Chapter 33

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𝟹. 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟽

In Manhattan, the future Lincoln Centre was under construction. That being, the slums were being knocked down flat, the rumble in piles, waiting to be removed. It was a half done job, some buildings still standing, with residents postponing their move until forced eviction.

This area was more well known for its gang activity. More specifically, the Jets. They had the run of the town for such a long time- almost five years. They'd been challenged, and prevailed.

But ever since the Puerto Rican's came, things had been different. They were a legitimate threat. A genuine problem that couldn't be wiped out with a snap of the fingers.

Petty crimes were their way forwards, at first. Little things to annoy and frustrate. It was enough for a laugh, to occupy their time. Sometimes that was all they needed. A distraction from the reality of their lives.

Even where the buildings had been knocked down, the basements still remained. A lot of the things that they used were stored in a few of the harder to find places. Things like cans of paint.

The Jets threw the cans to one another, out of the basement, before catching their leaders attention. Riff was in the cockpit of a crane. When he emerged, a smirk was embedded into his face. A permanent feature. His blue button up was on his hands, and soon, Rose was following him out.

Ice let out a low whistle as she emerged, pulling her husband in for a slow kiss.

Then Riff jumped down, offering a hand as he did. She took it, and sauntered towards them. The leader stayed behind, watching how his wife laughed with his right hand man. He was glad they got along. She needed someone else to trust- everyone at the post office was corrupt in one way or another. Especially Alan Scarlett.

"Jets!" Riff snapped his fingers before making his way to the front of the group. He and Ice shared a grin, storming through the piles of rubble.

As they marched through the streets, asserting their dominance, they recruited their other members. When Numbers knocked at Doc's, quite a few of them ran out.

The one Rose took the most notice of was Baby John. She had taken quite the shine to him, and was doing what she could to keep him out of trouble. Riff knew that too, and helped when necessary. But he wouldn't be soft on the boy. That would only make things worse.

They walked the streets with poise, their numbers growing steadily. Balkan knocked a ladder down from a third floor apartment, making it look easy. And Mouthpiece jumped over a still taxi.

It was odd. Two years ago she would've been horrified to be within a hundred feet of the Jets. Now, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

When they reached the centre of the city, they scattered. What was a day without a little bit of mayhem?

Rose didn't often go out with them. She was the designated recluse, but when she did, she had a ball.

"We missed you, Rosie." Mouthpiece swung an arm around her shoulders.

The woman laughed. "Don't let Riff hear you. He'd have your head."

"Bullshit." Ice snorted.

Baby John seemed clueless for a time. There was so much to do, so many things to make things crazy. He didn't know where to begin.

Riff just wrapped an arm around him, tapping his chest lightly.

"Come on."

     The basketball court was their choice of place. It was easy to clear, and the space was a welcome thing. Though, it was mainly concrete and it generally hurt when they fell down. But there had never been a time when they didn't get back up again.

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