This is my first Newsies fanfic, so don't get all up in my grill! Just read it and review it, my friends. P.S. Spot Conlon life.
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns Newsies. I don't.
Wraps curled his fingers into a fist and punched the brick wall beside him. His wrapped knuckles collided with the hard brick with a satisfying thud. He grinned and walked out of the alleyway, straight into the new Brooklyn morning sunshine. Heading for the distribution office, he waved to a couple of the early newsies already crying the newest headline, "Fire near Town Hall, thousands flee in panic!"
"Good story today, ain't it Wraps?" A smaller boy bounded up beside Wraps, bouncing from foot to foot as he shivered in the cool morning air. Wraps grinned and ruffled his hair.
"Well if it ain't little Itchy Feet, how're you on dis fine moihning?"
"Ih'm doin pretty well meeself Wraps, gonna go for me papes now. See ya latah!" Itchy Feet skipped down towards the office, swinging his arms at his sides and spinning every third step. Wraps chuckled, Itchy Feet could never stop moving. Even at night in the bunks he tossed and turned so much the boys had all smacked him at one time or another. Wraps breathed in the dirty Brooklyn air and sighed. This was his sixth year with the Brooklyn newsies and every day he got more and more used to the fact that he was never going back home. If you could call where Wraps used to live a home. The dingy old orphanage held memories Wraps didn't want to revel in, so he shook his head and stepped up the planks.
"Fifty papes." His shoulders sunk with the familiar weight and he drifted out into the streets, reading through the front page so as to get an idea of what the merchandise was.
After he sold his last paper, Wraps made his way towards the docks. The morning coolness had evolved into a high burning sun, just hot enough for a swim. Wraps stretched and loosened his pants, then flung them and his shirt over a wooden beam. He sat on the edge of the docks and began to unwrap his hands. Wraps never liked unwrapping his hands, he felt like his defenses were down. However, most of the newsies on the docks were from the Brooklyn house, so Wraps was pretty sure no one would mess with them. After all, Brooklyn newsies were the most feared in all New York.
The cool water felt good on Wraps' back. He dove under and swam the length of the dock, then back again, ignoring the younger boys splashing their way under the wooden stilts. Wraps climbed up the rope ladder and noticed some strange boys making their way across the dock. He slithered onto the wooden slats and stood in front of the leader, water dripping down his britches.
"Goin' somewhere, Kelly?" He asked with a glare. Jack Kelly, leader of the Manhattan newsies, brushed past him and continued towards the boxes at the end of the dock. Wraps bristled at being pushed aside so lightly, after all, he was Spot Conlon's second-in-command. He threw on his pants and shirt and joined Spot with the other older Brooklyns.
"Dat ain't good enough, Jacky-boy. You gotta show me." Spot's grey-blue eyes flashed at Jack, then turned back to his newsies. He spotted Wraps, who was tightening the linens on his knuckles, and waved him over.
"What'd Kelly want Spot?"
Spot Conlon sat on a box, leaning on his black, gold-tipped cane. His face was soft around the edges, and yet his eyes held power and harshness in their gaze. Spot Conlon was the toughest newsie in Brooklyn, and probably in New York. The other newsies always respected Spot, and he ruled them with his cane and fist.
"Manhattan's thinkin' of strikin' Wraps. Itchy Feet told me yesterday and now Jacky's comin' down heah lookin' fo' recruits."
"Well we ain't gonna join 'em unless we know theyse gonna go through wid it, right?"
"Dat's right Wraps. Wese gotta be shoah dey won't pull out on us like Bronx did last time. Let's wait and let my boidies do the watchin'. Mebbe Jacky-boy'll actually step up and soak dem lousy scabs."
"Yeah, mebbe." Wraps punched his fists together. Spot looked at him curiously.
"You itchin' for a fight, Wraps?"
"No, Ise just…"
"Youse just jumped up about da prices, I know. Let's get us some woik down at Tub's and mebbe da heavy liftin'll keep your mind off of da strike." Spot shoved his cane back into his suspenders and patted Wraps on the shoulder. He had to reach because Wraps was about two feet taller than him. Wraps nodded and they set off down the pier.
The next morning, Wraps and Spot were finishing up their selling when Itchy Feet leapt towards them from the alleyway behind them. His brown hair was matted with sweat and his eyes rolled in their sockets wildly as he looked around for Spot.
"Spotty! Spot, spot! Ise got us some news from Manhattan!"
Spot and Wraps stopped their stacking and looked at Itchy Feet. Wraps took out a cigarette and lit it with a slightly soggy match, leaning with Spot against the wall of a building.
"Hey, Itchy, don't call me Spotty or I'll soak ya. What's itchin' in 'Hattan's britches?"
Itchy Feet jogged in place and hugged himself. "They've started Spot! Jack led 'em into a riot dis mornin' and dey need our help."
Spot looked at Wraps, who grinned, then turned back to Itchy Feet. "Alright Itchy, youse go n' round up da boiys an' me n' Wraps here'll check it out."
Itchy Feet smiled and bolted to tell the rest of the Brooklyn newsies the news of a soaking. Spot and Wraps sprinted their way across the Brooklyn Bridge towards Manhattan to see for themselves. When they reached the distribution center, the crowd got larger. Spot beckoned to Wraps and they climbed up the fire escape to the roof.
Sure enough, there was Jack and his newsies, fighting with the scabs and locked inside the gate. Wraps tugged on Spot's sleeve and pointed to the Brooklyn boys that had arrived. Spot jumped down onto the fire escape and issued orders.
"Here we go, boiys. All o' my best shootahs up here wid me. Wraps, take the rest and wait at the gates for us to open it. Let's save our buddies wid a little Brooklyn style."
Wraps smiled and spit-shook with Spot. Then he climbed down the ladder and grouped the rest of the boys not climbing up and readying their slingshots.
"Well boiys, dis is it. When Spot opens dose gates, we're goin in." The rest of the boys nodded in agreement. They all gripped their bats and clubs and waited with anticipation. Itchy Feet was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Wraps steeled himself and tightened his fists, squeezing his knuckles. He was the best street fighter in all of Brooklyn, and better than most in Queens and Harlem. The only reason he wasn't leader of Brooklyn right now was that he didn't want to be leader. He didn't want the responsibilities that came with the position and he knew Spot was the best newsies leader in the whole city.
The gates slowly swung open and Wraps could see Spot looking around for his troops.
"Alright boiys, let's get 'em!" Wraps charged ahead towards Spot with the whole of Brooklyn behind him. Spot turned and whipped out his deadly cane, jabbing it into one scab's face. Wraps threw himself into the crowd, punching and kicking with accuracy. This kind of fighting was what he was born for, the on-the-spot, back alley type of tumble. Wraps laughed out loud when he broke a guy's nose and flipped backwards over another scab to kick someone else in the head. He was having the time of his life. The boys around him were hitting and beating with clubs and, in Spot's case, canes.
As the fighting wound down, Wraps lazily knocked a guy out and hit two more together, throwing them on the ground. His knuckle wraps were covered in blood and dirt and his arms ached pleasantly with a fight well won. He noticed Spot following Jack Kelly out of the yard and tailed them, catching up with the group as they reached a diner. Inside, each boy congratulated the others for a job well done. They were making headway with the strike. A newspaper reporter that had befriended the Manhattan's joined them and told them the fight would be in the Sun the next morning. Spot glanced at Wraps, who grinned. Spot chuckled, his sneering face lit up by a tough smile.
After they said goodbye to the rest of the newsies, Spot and Wraps trudged back to Brooklyn to count bodies. They reached the lodging house in silence and made their way to the top room. All the boys there were nursing wounds, helping others, or diving into some stale beer they had been saving. They stopped what they were doing when Spot walked in and turned to him, aching for news from their leader.
"Boiys, we got ourselves a strike!" Cheers went up all around the room and Itchy Feet almost flew through the roof he was dancing so hard.
"So, relax tonight an' party cuz tomorrers we gots us some woik to do." The boys yelled again and passed around more booze. Some started up a card game in the corner and others picked up a rotten cigar and lit it, passing it around the circle.
Spot looked at Wraps and beckoned him out the door. A few other older newsies followed them down the stairs and out on the street. The group headed for a pool hall and bar where some real booze would satisfy their lust for victory. Wraps stayed near Spot, but chatted with Beefy, a large bull-like kid with huge muscles, and Knife, the most crooked poker player in the world. Knife's beady eyes would flicker from Beefy to Wraps as he jogged beside them, to keep pace with their longer legs.
The group reached the bar and settled down at a table in the back, close to a pool table. A waitress brought them drinks to hoots and hollers, then Knife and another newsie with fire-red hair called Hothead began a game of Eight Ball. Wraps leaned back against the wall next to Spot who was tapping the gold on his cane against the chairs next to him.
"You know what, Spot?"
Spot turned his vague, grey-blue eyes on his second. "Yeah? What?"
"I tink dis strike ting is a good idea."
Spot leaned his head against the back of his chair and covered his eyes with his hat.
"Yeah? How so?"
"Well, seein' as Jack is leadin' dem 'Hattans, I'm tinking wese got ourselves a chance. I mean, youse saw him today, right? He was like a bullet against dem scabbers, and he gots himself a following. I'm tinking we're not goin' wrong, joinin' wid him."
Spot nodded at Wraps words and Wraps grinned, knowing his speech would lodge itself in Spot's mind. Wraps' opinion always mattered to Spot not only because he was his second, but also because Wraps was a smart kid. When the Queens/Brooklyn fight had turned in favor of Queens, Wraps had taken over the boys who weren't fighting with Spot on one side of the river and charged the back end of the Queens boys and won the borough war. Wraps ordered up a shot of whiskey for him and one for Spot from the fine looking waitress and they drank to victory for the newsies. Another four more rounds, and Spot had the waitress on his lap, giggling and joking with the rest of the drunken boys. Wraps chortled along with them, drowning another shot and full out laughing when Spot tipped the waitress into a kiss, then fell off his chair. Wraps grinned at his drunk friend and didn't even offer to pull him back up. He felt a sharp rap on his head and looked up into Spot's glaring face, cane raised to strike him again.
"Hey, I give, I give, geez!" Wraps said, holing his hands up in surrender. Spot glared at him, then turned to help the girl up.
"Watch out she don't take you down again, Spotty!" Spot turned and Wraps dove out of his chair, racing for the exit. He didn't want to fight Spot, especially when he was drunk. Beefy, Knife, and the rest of the boys followed them out into the street, circling the two. Wraps turned to face Spot's livid face. He forgot Spot was in awe of his own ego and hated it when he was made the fool.
"Hey, Spotty, I said Ise was sorry." Wraps said, slurring a bit from the whiskey. Spot glared at him and twirled his cane. The rest of the boys held their breath and stared at Spot. Something flashed in his eyes when Wraps said 'Spotty' and Wraps chuckled to himself. Spot hated that name more than anything and Wraps only called him that to get him angry. Finally, something in Spot softened and he lowered his cane.
"Don't call me Spotty, Wraps, or I'll soak ya myself. Mind ya, it's only cuz wese gotta be ready tomorrow for da strike dat I;m not soakin' ya tonight. But be careful Wraps, I don't like it when people makes fun o' me, you know dat."
Wraps walked forward a few steps. "Yeah Spot, youse da leader and wese respects ya, don't we boiys?" A chorus of 'yeahs' drew the tension out of the circle. Wraps spit on his hand and offered it to Spot. He hesitated, then returned the favor. Wraps smiled and threw his arm around Spot's shoulder.
"So, whaddya say we gets us some nice brauds to spend da rest o' da night wid?" The boys howled and cheered and Spot led them down the street to the next bar. Wraps remembered their duty to Manhattan, but that would wait until morning. After all, tonight was a party in Brooklyn.