"Woah! I didn't do nothin'!"

Crutchie had just been thrown on his back by Spot Conlon, fearless leader of Brooklyn. Spot glared at him as Crutchie tried to put his hands in the air.

"Somebody from Manhattan broke into my place last night," Spot hissed. "They took somethin' of mine. D'you know anythin' 'bout this?"

"Jeez, an' the first person you come to is me?" Crutchie said. "You gotta be jokin'. I don't know anythin' about what you're lookin' for. What is it?"

Spot let Crutchie up slowly, eyeing him if he tried any false moves. "It don't matter what it is."

Crutchie slid his crutch under his arm. "Then 'ow can I help ya find it? I know these parts, you don't."

Spot thrust his face back into Crutchie's, who backed away a bit. "I know everythin'," Spot hissed. "Don't say I don't know Manhattan."

"Okay, okay!" Crutchie relented. "I'll let you go on your way then. 'Ope you find….whatever it is you're lookin' for."

Spot nodded once, and continued walking in the other direction.

Crutchie breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to Race and Specs who were hiding behind some boxes.

"Maybe we should give him back that hat."

Race shook his head. "Nah."