monetary figures on them-large ones.

Riff flipped through them, then whistled. “Hey, these guys aren’t doing too bad for themselves. Whatever they’re doin’, that is.” He lowered the papers and looked over at Bernardo with wide eyes. “That one guy’s accent… you don’t think-”

The lock jingled in the knob, and the door flung open. A young man was standing there in the doorway, staring at them in surprise.

Chapter Text

The young man, recovering quickly, stepped inside and closed the door. He crossed his arms, half hidden in shadow, and said in a wry tone, “Do make yourselves at home.” He had a regulated, smooth voice with a definite Italian accent because this author is NOT subtle.

Riff cleared his throat and quickly dropped the papers, as if the man hadn’t seen him holding them yet. He went on the defensive. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Next to him, Bernardo made a muffled sort of derisive snort. He side-eyed Riff, but didn’t say anything.

“I happen to live here,” the young man said, stepping into the light and removing a fedora. Oh, definitely mafia.

“Here?” Riff said, looking around sarcastically. “There’s no food.”

“I see you opened my cupboards,” he said, hanging his hat on the door stopper on the bathroom door. He turned to them, previously polite face now hard. The kid couldn’t be more than 19, but Riff was pretty sure he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He shut up. “What are you doing here?”

There was a lump in the kid’s pocket. Riff wondered if it was a .22 or a .32. To distract himself, he dangled the key between his fingers.

“We needed to learn something,” Bernardo said cautiously. “We don’t want a fight.”

“Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, you broke in.” He seemed to be peering closely at them, a line of concentration forming between his eyebrows. “Do I know you?”

“If you do,” Riff interrupted, resolution to keep quiet forgotten, “then we’ve got another problem.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed.

“RIFF!” Bernardo exploded. Riff blinked in surprise. He’d heard Bernardo shout before, obviously, but not at him since they’d started working together. He was even more surprised, however, when Bernardo sighed and pinched his nose. He didn’t apologize, but he did appear to deliberately calm down. He turned to the young man. “We-”

The kid’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “You!”

What now? Riff thought irritably.

“You were the two in the morgue!”

Bernardo’s hand dropped abruptly from his nose and he stood straight. Riff took a step forward. “You know what happened to us?”

The kid was still staring at them like he’d seen a ghost. He staggered past them to collapse in an armchair, a shaking hand coming up to cover his face. “You’re dead.”

Riff made a show of looking down at himself. “Unfortunately, no.”

The young man dropped his hand, taking a shuddering breath. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave…”

Bernardo sat down on the couch, leaning forward. “You do know something.”

The kid nodded slowly. He looked at them, and then, the strangest thing happened. He began to laugh.

Riff and Bernardo looked at each other.

“No, I’m not crazy!” the kid said, leaping to his feet. “This is perfect!” He didn’t even look at them as he started to pace. “This is the repayment of their debt. The rewards to be reaped for the sins they’ve sowed.”

“We can come back later,” Riff said, eyeing the door, more anxious to leave than when he thought the kid was going to shoot them.

“No! You can’t. They’ll see you come.” The kid suddenly turned and stared right at Riff. “Aren’t I pathetic? I want them to be exposed, but I myself want to be kept secret from them.” He broke away, pacing again. “No matter. You can’t come back. I’ll have to tell you what I can now.”

He disappeared into the bedroom.

“I say we leave while we still can,” Riff muttered.

“No, he knows something,” Bernardo said.

“Look at him! What if it’s contagious?”

Bernardo rolled his eyes and the young man came back in. He dropped a pressed maple leaf on the table. He reached for the papers and flipped to a page Riff hadn’t seen yet. It looked like a timetable of something.

“What is this?” Bernardo queried, staring so intently at the page that Riff thought he might be trying to memorize

“Shift log,” the kid said knowingly. “From the hospital.”

They all stared at it.

“Why do you have this?” Bernardo asked.

“That’s when we make the switches.”

“What?” Riff stared hard at the young man. “Switch what?”

“I…” the kid’s face suddenly clouded, and he hesitated. “I can’t say.” He gazed at them regretfully. “I can tell you that I was among the three who removed you two from the morgue and traded you off to our partners. That’s all I do. Other people take care of the rest.”

“But you must know more,” Bernardo protested.

The kid turned away, arms wrapped around himself protectively. “I didn’t want to. Every new thing I discover makes me want to get free.” He looked up, staring unseeing at the stained wallpaper of the wall across from them. “But you don’t just walk out of the family business.”

“Why did you take us from the morgue. You obviously thought we were dead,” Riff argued. “You were surprised to find out we were alive. What the heck does the mafia want with dead bodies? Why can’t you tell us?!”

The kid shook his head violently and began muttering. After a moment, Riff realized he was praying in Italian.

“Está loco,” Bernardo whispered.

The young man took a shuddering breath and turned back to them. “For the switch. I cannot tell you any more.”

“Why not,” Riff said between clenched teeth, careful not to shout and trigger him again.

“You need to find out for yourself. Besides, I know little. The Don compartmentalizes. No one knows about the other cell’s operations. That way, any leaks in information is controlled.”

Bernardo apparently decided to change tracks. “There was a man, gordo, large. Two different eyes. He came by, spoke on the phone. He’d seen us earlier. Do you know who he is?”

“Francisco,” the young man said, face lighting in recognition. “What did he say?”

“Something about tomorrow, at six, and a boat.”

“I don’t know,” the kid said honestly. “But Francisco is a paranoid, suspicious man. Afraid of being caught out.” He checked a watch on his wrist and stood. “You had better go.” He held out a hand. “My key?”

Riff turned it over. They began to leave, but he stopped and turned around. “Just… one more thing,” he said, eyeing the leaf, which hadn’t been brought up since the kid had dumped it there. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The young man also turned to look at it pensively. “I don’t know.” He looked up at them. “But I’d appreciate it if, when you found out, you let me know.”

The two older men exchanged a look, and a nod.

Chapter Text

On their way out, they passed Loretta on the staircase. She did a double take on seeing Riff, before narrowing her eyes at him. She hurried past, glancing at them over her shoulder with a suspicious glare.

“What did you do to that girl?” Bernardo asked.

Riff huffed, appearing genuinely offended. “Nothing. I don’t know what’s her problem.”

Bernardo rolled his eyes.

They returned to the safehouse where they’d been hiding out for the past couple of weeks. After eating, Bernardo turned to Riff. He set his shoulders, prepared for an argument. He knew Riff wasn’t going to be happy with what he was about to say.

“We need to remove our stitches.”

Riff’s face went white, and he backed up. “Oh, no.”

Bernardo looked at him firmly. “Oh, yes.”

Half an hour later, Riff was still rubbing his stomach. “That stung.”

“It’d be worse if you left them in,” Bernardo said, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. “Dejar de quejarse, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He started rolling a coin across his knuckles. “Hey, you never did explain how you survived getting stabbed in the chest.”

“Didn’t hit a vital organ.”

“In your chest?”

Bernardo explained about the lung, and was surprised by how unsurprised he was when Riff said, “That must’ve been tough. Doesn’t that make boxing hard?”

“I learned to cope. To be better. I trained harder than anyone, and that’s why I’m a champion.”

“Was a champion. See, you’re dead now.”

“You are too.”

“Yeah, but nobody cares about me.”

Bernardo, for once, wished he had something comforting to say.

They were concealed behind a stack of crates--full of fish, by the smell of them--and eavesdropping on Francisco's conversation with the apparent captain of the Mariangue, a cargo ship in the harbor. They’d sneaked a look at the listings on the Harbor Master’s building, and it seemed that the boat was destined for France. The man had limped down the long gangplank propped up for the use and been talking with Fransisco for the past ten minutes.

It was a roundabout argument, with nothing being explicitly stated, so the two listeners couldn’t get any concrete evidence. What they could gather was that the Captain was sure “the cargo is all there” and “nothing wrong, you’re paranoid.” Francisco, for his part, was convinced that “they’re following me” and “you should wait to leave until it’s all sorted out.”

The Captain did not like this idea. He yelled something Angry and Italian in Francisco’s face and stomped back up the gangplank.

Francisco shouted a curse after him and began walking down to the end of the dock. Riff and Bernardo emerged from the crates and crept up behind him to stand, arms crossed over their chests, blocking his escape route. He spat a wad of tobacco into the water and turned.

Seeing them, his eyes grew wide and he looked around in alarm. No one else was very close by.

“We got some questions for you,” Riff said, scowling fiercely.

“You’re here about the operation,” he said, sounding strangled.

“No, we wanted crime tips from the real mafia for our little gangs. Ambitious lot, us street rats,” Riff snarked. “Yes, the operation!”

“No!” he said, hands fluttering nervously in the air. “I won’t talk!”

Bernardo, growing impatient, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Listen. We’ve been through hell because of you, and we’re not about to let you get away from us without… cracking.”

The line of sweat tracking down the man’s temple was gratifying.

“The Familia will punish me worse than you ever could! I won’t betray the Don!”

Bernardo and Riff were both aghast when he pulled out a cyanide pill, popped it in his mouth, and fell backwards off the docks. He hit the water with a splash, the force of his fall submerging him. Riff had jumped forward with a cry, arms outstretched as if to catch him.

A shout from nearby, and they saw several people staring. One shouted, “Murder!”

“Oh sh-” Riff started. Bernardo realized that, with his arms reaching out like that, it looked as if he’d pushed the man into the water.

With that shout, the multitude of people on the docks started running and shouting.

“Vamos, while they’re distracted!” Bernardo exclaimed, grabbing Riff’s arm. The man was in a stupor, but at the contact, he seemed to jerk himself out of it. He followed Bernardo as he ran up the gangwalk in a dead sprint.

They quickly launched themselves over the railing and to the side. Crouching, they peered over the edge to see if anyone had noticed. It seemed that the people who had known to look for the two of them had found their view constructed when the chaos erupted.

Bernardo glanced around the ship’s top deck. No one was in sight except one burly man hauling the anchor line up, and he had his back to them. It seemed as if they would be setting off soon. He looked for somewhere they could conceal themselves. “Quickly, under the tarp,” he hissed, elbowing Riff.

The two ran, still crouched to remain concealed behind the bulwark. They ducked under the tarp and tried to calm their rapid breathing.

Bernardo became conscious of an aching pain in the right side of his chest. He rubbed it idly.

Riff and Bernardo sat quietly as the sounds of a ship preparing to embark surrounded them. By some miracle chance, no one had need of the tarp, and they remained undiscovered.

Giving it another twenty minutes for the crew to settle into a rhythm, Bernardo peered out from underneath. The several crew members around weren’t facing them. A door not eight feet away led into the interior of the ship.

Ducking back into the makeshift tent and ignoring the increasing twinge of pain, he whispered, “We can’t stay here forever. Let’s go.”

Riff agreed, rubbing his leg, and they snuck fully out from under the tarp. Hearing no shouts, they tried the door. It was unlocked, and they entered a low, narrow hallway. It was empty at the moment, but anyone could appear at any time.

Bernardo resisted the urge to clutch his chest. His vision was becoming unfocused, and he found himself laboring to breathe.

Unsure where to head next, they started down the hall. Suddenly, Riff stumbled and fell against the wall. He clutched his stomach, breathing hard.

“Riff?” Bernardo asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

Riff moved his hand, and Beranrdo immediately saw the spreading bloodstain on his shirt. Bernardo looked down to see the same thing on his own chest.

“We can’t stop here,” he wheezed, reaching down a hand to help the Jet up. Riff grasped his hand. When Bernardo tried to pull him to his feet, however, his strength fled and he crashed to the floor. With a moan, he realized that the shoddy, amateur stitches--who had even done them, anyways?--hadn’t done their job. Now that the thread was gone, the poorly-rejoined wounds had broken open, and both were now sluggishly bleeding on the floor. It must have happened when they ran up the plank and vaulted over the railing. After crouching in a still position, the sudden movement again had done them in. As Bernardo’s vision tunneled, he heard the clack of high heels in the distance, followed by a gasp.

Chapter Text

For the third time in the past two weeks, Riff’s eyes opened after he’d already thought himself dead. They felt heavy and gritty, as though they were full of sand. After opening them just a crack, he saw that he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He heard the shuffle of someone moving nearby and let them close again. He didn’t want to “wake up” before he knew what was going on.

What had even happened? He tried to recall. He and Bernardo had been scaring that Francisco guy… who had offed himself before they could learn anything useful. For some reason, everyone assumed Riff had pushed him off, so they’d hid on the Mariangue, which had then set off…

He sat up quickly, glancing around in a panic. Bernardo, he was relieved to see, was awake and laying on another cot next to him. After catching his eye, Riff glanced around at the rest of their surroundings. It was a rectangular, low-ceilinged room, clean and utilitarian. A few small touches--a vase of flowers here, a colorful quilt at the end of the bed there--fostered a warm, welcoming atmosphere. There were four other beds, all filled with occupants, most of whom were sleeping.

A voice from behind. He turned quickly, regretting it instantly when his abdomen twinged in pain. A woman was standing there, about forty, with kind eyes set in a wrinkled face. “Hello. I’m Ramona.” She handed him a cup of water. He didn’t drink. “You and your friend are lucky to still be alive.” She gestured to the other patients. “None of you are in fit condition to be running around.” She gently took the water from his hands and set it on a small tray next to his bed. At her calm manner, and the fact that Bernardo nearby wasn’t punching left and right, he figured they were safe for the moment. He started to relax.

“So, we’re in a hospital then?” Riff asked.

“No, dear,” the woman said, face crumpling into a sympathetic look. “You’re on a ship.”

Riff reeled back. “But-”

Bernardo coughed lightly. He looked over at the man, who slightly shook his head.

“But what?” she asked, head slightly tilted.

But the mafia controls it! “But… how long have we been here?” he managed.

“Five days, now,” she said. “We restitched both your wounds. All six of you,” she gestured to the other patients, “were on the verge of death. ” She adjusted in her chair, and Riff realized with a start that everyone had assumed the two of them were supposed to be on the ship, and had been counted with the others as patients. At least we won’t be tossed overboard as stowaways.

“And who are you?” Bernardo asked quietly.

“We have a family tradition of medicine, but it isn’t regular Western medicine, so we’re not supposed to treat people in this country. We run cargo ships across the Atlantic and up and down the coasts, but we always take care of anyone who needs our help. We had just dumped off a load of steel when we found you two in Atlanta.” What the f- “You seemed to have been in a fight. At first, we feared that we would have to seperate the two of you, that you had attacked one another; but your friend Benjamin here assured us that you two were friends.”

“He did?” Riff asked, looking over in surprise at Bernardo.

“Yeah, Rick and I go way back,” Bernardo said dryly.

So we’re using our made-up names, then.

“What about the other two?” he asked.

“We picked him up,” she said, nodding at the one person not asleep. He waved slightly. “In Boston. Had a head wound, was wandering around the docks.”

The alleged Bostionian seemed like he didn’t remember this, but nodded anyway.

“The others all come from New York City,” she said. “Most would have perished if we hadn’t discovered them.” She stood. “Now, rest. I have to go, but I’ll be back to check on you soon.” She exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

“What the he-” Riff started, but Bernardo cut him off.

“Not now.”

Riff turned over, ignoring the pain, and sighed. They couldn’t escape a ship like they left the hospital. Even if they got out of this room, there’d be nowhere to go.

They were trapped.

The next few days were full of surprisingly thorough, effective medical care for both of them. Good food, mandated rest periods, and deliberate exercise to strengthen them worked wonders on both Riff and Bernardo. Having slept on the floor and run around New York City for two weeks looking for clues, the respite was productive for both their conditions. Still, they were going mad, staying in one room, and wanted a chance to talk without the other patients overhearing.

They were at the door, ready to sneak up to the deck, when Ramona appeared. She was surprised to see them, and asked what they were doing out of bed.

“We were hoping to walk on-deck and take in the sea air,” Bernardo said.

To both of their surprise, she agreed, seeming to think it a good idea. “I’ll introduce you two to the crew man who found you in Atlanta.”

Exchanging solemn looks, they followed her down the hall and up the short flight of stairs to the top deck. She led them to the burly man who’d hauled up the anchor when they first snuck aboard.

“Aye,” he agreed when she asked him if he found the two of them. “I’d just gone ashore, to look for somethin’ fresh to eat after months at sea, when I heard moanin’ from an alleyway. Went to check it out, saw th’ two of you bleedin’ out on th’ street. Someone was running away down th’ alley, but I didn’t chase them. Brought you to the ship, ‘cause I knew they’d ‘elp you out. They always do.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Ramona smiled, then turned to Riff and Bernardo. “We stitched your wounds and took care of you for days. First day, you were a bit delirious, and said something about a streetfight and that you were visiting Atlanta. After that, you didn’t say much.” She frowned. “You must have woken up early and started wandering before healed up. We restitched you, and you’ve been improving every day since.” She turned her face to the waves and took a deep breath. “Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the view.” She disappeared through the door leading below deck.

Riff and Bernardo walked to the raining and leaned against it. After a moment of listening to the waves, Riff said, “They’re all lying.”

“Si,” Bernardo said simply.

“The worst part is how honest they seem. I'd be second guessing myself if you weren't here." He shook his head in bemusement. "Why are they doing this?”

Bernardo slowly shook his head. “I don’t know.” He pointed at a blob in the distance which seemed to be a shore line. “We’re supposed to be in the middle of the Atlantic, on our way to France. Not moving along the coastline.”

“And it’s a cargo ship. Where’s the cargo?”

“I think those patients…” Bernardo said, staring at the horizon. “I think they are the cargo.”

Chapter Text

They seemed to be trying to seperate Bernardo and Riff. Obviously the nurse and crew, despite their best efforts, could tell that the two of them weren’t buying the lies.

Now that they knew what to look for, the signs were everywhere. The way that the “Bostonian” (who said his name was Sammy) said he’d never been to Boston. The way that, when the others began emerging from their comas, they seemed groggy for several days, during which the nurses almost continuously talked about how they found them, what condition they were in, and other things that usually elicited confused reactions until the patients seemed to doubt themselves and their own memory. Riff and Bernardo, having each to remind the other that they did in fact remember the past two weeks correctly, were only saved by having someone honest to talk to.

If Bernardo and Riff had lived seventy years later, they would immediately recognize this tactic as “gaslighting”, but they weren’t, and lacked a name to call it. Riff did label it “weird as f@#$,” but Bernardo was less concerned about the lies than he was about why they were being told in the first place.

Six days after Bernardo and Riff spoke with Aaron, the captain came into the sick room. After greetings were exchanged, he offered a proposition. He spoke for a while, weaving a confusing narrative that left many of the half-delirious (and Bernardo suspected still slightly drugged) patients completely lost. By the end, the only thing that was clear was that he was “generously” offering to hook them up with a place where they could stay and work for food and board. Multiple half-truths, and situations represented through a twisted view, made it seem as if this was the only viable option. Riff and Bernardo looked at each other, both thinking, who do they think we are, and were surprised when the four other patients immediately agreed. They even seemed grateful for the offer.

The captain then turned to Riff and Bernardo, friendly smile shifting into more dangerous territory. They got the picture, and agreed as well.

So, the next day, the ship changed direction and headed toward a small cove in the shoreline. As they drew nearer, Bernardo could see the dark green mass form into trees and cliffs. It seemed totally isolated. Riff and Bernardo frowned at one another, but didn’t say anything to the nurse nearby. She seemed to be keeping a close eye on them, so they were careful not to speak to each other.

Two crew members hurried to let down a rope ladder and dinghy. It took two trips to bring them all to shore, but soon enough all six of them were standing on the rocky shore. Bernardo noted that they seemed much more lucid today. Two crew members "escorted" them onto a small footpath winding into the trees nearby.

"Where are we?" Riff asked, looking around in wonder. He'd probably never seen so many trees in his life.

"Nanavut, Canada," Aaron (one of the crew members leading them) said.

Riff's eyes went wide, and Bernardo guessed that he'd never left the city, much less the country.

"You're right, this ain't France," he said quietly to Bernardo. "I don't even see no croissants." He pronounced it croy-saints.

They moved at a slow pace, as everyone was at different stages of recovery, until the woods began to thin out. Soon after, Bernardo realized that the trees had been planted in straight, long rows. It looked to be a farm of some kind.

The orchard was very large, or the travelers were very tired, because it was fifteen more minutes of walking before they came upon a clearing. Several wooden, cabin-like buildings dotted the campus, the central of which seemed to Bernardo to be a classic two-story cabin house, complete with porch and chair. Around this cabin were three long, single-story structures; and a large, barn-like building. People were coming in and out of this, carrying tools and wearing simple, sensible work clothes. They glanced curiously at the group when they passed, heading out into the trees.

The crew members lead them into the cabin, where a man in his mid-thirties sat behind a desk. He had dark circles under his eyes, and was staring down at the paperwork he was currently reading. When they entered, he jumped to his feet, as if eager to have an excuse to set down his pen and get away from the work. “Who is this?”

Aaron gave some waffle about them being people in need that the crew had “picked up.”

The guy’s eyebrows drew slightly closer, and his smile seemed to become strained. Bernardo noticed with interest the hesitation before the man spoke again. “Of course.” He turned to the six of them. “My name is Nazeh Sutherton.” He shook each of their hands, then spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the Old Borde’s Maple Sugar Orchard.”

Que.

“I believe we have room in the Willow house…” Nazeh was saying to himself, distractedly wandering over to a map on the wall. Bernardo realized that it was a diagram of the orchard. Aside from the cabin (“Office”) and Barn (“Warehouse”), the three longhouses were all labeled with tree names: “Willow”, “Elm”, and “Beech”. The clearing with the five buildings was surrounded on all sides by orchards.

Nazeh pulled out a notebook and made several tick marks on a page. He looked up, seemed to remember Bernardo and the others were standing there, and gave another strained smile. Clearing his throat, he began, “If you stay here, you’ll be given food and board in exchange for work. The work is light, but daily, and the meals are full and regular. Several people have happily lived and worked here for years. We’ll never charge you fees of any kind, and will provide any and all clothes and other personal hygiene items you might need.”

Bernardo watched as hope began to spread across the faces of the four strangers. Riff had a blank look, staring at Nazeh with little expression.

“Is this amenable? You can always come to me with any questions.”

The other four agreed. Riff and Bernardo only paused for a moment before nodding. They knew their options: as much as the idea to stay and work was presented in a positive light, as though to encourage people to choose it, Bernardo could tell that it wasn’t an option. If he was right, there wasn’t any civilization for hundreds of miles.

“I’ll show you to the Willow house. You can settle in for today, and start tomorrow. The others will show you the ropes.”

They followed Nazeh out of the cabin and to the longhouse towards the left. He held the door for them as they filed in, and Bernardo saw a dormitory-style room with rows of bunk beds along both walls. Of the three doors set in the far wall, only the middle was open. Curious, he strolled closer to see a square room with hooks on the walls, a few of which had work clothes hanging off of them, but most of which were empty. Another door across from the one where Bernardo stood likely led outside. A long, rectangular table with benches on both sides and stools on the end appeared to be where the occupants ate meals. He returned to the rest of the group as Nazeh was indicating the two closed doors.

“Down there are the womens’ and mens’ washrooms.” He turned to look at them sternly. “All of our lodgings are mixed. I expect everyone to behave with decorum always. If, at any time, I learn that you harassed anyone, severe action will be taken.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. Nazeh glared at him, and directed the six of them to unclaimed beds where they could “put their belongings.” As none of them had anything, Bernardo and Riff exchanged amused glances. Nazeh steadily continued. “That’s all for now. Come to me if you have any questions.” He and the two crew members left.

Riff and Bernardo exchanged a glance that any student would recognize: claiming someone as a lab partner, without any words being exchanged.

“I call top bunk!” Riff suddenly yelled, sprinting for one of the empty beds. Bernardo rolled his eyes and walked more calmly towards the lower bunk, smirking when he heard Riff give a quiet “Ow,” when his new stitches pulled from the sudden movement.

He stretched out on the thin mattress, head resting on folded arms, staring across the room at a small carved owl sitting on the windowsill next to the bunk opposite them. It was such a small, meaningless thing; but to Bernardo, it was proof that people had been here. Not just passed through, but lived here. He wondered how long it took to make.

He wondered if he would be here that long.

Eventually, he became aware that the other four were talking amongst themselves. He knew they considered Riff and himself to be outsiders, different. Because they had each other, neither had sought out their company, and so the confused people had turned to one another.

“I say we’re lucky to have landed a spot like this. I was in debt before… at least, I think I was,” one hard-faced woman said.

Bernardo thought, not for the first time, about how all of these people seemed to have something in common: they were all the “unspeakables” of society. Nobody that anyone important would miss. Not the kind of people the police would worry about finding.

Not, if you looked at it closer, people with a whole lot to lose.

“There’s a lot I won’t miss about New York, that’s for sure,” the alleged Bostonian Sammy said, sitting on his own bed. “Even without salary, just eating every day is a pretty good deal.”

A man with sandy brown hair didn’t seem quite as satisfied with how everything had turned out. Quietly, and glancing at the door as if checking for the crew, he said, “Doesn’t it disturb you, how we all got injured separately… well, except for those two-” glancing at Riff and Bernardo, “-but all ended up on the same ship?” He shook his head in disbelief.

Sammy shrugged, not looking too concerned. “Who cares. Seems to me, Lauren’s right. We’ve got a lucky break.”

Bernardo tuned the conversation out, sighing quietly. Before his thoughts could turn too melancholy, however, Riff’s head appeared hanging upside-down over the edge of the top bunk. He was grinning, but his eyes were serious.

“That sounds like someone who lets things happen to him.”

“We’re not like that, amigo,” Bernardo said. “We’re investigating, and we’re not stopping now that we’re here.”

At that moment, the outside door in the dining room opened up and voices drifted over into the dorm. Riff climbed down and the six of them walked over to see what was going on.

About twenty or so people had come in, chattering as they pulled off work coats and hung them on the hooks along the walls.

“Hey, newcomers!” someone called out.

Everyone looked over and immediately welcomed them. Next thing Bernardo knew, he was seated between Riff and a cheerful, sturdy-looking woman of about forty.

“I’m Dana. We’re just on our lunch break,” she explained. “Just come in?”

Bernardo nodded, and she smiled sympathetically. “Still not recovered, then?”

Riff choked on his water. The man on his other side, a hulking figure with pine needles in his hair, slapped his back until he spit out water at the person across from him. The guy blinked, then wiped off his face. Luckily, he didn’t seem offended.

“How did you know we were hurt?” Bernardo asked slowly.

“We all came that way, dearie,” she said matter-of-fact. “They sort of collect hurt folks here, I suppose.” It was a throwaway comment, but Bernardo could feel the beginnings of a new rage stir deep in his ribcage. He’d had things to be angry about, and people to be angry for, before now. His people, his sister, the racism they faced, their economic troubles. Never before had he felt angry for the injustice faced by people unconnected to him, however. It was a new feeling, and a bit alarming. Why did he feel angry for them, angry towards the people who had put them here?

Oh, yeah, because their lives had been ripped away without them having any say in the matter.

“Except for those three,” Dana was saying, “you’re the first new people in a while.”

“Except for who?” Riff said in a rough voice, still coughing slightly.

She indicated the man Riff spat on and the two men next to him. “All three came together. First ones in a month.”

Bernardo wouldn’t have looked twice at the group, but something about them caught his attention. He peered closer, trying to recall what they had reminded him of, when he saw the man rub his chest and wince. In his mind’s eye, he saw black words, scribbled onto a crisp white hospital sheet, stuck to a clipboard hanging off of his own bed.

Male. 25. Hispanic. Stabbed to right of sternum. Operated on, repaired lung. Admitted 4 days ago.

Bernardo’s face blanched.

Chapter Text

The first thing Riff noticed was the smell. It invaded his senses, an overwhelming reminder that he was in unfamiliar surroundings. It was sharp, and it was painfully clean, and it was earthy. Really, it was a thousand smells rolled into one rolling cascade of scents that crashed into his nose, and which his brain helpfully labeled as outside.

Next was the green. There was so much green, green everywhere. Green grass, green moss and lichens (at least, that’s what Dana called them) on tree trucks, and waaay too many green leaves. Only the sky was spared from it, and that was such a brilliant blue that it almost hurt to look at. He blinked a couple of times owlishly, and turned to see Bernardo, obviously trying not to laugh at him.

“We’re not tapping this time of year,” Dana was saying as she led them through row upon endless row of trees. “We’re mostly checking to make sure the trees are healthy, keeping the trails worn, and stocking up for winter.”

Apparently there was a corner of the woods that had been cleared for fruit bushes, and several people were currently picking what Riff thought were blueberries.

“Work’s a lot easier during the summer, but now that it’s almost fall, we’ll be preparing for the tapping season.”

“What’s tapping?” Riff asked.

“It’s where we drill holes into the trunks of the maple trees during the cold season. We put buckets at the end of the spickets, and the sap drains into the bucket. We then use the sap to make maple syrup.”

“Why,” Bernardo said. Riff concurred.

She shrugged. “We sell it to a factory that bottles it, and probably adds a bunch of sugar to it.”

She gave some instructions about what they were doing, but Riff only half listened. He trusted that Bernardo would pay attention and know what they needed. Riff didn’t want to stay here any longer than it took to get as much information about their mystery as they could and find a way out.

Next thing he knew, they were standing in the clearing again. Dana was saying something about getting clothes for them from the Office when the door to said cabin slammed open, a surly man stomping across the porch and down the steps two at a time. Riff almost missed the way Dana froze, how the skin around her eyes tightened and every line of her body tensed.

The man headed straight for them, spitting to the side as he walked. Bernardo made a quiet noise. Riff thought it might be disgust.

“Dana,” the man said. His voice was sharp, angry. “You were supposed to get together some people to sew that rip in the straining cloth.”

“I was showing these two new arrivals around,” Dana said. Her voice was soft, wary. Nothing like her usual coarse but open self.

“Really.” The man shifted his gaze to Riff and Bernardo, and two muscular arms came up to cross in front of his chest. He looked them up and down, face not changing from its irritable look. Eventually, not saying anything to either of them, he returned his attention to Dana. He took a threatening step toward her, and Bernardo started forward as if to interpose himself between the two of them. The man turned fully to him, and his eyes took on a challenging light. “You gonna defend the lady’s honor, street rat?”

For a couple seconds there, Riff fully expected Bernardo to rear back his fist and land it in the jerk’s nose. Riff watched anxiously, ready to jump in and help if necessary, but hoping it wouldn’t be needed. He saw the moment that Bernardo’s eyes flashed, and knew what was about to come. He’d seen it in their own confrontations, after all, right before he found himself ducking a swing.

Before anything could happen, however, Dana spoke up and the man turned to her. Bernardo blinked, as if realizing what he had been about to do, and took a small step backwards. “They came in only yesterday.”

The man grunted and, with one last narrow-eyed look, walked past them and towards the barn.

“Who was that?” Riff asked, bewildered.

“Rudiano.” Dana sighed, beginning the walk toward the cabin again. “He’s the overseer. He manages the day-to-day running of the farm.” She glanced sideways at Bernardo, whose fighting blood was still clearly up. “He’s not someone to cross.”

“I’ve dealt with bullies before,” Bernardo said, voice dark. Riff cleared his throat, feeling vaguely ashamed.

“Still,” she sighed, stopping at the cabin door. “I’d better start on that strainer.” She turned to look at them, one eyebrow raised. “How are you at pulling out stitches?”

Riff choked on his laugh.

That night, around the dinner table, Riff listened to the talk of the people around him. He wasn’t the most keen observer on the subtleties of human nature, but he couldn’t help but notice some things.

To start, there was a strange mood to their conversation as they reminisced about past memories on the farm. Apparently, the arrival of several wide-eyed newcomers had sparked some old feelings. At first, they seemed content about life at Old Borde’s. As they kept talking, however, he perceived that they seemed less satisfied with their lot and more… resigned.

They weren’t happy because of their situation. They were happy in spite of their situation.

There was a bond between these people, their own little culture. They welcomed Riff, Bernardo, and the others into their fold with a warmth that staggered. Riff had never felt so accepted in a group other than the Jets.

After the meal was over, the plates were put aside. The sun had gone down, and a petite woman named Jann went around lighting several candles and setting them on the table. The rambunctious talk settled into a quiet lull, and people took turns talking about things they would never say under the light of day.

“There was a man, back where I lived,” one face-lined woman said. She stared at the flame. “I thought he was going to marry me, but I ended up here.” She swallowed, then said haltingly, “I can’t remember his name, now.”

The burly man who’d slapped Riff’s back when he started coughing put an arm around her, and she leaned into him.

“I have a wife,” the sandy-haired man that had come in with Riff and Bernardo said suddenly. Riff remembered that he hadn’t been as happy about ending up there with the others. “Thea. She’s beautiful.” He ran a ragged hand through his hair, expelling a shaky breath. “When I woke up on the ship, everything was so confusing…” he splayed his left hand out on the table, staring at the fourth finger. “It took me a couple days, to notice. That my ring was gone.”

Riff thought of Graziella, and wished he had something stronger than water to drink.

“This place,” Bernardo said, normally smooth voice hoarse. “None of us should be here.”

A few people started muttering nervously, as if afraid he’d be overheard and they’d be punished.

Dana reached over and patted his shoulder. “A lot of us start off that way.” She grasped the candle in front of her and stood. “But we’re here now.” She gave him a look. “Don’t let this place get to you. If you let it, the past will eat you up inside.” She began walking toward the door to the dorm room, and everyone else started cleaning up. “The ones who do lose their head, say the wrong thing." She opened the door, her voice infinitely softer. "Like my Thomas. Rudiano heard him talking about finding a way out of here, and no one has seen him since."

Riff tried to swallow, but found his throat had closed up. He coughed to clear it and grabbed a candle. He took it to the side board, blew it out, and followed the bobbing light of Dana's candle to the dorm.

"We have to get out of here," Bernardo said, coming up close to him so no one else heard.

"No kidding," Riff muttered.

"Tomorrow, we confront Nazeh," Bernadro said seriously. Riff nodded.

When Rudiano had emerged from the cabin and disappeared into the orchard to yell at some poor worker, Riff and Bernardo strolled up the cabin steps as casually as they could. Riff checked the door. It was unlocked, and they cautiously opened it.

Besides Nazeh, who was sitting at his desk, no one else was present. Good.

Riff took the lead, striding towards the desk and ignoring his increasing heart rate. Nazeh, hearing their approach, looked up. He smiled and set down the pen in his hand. “How can I help you?”

“You can explain why you’ve kidnapped people to use as free labor on a maple syrup farm,” Riff said blandly.

Nazeh froze, then let out a slow breath. He sat back slowly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, in a careful tone. He eyed them warily.

Bernardo coughed, then slapped his hand down on the desk. “Lo siento, I choked on the bullsh-”

Riff bit his lip to keep from laughing and thought he saw Nazeh do the same. The flash of humor disappeared so soon, however, that Riff wondered if he’d really seen it.

Nazeh rose to his feet. He was of a height with Riff, taller than Bernardo. They all stared each other down. Then, after a tense pause when Riff feared that Nazeh would call in Rudiano to “escort” them to their graves, he suddenly sat back down. There was a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes were serious. “Take a seat, gentlemen.”

“Nobody ever called me a gentleman,” Riff said, refusing to be put at ease. Still, he and Bernardo drew over two of the chairs along the walls and sat down.

“What do you know,” Nazeh said directly.

“We know that you’ve been working with the mafia,” Riff said, taking a risk.

“You’ve stolen people’s lives,” Bernardo said, a quiet rage bubbling in his voice. “You don’t care about the people you take, or the ones you take them from. You think you’re just entitled to take what you want, and screw everyone else?”

“No, I don’t,” Nazeh said, and his face was so serious that Riff sat forward a little in his seat (ouch, stitches.) “Why are you really here?”

Bernardo opened his mouth hotly, but then his demeanor shifted. He looked at Nazeh critically. “We were investigating in New York, found the ship. We planted ourselves in the ship to find this place.”

We did?

Nazeh folded his hands on the desk. He gave a short laugh. “I always knew it’d catch up to us.”

Riff narrowed his eyes. “You’re not like the other conspirators we’ve encountered.

Nazeh shook his head. “I didn’t realize what I was getting into.” He crossed his legs, trying to choose his words. “I dislike their methods.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Bernardo challenged.

At that moment, there was the sound of a ringing alarm outside, and Nazeh’s face turned the color of ash. He said one word that turned Riff’s blood cold.

“Fire.”

Chapter Text

There were shouts outside. Nazeh leapt to his feet, racing around them to the door. He threw it open, and Bernardo stood to turn and look. Riff also bounced out of his chair.

“What’s happening?” Riff asked, craning his neck to see.

Nazeh was shouting orders of some kind, something about getting buckets. He glanced at them over his shoulder for a minute. “There’s a fire, out in the orchards.”

“Fill up buckets, and put them on a cart,” Bernardo suggested, walking up. Nazeh looked over and nodded.

“Good idea. Why don’t you two organize it?”

They nodded, willing to put aside the interrogation for the moment. Nazeh stepped out onto the porch, and the two of them raced down the steps. They sprinted across the grounds to the barn, where people were rushing in and out.

Dana passed them by and caught Riff’s arm. “Grab a tarp, we can beat out small embers in the grass before it spreads too far.”

Riff looked at Bernardo, who nodded. “Go. I can handle the cart.”

Riff nodded back. “Be careful.” Then he hurried off with Dana.

Bernardo continued alone to the barn. Several people were there, grabbing buckets.

“Get a cart!” He shouted, striving to be heard over the hubbub.

“It’s right there,” the burly man said, pointing at a hand cart in the corner. He and Bernardo shared a wry glance, and Bernardo ran to grab it. He wheeled it outside as fast as he could without tipping it over. He headed straight for the well, where there was a line of people rushing to pump up water from a well. Others were at taps on the Cabin, and still more were going in and out of the dorms with water from the kitchen sinks.

He wheeled the cart up next to the stone well. “Load it up,” he shouted, voice already growing hoarse.

Sammy the not-Bostonian was there at the front of the line. He looked over, eyes wide and panicked. Bernardo repeated himself, and Sammy nodded. He carefully set the bucket in the cart, and stared, looking lost.

In that moment, Bernardo didn’t see Sammy. He saw a young Puerto Rican boy, new member of the Sharks, having just come safely back from his first fight but still seeing the violence in his mind. He saw Maria, having just been teased by the girls at school because her skin wasn’t the right color. He saw all the people that he’d stepped up to protect, staring at him through the eyes of a teen who’d never been to Boston.

So, in the middle of a fire, he placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders. He spoke slowly and clearly as other people filled up the cart with buckets of water. “Listen to me, Sammy. Do you hear me?”

The boy nodded mutely.

“Okay. I need you to take a deep breath.”

The shoulders--painfully thin ones--rose up and down in an exaggerated movement.

“Good. Now, grab another bucket and fill it up. Follow the people running to the fire with it. Keep breathing.”

Sammy nodded and ran off. Bernardo turned just as someone placed the final bucket in the cart.

“Get another cart!” he shouted, before grasping the hand rails and turning towards the orchards. He immediately saw where the fire was coming from; a thick gray column was rising into the air, a smudge against the brilliant late summer sky. He merged into the stream of people running through the rows of trees, idly thinking that it was a good thing that these paths were so well-trodden. A little bit of water splashed out, but he managed to keep the cart pretty steady.

When he arrived at the fringes of the fire, he saw that several maple trees had caught, as well as the fruit bushes used to supplement their food supply.

“That tree is up! Too far gone! Keep it from spreading any further west! Forget that one, and leave the bushes!” Rudiano stood, directing people’s efforts.

As soon as Bernardo arrived on the scene, people who had already emptied their buckets rushed over and grabbed another, replacing it with their empty ones. Soon, there was only one bucket left. He grabbed it and emptied it on a low-hanging branch with several smoldering leaves.

By the time he turned around, his empty cart was gone. Someone else had run up with a new one, and he swapped his empty bucket for a full one.

That’s one thing about living on a maple syrup farm. There’s plenty of buckets.

Several times, Bernardo tried to catch sight of Riff, to make sure the idiot hadn’t gotten himself killed. He did get one glimpse as was taking an empty cart back to be refilled, about halfway through. He was sprinting past with a tarp in one hand, and clutching his stitches with the other. He hoped they both survived long enough to make it home.

The sun had set by the time the fire was receding. They’d had to fall back several times, and a good quarter of the orchard had been damaged. They were mopping up the rest of the fire when Bernardo heard shouting. He turned to see Rudiano shaking a man by the shoulders. Everyone stopped to look as the overseer screamed in his face.

“You started this? Look! We’ll be cleaning up this mess for weeks! Our profits will take years to recover!” He slammed the heel of his hand into the man’s nose, and everyone heard a crunching sound. “By the time I get through with you, you’ll wish you hadn’t been born!” He started hitting the man.

The man was incoherently sobbing. Bernardo heard “It was an accident-” before Rudiano kicked him in the knee. Hard.

Bernardo started to take a step forward, enraged, but then Riff was at his side. He had a firm grip on Bernardo’s arm, and shook his head. Bernardo opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by a sharp cracking sound. He whipped around to see Rudiano’s body, backlit by the fire, collapse to the ground. The man he was beating slumped to the grass as well, cradling his ribs and struggling to breathe. Bernardo looked around to see Nazeh, arm outstretched, a pistol in his hand still smoking.

There was shocked silence, where all they could hear was the roar of the fire, before Nazeh holstered his gun and gestured at the fire. “Well? It’s not over yet!”

Nazeh grabbed a bucket of his own and ran towards the flames, and everyone else jumped back into action. It took another forty-five minutes before everything was out.

“I want fifteen people roving the orchards at any time for the rest of the night with buckets and tarps, in case any embers were missed and start another fire.”

While people began to sort things out, Nazeh indicated for Bernardo and Riff to follow him. The three of them walked back to the cabin. As soon as they entered, he headed for his desk and picked up an envelope. He turned back to them.

“I believe we were interrupted in the middle of discussing the conspiracy.” He handed Bernardo the envelope. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. They must have sensed my growing unease, because Rudiano was stationed here to keep an eye on the ‘workers’. He also questioned me a lot, too. The man is… pardon me, was, a brute. What he did out there…” Nazeh removed the gun from its holster and dropped it onto the desk. “Was unacceptable.”

“Apparently,” Riff said, staring at the gun.

“So what is this?” Bernardo asked, waving the envelope.

“Orders for the stationmasters to let you through. We have a truck coming in early tomorrow for supplies. If you want a way out, to report to the FBI or whoever sent you to investigate, that’s the soonest way to get there. It’ll return to Emmers’ Station, which runs supply trains as far south as Quebec. From there, you’ll have to hop a train back to your base.” He nodded at the envelope. “Give that to the man who signs off on the supplies the truck driver brings. He’ll let you on.”

Bernardo, although inclined to believe him, felt he should still ask it. “How can we trust you?”

Nazeh’s face turned into a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know.” He paced around his desk to sit in his chair, and Bernardo noted how tired he looked. “Wait. How about this: I’ll make a public announcement to the workers, saying they’re free to go. I’ll tell them how they were forced here, and offer transportation to the nearest settlement for anyone who wants to leave, as soon as I can arrange it. Everybody who chooses to stay will be offered salary.” He stared at the map on the wall. “It’s something I already intended on doing, but I suppose there’s no reason to wait.” He nodded decisively. “Alright. I’ll do that.” With that, he pulled out a notepad and began writing furiously. “I’ll make the announcement in the morning, before you leave. After I finish speaking, head to the south road. A truck will be unloading supplies there.”

The announcement went pretty much how Bernardo had guessed it would. Everyone was still tired from fighting the fire, and it took a while for the full impact to settle in. Even when it did, it only elicited slight reactions. Everyone already had guessed something of the sort to be going on, and many were a lot less eager than Bernardo would have thought to return home. A good half of the workers immediately took Nazeh up on his offer of remaining with salary, while many wanted to wait and think about it. Only a few immediately decided to leave, and most of those were newer arrivals. The sandy-haired man, Bernardo noted, was among them.

He didn’t understand it. He was desperate to get back to New York, to Maria and the others. He wanted his life back. And, now that he and Riff had somehow settled their differences, he hoped that things would be even better than before. With that in mind, the two of them left for the south road.

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were sitting in the back of the now-empty supply truck, watching the archway to Old Borde’s growing smaller and smaller in the background until they passed a bend in the road, and it was concealed behind trees.

Chapter Text

Nazeh’s instructions were surprisingly easy to follow. The truck driver waved to them and drove off.

The man who had signed off on the clipboard the truck driver gave him was a short man. A cap covered what Riff guessed was a receding hairline, and wire frame spectacles rested alarmingly far down his nose. He looked up when they approached, with the sudden mannerisms of a spooked bird.

“Hello, can I help you?”

Bernardo silently handed over the envelope. He opened it, scanned the pages, and gave a little gasp. He looked up between the two of them, seeming nervous, but beckoned them towards the stationmaster’s house. It was a small but clean place.

“Here’s the manifest,” he said, pushing a chart towards them. Riff picked it up and looked it over. It was a list of all the trains going out, when, what track they would be on, and where they were bound.

The next train to leave for Quebec wouldn’t come for 16 hours, and neither Riff nor Bernardo wanted to wait that long. If Nazeh changed his mind, more mafia members showed up and retook the farm, they were arrested as train hoppers… a number of things could happen, and they wanted to get out as soon as possible.

Bernardo pointed at a train leaving for Winnipeg in half an hour. It was currently in the station, getting loaded full of supplies.

“That ain’t too far from New York, right?” Riff whispered as the clipboard man tottled off.

“Here’s a map,” Bernardo said, walking over to where a map of North America was secured to the wall with push pins.

“That’s New York,” Riff said, tapping the city.

“And Winnipeg is here,” Bernardo said. It was in Canada, but looked like a bigger city than the tiny dot that was marked to be their current location by a dingy yellow star.

“Dat’s…” Riff picked up a ruler from the desk. "Eight inches away.”

“Not to scale,” Bernardo said, looking at him like he was six.

“Of course it’s smaller,” Riff snapped, “I’m just sayin’, it’s closer than we are right now.”

They both looked up to the little star, near the east coast of a region labeled Nunavut.

“Let’s get out of here, los antes posible,” Bernardo said, quietly but fervently.

“Whatever you said,” Riff agreed, snapping the manifest book shut and moving to the window. “No one’s around. Come on.”

They opened the door and, still wearing their orchard-issue work coveralls, tried not to be seen as they scuttled across the train yard to the tracks the manifest had listed as having the train bound for Winnipeg. They reached the train there, flattening against the side as footsteps sounded in the gravel some yards away. When the sound receded, they ran along the train in a crouch until they found a car with an adjacent door. It looked to be mostly full of crates, but there was a little room to move around. As the cart they’d passed before it was half-full, Riff figured that this one had been packed up as much as it was ever going to be.

Bernardo grabbed the handle and tugged it open enough for them to slip through. He closed it behind them as Riff started shifting boxes to open up a space for them to hide in the center of the car, completely out of sight in case someone opened the door to check.

They sat on the floor, backs to crates, facing each other. It was more roomy after the boxes had all been crammed to the sides, and Riff was able to stretch out his legs in front of him. Bernardo was curiously curled up, panting slightly.

“You okay?” Riff asked, trying to sound minimally concerned and probably failing.

"Chest," Bernardo said, rubbing the still-healing wound. Riff figured that, having been going for over 24 hours without sleep, 14 without food, and fighting the fire had nearly done them both in. Riff's stab wound certainly protested his treatment of it.

"Wonder what's in these crates," he said, to distract them both.

"Hmm." Bernardo had closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall of the train car.

Riff studied him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair stuck up in all directions. Ashes and dirt covered his face, hands, and clothes. Riff probably looked much the same.

On the other side of the wall of crates Riff had pushed up, there was the sound of an opening door.

"Only a few left, ay?" A voice asked.

"This one looks fine," said another, and the door slammed shut.

Riff sighed with relief, but waited to investigate until the train had started moving. He stood, opened a nearby cart, and peered inside. "Bingo."

"What is it?" Bernardo asked.

"Food," Riff said, with relish. He reached down and pulled out some kind of packaged confection. He couldn't read what it was in the dark, but the picture of food on the front was clear enough. He tossed it to Bernardo and took one for himself.

The train ride lulled him to sleep for the few hours that it lasted, before he was jerked awake by Bernardo kicking his foot.

"Are we there yet?" He mumbled jokingly, stumbling to his feet.

"Help me move these crates and make a path out," Bernardo said.

The two of them hauled some crates aside near the end of the car. When the train's motion halted, Riff muttered, "Quick!"

They opened the sliding door, peered around to see no one close by, and hopped down. Almost bent double, they made for the nearest cover. Eventually, moving in this manner, they reached the station master's house. The manifest listed that the closest destination to New York, set to leave within the next several hours, was Quebec.

It was going to be a long couple of days.

Two trains and several close calls later, they reached Oak Point Yard in New York City. Emerging to find themselves in the Bronx, Riff sighed. There was some walking to do.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun already hidden behind the buildings around them, by the time they reached familiar grounds. They passed by a police officer, nodding politely as though they weren’t on a mission to expose an organized crime ring. He started to nod back, then peered closer at Riff. Suddenly, recognition flaring, he pulled out a whistle and blew on it. Hard.

“What the-” Riff spluttered, baffled, as the officer started running towards them.

“Stop!” he shouted.

“Run!” Bernardo hissed, grabbing at his arm and beginning to sprint away.

“What’s he chasin’ me for?” Riff asked, annoyed and wishing he could just sit down after walking so far.

“No lo sé, but unless you want to get caught, shut up and run!” Bernardo panted.

“Murderer!” the officer shouted as they all turned a corner, barrelling through the crowds.

“Oh, that,” Riff rolled his eyes. They must still be trying to catch him for that business with Francisco.

Bernardo muttered something in Spanish. It didn’t sound complimentary.

Knowing the area, they were able to duck out of sight. They led the officer, who was now puffing with exertion, through a maze of alleys and back ways. They finally lost him by scaling a fire escape and laying flat on an upper platform.

They watched several other police officers walk past, not daring to move, listening to the conversation below.

“You sure it was the guy on the APB?” one asked. Riff stiffened. He knew that voice. It was Krupke. “Traveling with who?”

“Some Puerto Rican lookin’ guy, I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t sound like Riff,” Krupke said doubtfully.

Riff and Bernardo both choked back laughter.

“If you find ‘em, bring ‘em both in,” the other officer said. “Then you can ask ‘im yourself.”

Krupke muttered below as he walked away. Riff caught the word “Don” and froze.

Riff looked at Bernardo, who looked back. His eyes widened, and he started to shake his head. “Oh, no, amigo, I’m not follow that-”

Riff was already on his feet, running at a crouch. “We’ll follow him from the rooftops,” he said.

Bernardo cursed from behind, then started following as he scaled the last ladder and emerged onto the roof.

Krupke had only walked for half a block before slipping into a building. Barely hesitating, Riff hopped over to its roof and tried the door leading down into the building. It was locked.

“Hold on,” Bernardo said. He picked up a wire-framed hanger from the clothesline spanning the roof, stretched it into a lock pick, and knelt at the door. A few minutes later, they were moving as quietly downstairs as they could manage.

As they started going down levels, Riff realized that this building was very familiar.

“This is the crazy kid’s place!” he exclaimed.

“Shh!” Bernardo snapped.

Not having any other clues, they started for Crazy Kid’s apartment, the mafia storehouse. The door was closed, but Krupke’s voice was coming from inside.

“Krupke’s workin’ with the Mafia?” Bernardo whispered.

“Surprise, he was such a nice guy!” Riff snarked. They waited behind a corner for him to come out. This time, when he started off down the hall, they didn’t follow him.

“Should we see if the kid’s there?” Riff asked.

“What, you want to talk to him?” Bernardo asked.

“Not particularly,” Riff sighed, and they looked at each other. Sure, they were back home, but what would they do now? Nazeh had assumed they were operating under someone’s authority, but there was no one for them to report to. Riff doubted the cops would believe them if they showed up saying they’d been kidnapped by the mafia and taken to Canada to work on a maple sugar farm. He hardly believed it himself. Besides, there was an APB out on him now. A police station was the last place he needed to be.

“We should find something to eat,” Bernardo said, and Riff nodded. That, at least, was one thing he had no doubts about.

Chapter Text

“Stab wounds are so inconvenient,” Riff said, eying Bernardo. Bernardo rolled his eyes.

Surprisingly, they’d found the medical lab coats still in the hole in the wall where they’d stuffed them several weeks prior. Now, disguised as medical orderlies, they were preparing to infiltrate the hospital.

“Remember the plan?” Bernardo whispered.

“Of course I do,” Riff snapped. Bernardo let it slide. He could tell when Riff was stressed, and Riff was stressed.

“Then let’s go,” he said. “Vámanos.”

They walked in through a side door, one that was constantly opening and closing as women from a laundry service brought in clean clothes and took out dirty bed sheets.

“I’ll never get the smell of lye out of my hair,” said one woman.

“My hands are redder than your hair,” said her friend. The first woman playfully stuck out her tongue at her, and they were laughing as Bernardo and Riff walked past them and into the building.

As agreed, Riff and Bernardo split ways at the staircase. Riff headed in the general direction of their old ward, while Bernardo followed the signs to the administrative section of the building. He was stopped once by a suspicious nurse who wanted to know what he was doing in the area, but he managed to neatly bluff his way out. Everyone else either ignored him, or he was able to duck out of their sight.

The director’s office was unlocked. He opened the door, an excuse on his lips in case anyone was within, but was relieved to find him gone. Closing the door behind him, he took stock of the room. There were few hiding points, but he did see that the window had no bars on it. Guess the higher-ups want to see the dirty dock workers in all their glory, he thought.

He wore latex gloves that he had snatched from a passing cart, and was unafraid to touch any surfaces. He thought of what Riff had said when they’d sat down to make a plan.

“For someone who says he’s not a criminal, you’re surprisingly good at it.”

“How’s that for criminal, Riff?” Bernardo muttered as he, thinking ahead, unlatched the window and opened it slightly before scanning the desk’s contents. If he heard someone coming, he could slip out onto a ledge outside and remain out of sight.

He hardly knew what to look for, but started scanning papers. Order forms for supplies, letters to the superintendent for more funding, EKG test strips… nothing useful. He turned to a bookshelf behind the desk and saw a book labeled Register there. He plucked it eagerly from its place next to a decanter of bourbon and opened it to the week of the docks fight.

There, in the days following his and Riff’s escape, were several reported deaths. He turned back to the bookshelf and—yes! There. Several boxes on the bottom shelf held patient cards. He placed the register on the floor and, using it for reference, searched the cards for those who had recently “died”. One by one, he read the descriptions of the patients, their ages, and injuries.

Gerald Hoffman, 18 years, caucasian, 5’9”, 140 lbs. Knife wounds to right thing, left forearm, left shoulder. Time of Death: 21:30. The date was only two days after Bernardo and Riff escaped.

Sammy. A boy who’d never been to Boston.

Even though he already knew what he would find, Bernardo checked the other patients who had died in that period. Some of them he didn’t recognize, but three others he did.

They were the people on the Mariangue.

The times of death were all notably imprecise. He leapt to his feet, found the shift log on the director’s desk, and looked at when the shifts changed. 5:30, 13:30, 21:30. Three eight hour shifts. Each and every one of the four “dead” Mariangue passengers had a time of death of one of those three shift changes.

As he closed the shift log, Bernardo’s eyes wandered the desk without focus.

That had to be significant.

What was it that nurse had said? “This is a terrible dressing. I swear, the shift before us could hardly be described as basically trained.”

His roving gaze caught sight of the corner of an envelope, the rest concealed beneath a book titled Tropical Diseases of the 20th Century. He lifted the book and pulled it free.

“Alessandro Giovanni

1073 6th Ave

New York City, NY 10018”

Footsteps in the hallway outside. He dropped to the ground behind the desk, replacing lids on the boxes of patient cards and shoving them back onto the shelf. He only just had time to replace the register on the shelf before the door opened. He crouched under the desk, trying not to breathe too loudly and thankful for the false desk front concealing him from view.

The footsteps came in a few feet before stopping. Another set of footprints, lighter, followed the first in before stopping as well.

A voice said, “I didn’t leave that window open…”

Bernardo silently cursed.

“Nancy, go sound the alarm.”

Uh-oh.

“Yes sir!” a female voice said before the lighter pair of footsteps hurried out of the room.

The other person, presumably the director, hurried over to the desk. Bernardo heard the sound of papers being shifted around before the man cursed. “Where is it?”

Bernardo looked down at the envelope in his hand before stuffing it into a pocket of the lab coat.

The man cursed again before sprinting out of the room.

Bernardo waited only a few seconds before emerging from concealment and hurrying out of the office.

Orderlies and nurses were hurrying around as an alarm sounded on the speaker system. He tried to look like one of them as he searched faces in the crowd for Riff.

They ran into each other on the second floor.

“What did ya find out?” Riff asked as they walked very quickly toward the staircase.

“Enough,” Bernardo replied. “You?”

“Nothin’,” Riff said.

Three minutes later, they were downstairs and out the doors. They slipped out the same side door as before. The washerwomen watched them emerge with curious expressions, but they only nodded politely at them and kept walking.

“Where are we goin’?” Riff asked.

Bernardo pulled out the letter. “To see Alessandro Giovani.”

“We ain’t here for tea, are we?” Riff said as they crouched outside the building at 1073.

“Let’s find out.” Bernardo opened the letter, scanning the contents. His face grew more grim as he read. When he finished, he handed it over to Riff to read. When he was done, the other man whistled slowly.

“There’s guards at the doors,” Bernardo noted.

“Maybe we can bluff our way in,” Riff said. “Wave this letter, say we’re deliverin’ it.”

“Not a bad idea.”

They made sure that their lab coats were fully buttoned up to cover their work coveralls before walking to the front door.

“What do you want?” the man at the door asked.

“We have a message for Mr. Giovanni,” Riff said, in a surprisingly passable accent, holding up the letter. When the man reached for it, he pulled it back. “Uh-uh. To be delivered personally.”

With a scowl, the man let them in. “Up the stairs, first door to your left.”

They followed his directions, noting the several different burly men they passed, to Alessandro’s office. The door itself was also guarded.

They went through the same exchange with this man before being let in.

“Hello?” said a rich Italian accent.

Bernardo took in the room first. The floor was warmly carpeted with a wine colored nylon. The walls, pine paneled, had several bookshelves. A window behind the huge mahogany desk overlooked Bryant Park.

“Who are you?” said the man in front of them, leaning against the desk, and Bernardo finally turned to him.

“Venganza,” Bernardo hissed, punching him at the point of his jaw.

Chapter Text

They came when Bernardo was out.

The cops, knocking down the door of the abandoned building, ran in to find Riff and Alessandro both slumped against the wall with their eyes closed. Riff was immediately awoken, but they had to shake Alessandro a few times. Police noted that he seemed groggy and out of it.

“This the guy you saw ‘im with?” one officer asked another.

“I thought he was Puerto Rican, but I guess it could have been him,” the other shrugged.

“Right. Take ‘em both back to the station.”

Riff ignored the “can and will be held against you” speech. He and Alessandro were placed in separate cars and driven to the station.

When they got there, he was ushered into an interrogation room. He had to wait for several minutes before an officer came in and sat down.

“Hello, my name is Officer Jerome Peklo. I’ll be doing your interview today. For the record, what is your name?”

“Riff Lorton.”

“Are you aware that you are under suspicion for the murder of Francisco Giovanni?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Riff said.

“He just… fell in?”

“He took cyanide.”

“Did you see him do this?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Who was the other man you were seen with? Was that the guy we captured with you?”

“No.”

“Who was he?”

Riff remained silent.

Jerome shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “You’re dead,” he said quietly. “I saw you.”

“I was,” Riff agreed, leaning forward as well, as if the two were sharing a secret.

“What do you mean?” Jerome asked.

“Francisco?” Riff reminded. “He did take cyanide. But you already knew that, didn’t ya? You probably fished out the body and did an autopsy.”

This time, Jerome didn’t talk. This wasn’t his first time running an interrogation, and he knew when to keep silent and let the suspect talk.

“I don’t know what you know,” Riff said, “but I’m assuming that you’ve guessed that there’s more goin’ on in this city. I’d also bet that you’d like to put a stop to it.”

Deliberately, watching Riff carefully, Jerome sat back in his chair. “You saying that you know something?”

“I know everything,” Riff said.

“Talk,” Jerome said, and Riff did.

A few minutes into his recounting of the last few weeks, two more officers came into the room. One, Riff noted, was the chief.

“I’m a Jet. You know that. I’ve been in and out of this place for years. Few weeks ago, you found me and Bernardo dead in the streets. Chalked it up to a street fight, threw us in the morgue. But you were wrong. We wasn’t dead yet.

“We were almost gone, mind. If it wasn’t for the mafia, we would be.”

At this outrageous statement, Jerome coughed slightly. “Is that so? You working with them, now? Some kind of debt-of-honor thing?”

“Hardly. They didn’t know we was alive, neither. See, the local boss—that’s the guy you captured with me, by the way—he’s got a line into the hospital. Whenever someone gets killed with wounds similar to that of a patient, they switches the bodies out during shift change. New shift comes in, sees dead body, doesn’t know what the original patient looks like, and declares ‘em dead. See, then the original, who’s still alive, is legally dead and ain’t nobody looking for ‘em. The people that makes the switch, they sew up the body’s wounds, cleans ‘em up, makes ‘em look like they had been treated by the hospital. That’s how me an’ Bernardo lived. Stitches were crap, but they closed the wound.

“They then takes the original, live patient and puts them on a ship. I don’t know how many, but we found the Mariangue. She’s a small cargo freighter, but they don’t just ship supplies. They take care of the originals there. Give ‘em new names, strip them of everything that makes them ‘them’.”

“Why would they do that?” the chief interrupted.

“Forced labor. White slavery, I think you guys call it. Ain’t just white people though. Whoever they can get their hands on.

“Me and Bernardo, we hated each other. Rival gangs. You guys know that. But we decided to work together to figure this out. Went back to the docks, found a business card for the Dovetail Theatre. Looked pretty fresh, and the place had been taped off since the fight. We figured it must have been dropped by an officer, and didn’t have no other clues. Took a few days, but we found the place. While we was there, Francisco came in. We now think it was a popular hangout for them.

“He saw the two of us, turned white as a sheet. We followed him to a mafia storehouse and overheard him talking on the phone to the captain of the Mariangue. They arranged a meetup time. He was talking all ‘bout how he saw the two of us, how we wasn’t dead. Other guy didn’t seem to believe him. He left, and we went in. Found guns, duffle bags full of money, records an’ receipts.” Riff chose not to mention the kid. From their interaction, he and Bernardo thought that the kid was like Nazeh and wanted to get out.

At this point, he was interrupted as the other officer came forward with a piece of paper and a pen. He asked Riff to give the address, and after he did the officer ran out of the room. Then Jerome urged him to continue.

“After that, we went to the docks where Francisco and the captain were supposed to meet up. They talked about the cargo, the captain got mad at Francisco, and he went back up on his ship. We confronted Francisco, he thought we were from another mafia family.”

“Don’t tell me what he thought,” Jerome interrupted. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I won’t betray the Don!’ and took the cyanide. He fell into the water, I tried to catch him, and the people who saw thought I’d pushed him in.”

The two officers exchanged a look, then Jerome said, “What happened after that?”

“We snuck aboard the ship. Since we were still recovering from being stabbed, they thought we were patients too. There was four other people there too, all recovering from injuries. They—”

“Who’s they?”

“The ship crew and the nurse who took care of us. They kept talking about how they found us in Atlanta, told this one kid that he came from Boston, all sorts of lies. Kept everybody confused. One guy’s wedding ring was gone. Like I said, they stripped everybody of any reminders of who they were.

“After a week or two, they offered us jobs at this farm. All the folks they’d kidnapped, they were all nobodies. The crew acted like this was some big break, but we was never really given a choice. They took us to this orchard, called Olde Borde’s, in Nunavut, Canada. There was a bunch of people there with the same story. It was in the middle of nowhere, there was no way to escape, and they didn’t get paid. The ‘deal’ was that they’d work for food and shelter, but they’d never been given a choice. Lots of them had lost their families, jobs, everything. Some people had been there for years.”

Jerome eyed the coveralls that Riff still wore. An Olde Borde’s stamp was on the front. “How did you escape?”

“There was a fire. The mafia overseer, Rudiano, he tried to beat up the guy who accidentally started it. Nazeh, this other guy in charge, shot him. He said that he didn’t like being part of this operation and freed all the people. Gave them transport back home if they wanted, or offered them wages if they chose to stay. He helped Bernardo and me get train transport back to New York.”

“Why did you run when the officer tried to apprehend you three days ago?”

“We were too close, dammit!” Riff said, slamming his fist on the table. “We’d spent weeks tryna figure out what was goin’ on, but we didn’t have any evidence yet. If you’d captured us then, the mafia contacts in the police would’ve warned them and they’d have escaped.”

“You say they have contacts in the police?” Jerome said, frowning. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“You have all the evidence,” Riff retorted. “All those papers you confiscated when you arrested us? That’s all stuff we took from the mafia base.”

“Which you found… how?”

“We snuck into the hospital and found that letter on the director’s desk. If you read it, you’ll see that he was turning a blind eye to the people switching the bodies and getting a cut of the profits. His register also showed that the patients on the Mariangue with us had all ‘died’ during shift changes. We followed the address on the envelope and found the base. Bernardo knocked out the boss, Alessandro Giovanni, and we brought him to the abandoned warehouse, along with all the papers we could carry. Had a tough time doin’ it, too. There was lots of goons in the place.”

“What were you planning on doing with him?”

“Didn’t really know, yet. Just didn’t want him to escape. You might have noticed the bruise on his chin,” he said wryly.

Jerome and the chief stared at him for a while.

“So the man you were seen with was Bernardo,” Jerome clarified.

“How can you still be thinkin’ about that?” Riff cried, throwing his hands up. “Aren’t you gonna do nothin’ about what I just told you?”

“Was it him?” Jerome repeated.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was him.”

“Where is he now?”

“I dunno,” Riff said, clearly frustrated. “He left to do something. I was supposed to guard Alessandro, but I guess I fell asleep.”

Jerome tapped the end of his pencil against the desk before addressing Riff’s question. “Yes, we’re going to investigate what you’ve told us.”

“As outrageous as it is, the evidence we confiscated does line up with what we already know about the mafia.” The chief said. “If what you’re telling us is true, you might have helped break a trafficking ring.”

Riff tried not to look too proud of himself.

“We’re still going to keep you for questioning. Everything you just said could still be one big lie to get yourself off the hook.”

“It’s not,” Riff said.

“You know we can’t take you at your word,” Jerome said. “We’ll put you in protective custody. Think about it like this: if you’re telling the truth, you could be in danger. The mafia might want to take you out because you know too much.” He stood, shuffling the papers in his hands into a more orderly stack. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Riff was escorted, but not handcuffed, out of the room. He was taken to a processing room, where the man at the desk logged his name, date of containment, and some other stuff.

“Alright, this one’s good,” he said to the room at large. One of the officers milling around came up and took him by the elbow.

“Where to?”

“Protective custody?”

“Protective custody, eh? Not a place you’ve ever been before, huh?” the officer said as he led him out of the room. He sounded amused.

They passed by a K-9 unit. The officer escorting Riff nodded politely at them. When they had turned a corner, out of sight, he tugged on Riff’s arm. “This way.”

The two of them went down a short hallway to a locked door. The officer searched his key ring for a certain key, using it to unlock the door.

Riff and the officer emerged in a side alley outside of the police station. Bernardo reached up and pulled off the police cap that had been tugged low over his eyes. He grinned at Riff. “How did it go?”

“Perfect,” Riff grinned back.

Chapter Text

“Thank you.”

Bernardo looked up to see the kid who lived in the mafia storhouse. He stood arm in arm with Loretta from the Dovetail theater.

“No problem,” Riff said, finally looking away from the ducks to smile at them.

“We got married,” the kid said.

“Good for you,” Bernardo said genuinely.

“I can’t imagine what would have happened to Alfonso if you hadn’t warned us,” Loretta said warmly.

“I can,” Riff muttered, probably remembering countless visits to the precinct. Bernardo smirked at him. “The police would’ve just locked you up with the rest of them after finding you there.” It had been Riff’s idea, actually, to go to the Dovetail and warn Loretta that the police would probably be raiding the storehouse in their search for anything connected with the mafia. Clearly, she had called him and he had gotten out in time.

“They’re looking for me,” the young man—Alfonso, apparently—said. “The police. The familia must have told them about me when the arrests happened.”

“Where will you go?” Bernardo asked.

“We’ll figure something out.”

Bernardo hesitated, exchanging a glance with Riff. The other man nodded, and Bernardo turned to smile at the couple. “There may be a place.”

In the end, Loretta and Alfonso promised to think about Olde Borde’s. As they walked away, he overheard Alfonso mutter, “I know it’s a long trip, but I do have that money I nicked before running. We could easily get there with that, and have some left to spare.”

“If you do go,” Bernardo called at their retreating backs, “write to us, let us know.”

Loretta and Alfonso shared a look. “What’s the address?”

“Oh, yous could send it to a certain theater. I’m sure we’d be able to swing by and pick it up,” Riff said.

They nodded, then left. Bernardo watched them go, while Riff turned back to observe the duck pond again. He was staring with open fascination at the creatures, lounging across his half of the bench idly.

“I’m surprised they bothered to find us,” Bernardo said, also looking at the pond.

“I’m not,” Riff said. “He’s a good sort, I think. Doesn’t know when to let things lie. Always gotta do the right thing, probably.”

“How noble,” Bernardo said.

“Stupid,” Riff disputed, as if he hadn’t gone out of his way to make sure the kid would be alright in the first place.

Bernardo only smiled.

“Don’t give me that look,” Riff said irritably.

Bernardo ignored this and addressed the elephant in the… room? Park? “I guess it’s time to go back, now.”

“Back?” Riff asked.

“To the way things were.”

“Back,” Riff repeated, but not in a tone of agreement. More like one of unsettled acknowledgement.

“Or maybe not,” Bernardo mused.

“Eh?”

“All that stuff about gang wars,” Bernardo said. “Seems a bit ridículo now, after everything.”

“Yeah,” Riff said. “I’m tired of tryna kill you guys anyways.”

“You’re a sap,” Bernardo said.

“Am not!” Riff cried, then subsided. “Well, maybe a little bit. Okay, yeah, I’ve grown to like you. Tried my best not to, but, ya know.”

“Shared experiences tend to erase differences,” Bernardo said.

“Whatever that means,” Riff agreed.

Bernardo looked across the park. “Why’d you want to come here, anyways?”

Riff shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Missed the nature, s’all.”

Bernardo thought that “missed” was an understatement. Green things still absolutely fascinated Riff, as long as they weren’t on his plate. Ever since Canada, he’d stopped to look at every scrubby tree growing in every square of dirt passing for a garden that they walked by. Not that they had gone out much; they’d mostly laid low until the last of the mafia members had been tried. A nudge here, an anonymous call there. The two of them had done their best to help the investigation along for the past few months. They still hadn’t sought out their friends or girls, afraid of endangering them until the whole thing was over. Now it was, and the only thing holding them back was…

“I’ll miss you too, I guess,” Riff said.

“We can still talk,” Bernardo said.

“It won’t be the same,” Riff sighed, and Bernardo didn’t answer, because he knew he was right. When they were back with their gangs, there’d still be the old grievances keeping them apart. They’d go back to their old lives, and neither of their old lives had room for the other.

“To old times,” Riff said, holding out his hand.

“And new ones too,” Bernardo said, taking it and shaking it.

Then they stood. Riff tossed one last glance back at the ducks. Bernardo lazily stretched out his muscles from sitting on the uncomfortable bench. Neither of them said goodbye, because that would end it officially. They only nodded to each other before turning and walking in opposite directions for the first time in months.

Adios, amigo, Bernardo silently thought.

Across the park, Riff muttered to himself, “So long, brother.”

Police sirens squealed in the distance, and two gang leaders started for home.

Chapter Text

A nudge from Grazi brought Riff out of his haze. He looked up from the floorboards beneath his feet to see her smiling at him apprehensively, gesturing off into the distance.

“We’re here,” Bernardo said softly. Beside him, Anita was staring intently at the approaching treeline.

A simple pier had been built off of the landing zone since Riff and Bernardo had last been here. Nazeh and others had really done a lot in the past year.

An hour later, the four of them were walking down a well-worn dirt pathway. Riff felt a spark of interest that was all-too rare these days as he looked around at all the green everywhere. There was an ache in his chest that he’d liked to have accredited to the transitions from the smoky air of the city to the slight salt of the sea air to the oxygen-rich forest, but he knew it was the lack of something—someone—else. As if able to tell what he most determinedly was not thinking, Grazi took his hand.

When they reached the central compound of the orchard, it took Riff a moment to realize why Bernardo had stopped in his tracks. Two of the three large, rectangular buildings that once served as barracks to the workers were completely demolished, and several smaller cabin-like structures had been erected in their stead. The smallest—Willow house—remained standing. Other than that, the compound looked more like a village than anything else.

“Love what they’ve done with the place,” Riff said.

“It looks friendly,” Anita said quietly. Bernardo’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

In the end, they settled into life in Olde Borde’s with remarkable ease, although it wasn’t Olde Borde’s anymore. By popular consensus of the people living and working there, the name had been changed to New Beginnings Orchard. A tad cheesy, but Riff liked the sentiment.

On the night of the year’s anniversary of Tony’s death, Riff, Bernardo, and Nazeh holed up in the head cabin with three tumblers and a bottle of whiskey.

“I jus’ can’t help wonderin’, if I’d’a been there, I coulda stopped it,” Riff said, halfway through his second glass.

“I think we would have just made it all worse,” Bernardo said moodily. Riff stuck his tongue out at him, knowing he was right.

“Maria left,” Bernardo said. “Afterwards. Just left New York. Didn’t give Anita a way to contact her, or anything.”

“I really thought you two were official,” Nazeh, who had nothing more sad than sympathetic drinking to fill his cup, said. He was a tad more sober than the other two, and shaking his head in disbelief. “Real detectives, undercover, I mean. Never would’ve imagined that you two had gone off half-cocked on your own.”

Throughout the night, they told him the whole tale, from the beginning (the real beginning, when the gangs started fighting), to the bitter end. Nazeh proved himself a romantic and cried at the right bits, and even seemed a little bit more empathetic to the lovers’ cause than either Riff or Bernardo felt. They had each lost one of the most important people in their lives to that love, and weren’t really inclined to forgive it.

“But don’t you see?” Nazeh said. “They were trying to live their lives and be happy, the best way they knew how. That’s all any of us can do, at the end of the day. It’s why you came back here, isn’t it?”

Well, yes. And no. What was the phrase they used on Perry Mason? The truth, but not the whole truth. There was more to it. “It’s… complicated,” Riff said, slumping in his chair and staring at the fire burning in a nearby grate.

“No, it isn’t,” Bernardo argued. “We changed too much to fit in there anymore.”

“It wasn’t that we changed, it was that the others just wouldn’t,” Riff said.

Riff had gone back to his friends, and they had been overjoyed to see him.

“We thought you were dead!”

“You wish,” Riff laughed. “Nah, too stubborn to kick it. But where’s Tony? He out?”

But Tony wasn’t coming back, and when the gangs continued to harass each other despite both his and Bernardo’s influence, Riff began to wish that he hadn’t either. In the end, he and Bernardo had chosen to leave and get a fresh start, and their girls had been willing to come with them. A friendship had sprung up between the two women despite (or maybe because of) everything, which had made leaving just a little bit easier.

“Whatever the reasons,” Nazeh said, topping off their glasses, “I’m glad you did.”

Riff nodded and held up his glass. “To Maria.”

“To Tony.” Bernardo lifted his glass and clinked it with Riff's.

“To New Beginnings,” Nazeh added, lifting his own glass.

In ten years, a small gaggle of children would run through the trees of New Beginnings, tumbling together in a tangle of limbs and giggles, heedless of race. Their two sets of parents would watch in amusement, the pain of a difficult past faded to a fondly weary ache. Once a year, in the late summer, they would gather in the head cabin to hear the story of why they lived on a maple sugar farm. Two twin girls would cry over their dad’s friend Tony, while a boy would shyly ask to hear about Aunt Maria just one more time. When they got older, Alfonso and Loretta would become part of the story, and by the time they were adults, the three would set off on a quest to find the mysterious Aunt Maria.

But that was in ten years’ time. Now, two men who had started as enemies and became brothers drank a toast.