Twilight in New York is not pretty. It is a smoggy cacophony of commuters going home and prostitutes trailing out to their street corners, smacking their lips in a vain attempt to even out their cheap lipstick. In an alley, Kizzy sucked down the last possible puff of her cigarette, eyeing up the curves of a particular peroxide blonde prostitute. She would make for an interesting night…but Kizzy had some work to do. With a soft sigh, she dashed the stub of her cigarette beneath her mule pumps, then slipped back into the raucous club behind her.

Kizzy wound her way through the dark interior, deeply inhaling the familiar, mingled scents—smoke, spilled whiskey, even a little of the sickly floral odor of burning opium. She felt like she was slipping into a comfortable old housecoat here—this was her element, and despite its best efforts, Chicago had never quite been able to duplicate it. She surveyed her prospects. A band of young sailors looked like they were enjoying shore leave at the bar. In the corner, a few old Chinese men shared a long pipe with some drooling middle-aged Russians. Finally, her eye landed on a man in his forties sitting alone at a table—good looking, clearly wealthy, and (most importantly) wearing a suit jacket over a white shirt. Even better, he seemed to have his attention fixed completely on some thick leather-bound volume.

Once she had retrieved her special from the bar—a Daisy with a hefty amount of grenadine—she fixed her sights on a spot on the wall over the man’s head and began to walk confidently toward him. With a practiced shout and stumble, Kizzy found herself with an empty glass in hand, her bright red drink spilled down the man’s front.

“Oh, geez, Mister, I’m sorry!” She frowned and flittered about him, quickly helping him out of his coat before he could sputter out a coherent word. Her hand flicked in and out of his jacket pockets, swiftly snagging his wallet and slipping into her own purse. She mopped up some of the drink, simpering more apologies and advice on how to get it out before turning and making her way out the bar’s side entrance. She paused for a moment, smiling smugly as she checked the wallet. Jackpot.

Walt Whitman was a bad ass. The name conjured up a scholarly, dry, old dead white guy with a beard to most- but Keats loved Whitman. There was an electricity in his writing- an energy. 

"But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, 
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, 
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, 
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, 
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, 
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side."

Whitman had been dead for decades- but he had taught a young John Keats how to walk. The John Keats sitting in the bar, having lived that stanza for twenty five years, had now made it a part of himself. He took another generous sample of his whiskey as he read. Whitman was meant to be read in noisy bars and outside under the sun and the moon and the stars, not just in a dusty library or a comfortable chair back home. As he finished "I Sing the Body Electric" Keats raised his eyes and glanced around the bar. Some rowdy sailors. A few druggies. The bartender, bouncing between a handful of couples out for a night on the town. Finally, Keats noticed a striking young woman- beautiful, with long red hair and piercing eyes. He'd been in the business long enough to tell when someone was working. What was she working on, though? Sex? Unfortunately for her, he wasn't in the mood.

With a grin, he flipped to the next page and continued reading, becoming so engrossed that he lost himself in Whitman's rolling phrases. Quick movements right in front of him froze him. His hand was torn between going for his gun and instinctively protecting his book. Goddamn it- if he got shot because of Walt Whitman...

But no. Her practiced hands were already on him, helping him out of his coat. She looked like she could undress a man with her eyes alone, and he felt his coat- and his wallet, no doubt, leave him within seconds. Damn, she was good. Really good. Keats had been a good pickpocket for decades- still kept in practice, slipping notes to Cerise every now and then, but he wasn't as skilled as some people he knew. This girl- this woman was up there with the best, though. By the time he'd processed his thoughts she was already out the side door. Keats smiled. 

Moving quickly, he yelled a promise to the bartender and took off out the front door. She wouldn't be walking fast; it'd draw too much attention to herself. He hustled, making sure he got to the alley that connected to the side entrance before she did. Leaning against the building, he caught his breath and nonchalantly checked his fingernails, as if he'd been lounging here for hours, waiting. As he heard footsteps and saw a flash of red hair turn the corner, he wryly complimented her.

"Not the first time I've lost all my money in that bar- but I'm usually much more pleasantly drunk in those situations. Nice piece of work back there." 

Kizzy stopped, the scuff of her pump on the pavement echoing on the alley's brick walls.

"Damn," she breathed. They never followed her out. It was her specialty—she was always out before the schmucks knew what had happened. Once, she had even hit up the same mark twice as he was complaining that some broad had taken his wallet the last time he was in the bar. Some people never learn.

Kizzy’s lip pushed out in a slight pout as she held out the wallet. “Yeah, well I try. Good job at catching me. While many may say that their pockets are lighter because of Kezia Goldstein, there ain’t many who can say they caught her at it.” She sighed and took a cautious step toward the man, squinting up into his face. “Now, it sounds like you’re willing to be a good sport about this, but I might as well let you know—I can run like Man O’ War even in these heels, and I bet I can kick like him too.” As she peered up through the thick black mascara on her lashes, however, the man’s face finally clicked into place. She knew him. Oh, boy, did she know him. She quickly shoved the wallet into his chest, her eyes wide and bright with trepidation.

“Ah, shit. P-please take it, Mr. Keats. I promise I didn’t recognize you in there, or I’d never have…it was dark and smoky!” She cringed slightly, resisting the urge to punch herself in the head. She’d really put her foot in it this time—not even a couple of weeks in with this organization, and she’d already rolled the boss’ right hand. She could blame the smoky bar or the cocktails she’d been drinking, but she knew that it would fall on deaf ears here.

Keats raised an eyebrow as the woman said her name. She was a recent addition to the crew. He'd tried to meet everyone, but she was so new that he hadn't made her acquaintance yet. Her name rang a bell, though. Two bells, actually. Keats chuckled as she talked about running- and smiled as she finally recognized who she was dealing with.

"Kezia Goldstein. You go by Kizzy, right? Relax, kid. It was a good piece of work. Besides, I never carry around anything in my wallet that I can't afford to lose. But your pickpocketing skill, while impressive, is no longer the focus of my attention. Goldstein is a well known name in this city, and I've heard conflicting information about you. Are you related to the mayor or not? Be straight with me."

She hung her head and groaned. After having traveled all over the country for so long, Kizzy had forgotten that it was a bit dangerous to throw her name on the table here.

“Yeah…I’m the mayor’s daughter.” The last word felt like castor oil on her tongue. She glanced back up to Keats, who was clearly sizing her up—she felt a little like one of those jars of marbles that you guess how many are in it at a fair.

“What….why did you come to Chicago?” The man intoned, the softest breath of a chuckle beneath his words. “Seems to me like you had everything set up here. Mostly it’s those with nothing left to lose that turn to a life of crime.”

Kizzy crossed her arms, chewing her tongue for a moment. Finally, she relented. “Well, if you must know...I didn’t come to Chicago. Not at first.” She leaned against the alley’s wall. “First, I got into a bit of trouble—couldn’t keep my hands out of the cookie jars. And by cookie jars, I mean…my mother’s friends’ jewelry boxes. It was just kinda something to do at first, but then I really loved the rush of walking out of the house, shaking their hands while knowing I had their sapphire bracelet stuffed in my…um, purse.” She coughed before continuing.

“So my parents thought that they should send me to live with some relatives in Savannah. Daddy was running for mayor and couldn’t have his little black sheep ruining things for him. But on the way there, I ran into a guy. He managed to convince me—didn’t take much, mind you—that I should come with him to Boston instead. So I did. Then I stayed in Philly for a little while, then Pittsburgh, then Louisville…finally I came up to Chicago and found a place in our outfit."

"I sent Daddy a letter when I got to Boston. I think he was just relieved to have me out of his hair—he’s been sending me a check every month to make sure I stayed away.” With sudden, jerky movements, she pulled out her cigarette case and brought a smoke to her frowning lips. “So, yeah. Poor little rich girl. Whatever.”

Keats smiled reassuring you- a smile that invited you in and made you comfortable, slipped off your shoes and helped you recline. 

"You're in it for the rush. I understand entirely."

He listened as she told her story.

"Sounds like you've seen quite a bit of the country. A good education for you, no doubt."

He stretched out his fingers, lightly cracking them, as she mentioned the payments from her father and he ascertained just how much she was getting. 

"Kezia- Kizzy. May I call you Kizzy?"

He deftly reached into his pocket and removed a match, igniting it against the brick wall he was leaning against and bringing it to light her cigarette in one smooth motion. He also managed to hide his surprise that it had worked so perfectly- but sometimes you're just in the zone. 

"Lets go have a talk with your father. With my assistance, I believe we can get much, much more from him. As long as you don't mind taking him for all you can; he certainly doesn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as I do- and we've only just met."

"Please call me Kizzy, hon." A smirk pushed up one side of Kizzy's face. She scanned Keats, taking in the whole professor schtick he had going for him. It was kind of...hot? But mostly because she was the type of girl who liked to defile authority. And it sounded like he was offering her a whole new way to do so.

"So, what's the plan, then? I'm gonna be honest with you, you might be able to extort a decent amount of cash outta him, but I'm kinda over taking his money. I don't even touch his checks as it is--I just cash them and put them in the bank so he knows I'm still alive. So if you got something better than that, I'm all ears."

The girl had a golden smile- figuratively and literally. She was obviously used to having her way with men. Probably used to having her way with everyone- some people were just that persuasive. He also saw a glint of metal- perhaps a molar. Keats liked this girl. She was beautiful, sure, and he liked beautiful girls in general- even when he wasn't sleeping with them. Being around beautiful women just... energized him. Plugged him into the current of the universe and brought a focus to his roving spirit. 

Beyond the superficial, he liked Kizzy's attitude. Sometimes you just clicked with people. Keats was feeling the buzz of interlocking well matched wits and charms with a worthy partner. 

"Well, if you're not interested in his money I could certainly find a place for it... but your larger point remains. Some things are much more valuable than cash."

Keats pushed a rogue lock of hair back into place above his forehead.

"I'm looking to expand my influence in New York. Perhaps, if you're willing to lose the direct financial support of your father, you'd be willing to let me leverage your involvement in our line of work for information, favors, and a million small advantages in the city. You'll be well compensated, of course. And if we can pull it off, it would be a boon to you, me, and the organization as a whole. We could go meet with him privately, if you can arrange it- or I wouldn't object if before we did this you'd like to sit down with me over a drink and unravel my secrets, ascertain my motives, or what have you."

It was dark outside, but his eyes almost glowed as a million ideas started popping in and out of existence behind them.

Kizzy raised an eyebrow as she listened to Keats' proposition. It was certainly intriguing. Her lips toyed with the unlit cigarette still hanging between them. She motioned toward the man's pocket.

"Pretty sure I felt a light in there. You mind?" She smiled as Keats removed the lighter from his pocket and lit her cig for her. "Such a gentleman," she murmured after taking a long drag. She took note of the impatient lines that were growing around Keats' mouth. Enough dragging it out—with her bosses, she liked to test boundaries only so that she knew where they were.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got some real machinations working themselves out in your noggin.” She held out her crooked arm, her back straightening with the unconscious practice of high society. “I’m pretty sure you know what you’re doing. I’ll trust you. Besides, I prefer favors and influence to Daddy’s money any day. I’d be happy to escort you to a meeting with my father right now, as a matter of fact.” If there was any hesitation on Keats’ face, it only lingered for the merest of moments before he laid his hand on Kizzy’s elbow and began to walk down the street with her.

*

Kizzy’s toes dug into the decorative grooves in the building’s concrete walls as her hands reached up to grasp hold of the ornate balcony railing above her. With a practiced deftness, she hauled herself up and over the railing, collapsing briefly onto the balcony in a heap of satin, stockinged feet, and paste jewelry. Quickly, she sprang to her feet and bent over the railing to see Keats below, holding her shoes in some bewilderment.

“Okay, I’m gonna let you in—don’t worry, I know how to creep through this house like a little mouse.” With a broad wink, she quickly jimmied open the door to what had been her bedroom years ago and slipped inside.

Keats stood, covering his surprise with a smile. He certainly hadn't expected Kizzy to demonstrate any acrobatic proficiency. But she was already moving into the house and he was left holding the bag- or shoes, in this case. With a raised eyebrow, he tucked the shoes into his jacket pockets and began to pace outside. 

The girl was going to be his way to control the mayor. Not total control, of course. Puppets who know they're puppets tend to rebel. Instead, he'd gain a foothold. He needed to show the mayor that being "friendly" would be mutually beneficial. The mayor, after all, would receive a good cut of money from anything that happened in the city. And for a politician, having a friend like Keats- someone with his skills- well, that could come in handy. No, he'd propose a partnership- mostly.

But he'd also make sure the mayor was aware of how much Keats, and Kizzy in particular- could ruin his career. What sort of man was the mayor? What would make him squirm the most about his daughter? The fact that she was a criminal? Something to do with sex? He'd have to evaluate the man to see how much he'd need to make him rattled. Once he realized how bad it could get, he could move on to explaining the benefits of working with him.

Keats checked the pistol under his left shoulder out of habit. He didn't expect to need it, but some of these policitians had inflated ideas of themselves and had security. Other politicians refused to play ball and needed more... direct intimidation. Or the mayor could even have a gun. 

He'd have to play it by ear, just like he usually did. For now, though, he paced and waited for Kizzy. 

The house was almost exactly how she had left it, although it was a little bizarre to see how her room had become a guest room. She shook her head and crept through the hall, remembering to hop over the creaky sixth step from the bottom. She quickly padded across the parlor, pausing for a moment to stroke her mother’s fussy Persian cat on the way, and unlatched the front door. She opened it carefully, urging Keats inside and swiftly shutting the door behind him. She led him up to her father’s dark study, where she turned a knob on the wall that made electric light blossom around them.

“You know,” Kizzy murmured as she draped herself across a wingbacked armchair. “I used to let my boyfriends in through the back door—you’re the first fella to have clandestinely entered through the front.” She flashed her grin again, the molar glinting at the corner of her lips. “It’s quite the honor.”

Keats was about to respond when there was the unmistakable sound of Mr. Goldstein’s heavy feet hitting the floor. Kizzy’s shoulders tensed, but she still held her chin high. She hadn’t seen him since the night he had spent screaming at her about tarnishing the family name—as well as his chances for election. It seemed that he had been successful in recovering his reputation by sending her away. The question was whether he was willing to risk her getting it dirty again.

Mayor Goldstein was an odd mirror of his daughter—he had the same pointed chin and the parts of his hair that still held color were just as red. He even held the same innate confidence in his swaggering gait, but his came with the weight of having been hard-won. As he entered his study, he was wrapping a smoking jacket around his potbelly, his dark eyes glaring fiercely as they took in the scene in his study. When he realized that it was his daughter laid across his favorite armchair, he came to a sudden stop.

“Hello Daddy,” she smiled and wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Your black sheep’s back in its pen.”

Keats leaned against the wall of the study- with a hungry grin on his face. 

"And she brought a wolf, unfortunately. Why don't you sit down, Mayor Goldstein? We don't want to wake up any of the little lambs currently asleep. We have some business to discuss. No- that's her chair now. Why don't you pull up one of these other ones?"

The mayor seemed too confused by the appearance of his daughter and this stranger in the middle of the night. He half walked and half staggered, bewildered into silence. He sat across his own desk facing his daughter, who was lounging in his large office chair. 

Keats stood behind the mayor, who was now seated, and began to speak.

"Mayor Goldstein, my name is John Keats. I'm an associate of your daughter's and I'm looking to expand my influence here in your fine city. I suppose I should get the unpleasant truths out of the way, as you no doubt already suspect why I'm here. Your daughter works with me now, in my... various enterprises. These ventures would cast you in a rather negative light, if her relationship to you was ever exposed to certain interested newspapermen- of which I know quite a few. Having a daughter in my line of work would, unfortunately for you and the rest of your family, destroy your political career."

Keats had been pacing behind the mayor, but he now circled in front of him, walking behind Kizzy's chair. He traced a single finger along her bare shoulders as she unflinchingly looked at her father. When Keats had finished his circle, he leaned down and spoke gruffly into the mayor's ear.

"I'm also prepared to do things to her that she can't even imagine. Things you can't even imagine. She's a beautiful girl and I'm sure she'll enjoy herself. But I know you wouldn't enjoy seeing the pictures go public."

Keats stood up, slapping the angry and confused mayor on the back as he walked forward and sat leaning on he desk.

"But it pains me to have to discuss these... negative consequences. I hope to never have to bring them up again. The simple truth of the matter is that we can help each other far more than we can hurt each other. I need a friend like you, Mayor, and I plan on calling in a few favors with you. I need your influence. But I don't want a servant... I don't want to control you... I want a... partner. Someone I can work with. Most of the time, you'll make all the decisions you want to. Occasionally, I might ask you for a favor- and I expect you to grant it."

Keats began walking again.

"So what do you get out of this? Having a friend like me... with the resources of my organization? Well, that can make all the difference in the world to you. If you give me influence in your world, you gain influence in mine. All my information will be yours. Actions that perhaps cross the line... can now be accomplished on your behalf, without any direct link to you. Because Kizzy here will disappear. No more checks. No more worrying about her. This will actually give you much more control of the situation- much more power in this city and across the country- then you had yesterday."

Keats nonchalantly checked his fingernails.

"For example, this guy gearing up to run against you in a few months? Walker? Well, when we're done with him you'll win in a landslide. Because if you're working with me, I have a vested interest in keeping you in power for a long, long time. Who knows? Maybe my friends and I could even help you move up the ladder. How'd you like to be Governor?"

Keats grinned.

"Anything to add, Kizzy?"

Kizzy stared at her father, her full lips pursed as she let Keats say his piece. When the man lightly dragged his fingers across her skin, goosebumps spread across her body. Keats then leaned down to mutter something to her father. She couldn’t catch much—just “She’s a beautiful girl,” “enjoy it,” and “pictures.” From the way her father’s stoic face turned a deep shade of puce, she could guess pretty well at the message Keats had gotten across. Then he threw it back to her. She was a little startled, but quickly shrugged, rubbing the final goosebumps off of her forearm.

“Just…that you would be helping me out, too, Daddy. You were happy to let me make whatever I could of myself, and so…here I am. I know I’m about the furthest thing from the perfect daughter you could ask for, but I got your message loud and clear. I stayed outta your hair for these years, kept my head low, let a whole city think that I’m sweating my ass out in Georgia. I never embarrassed you, and I didn’t ever ask you for anything that whole time. Didn’t even need your money. But I’ve got an opportunity now to be useful to a powerful organization that can let me move up in the world. So even if you think Keatsy here wasn’t persuasive, which I’m pretty damn sure he was, you could at least do it as a final favor to me.”

The old man’s eyes were moving quickly, like a caged animal. Finally, his shoulders sagged in resignation.

“I’ll inform my secretary that you will be making important, but sporadic visits,” he sighed and heaved himself to his feet. “I trust that with my collaboration, there will be no more need for night visits like this. And Kezia…” Kizzy looked up to him, her eyes wide. He set his mouth into a grim line, and his next words were filled with venom. “I hope my cooperation will ensure that I shall never have occasion to see you—or any photography of you—again.” He shuffled out of the room. Kizzy swallowed hard. She lingered for a moment in his chair, wondering vaguely why this suddenly felt like a hollow victory. She pulled out another cigarette and brought it to her lips with a shakier hand than she had expected. Poor little rich girl.

Keats walked slowly, ambled even. He was ready to go, but he wanted to make it clear that he was choosing to leave at his own pace. A tilt of his head suggested to Kizzy that she should follow him. They passed by pictures on the hallways, stairs, and finally the front walkway. Every so often, the young woman would slow down a bit, looking at something- perhaps for the last time. Keats matched her pace and gave no indication that he was in a hurry- nor did he suggest he begrudged any delays on her part. Finally, though, they reached the front gate. She paused there, almost like she recognized that when she stepped beyond this threshold her old life would truly be gone. 

Keats studied the stars, content to let her think. When she took that resounding step he grinned at her and silently held out her shoes.

"You're going to need these, kid. You and I have a lot of work to do. New York just opened up in a big way for us."

They stood there, whispering quietly for a few moments until a cab moved down the quiet street and Keats hailed it. As the cab started to pull away, Kizzy closed her eyes- reflecting on this night that had started so normally- until she was jolted back into the world by an object landing on her lap. Quickly trading her surprise for a wicked grin, the cab sped off into the night as Kizzy examined the wallet that Keats had tossed through the open window.