Title: Key to Brooklyn
Author: MSG
Rating: PG for Language
Archive: You can if you want. Just tell me first
Summary: Spot tells his Newsies how he got that key he wears around his neck.
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KEY TO BROOKLYN
It was a sunny day in Brooklyn, and Spot had just finished collecting the money from the papes he had his underlings sell for him. It had been a good day, really, very calm. He stretched out on the dock, soaking up the sunshine, maybe taking it easy for the rest of the afternoon.
He yawned and put his hands under his head. It seemed that the undisputed king of Brooklyn decided to take himself a royal nap. Spot had just settled down for a nice dream of hot running water and eating keilbasa in the bathtub when he heard voices behind him.
"You shouldn't wake him! He'll kill you!"
"I can't just walk away, I gotta know! I got a week's wortha papes ridin' on this!"
"He ain't gonna give you the money anyway, let's just go.."
Spot jumped up and glared at the little rats who'd interrupted his nap. He recognized them as three of the younger newsies- a dark haired one, a real little one, and a rather dumb-looking one- barely old enough to be selling on their own, who'd wandered into his territory over the winter. "Whaddya youse runts want?"
"It was Stinker's idea!" said the smallest one, shoving the dark-haired one forward.
Stinker looked up at Spot with big please-don't-eat-me eyes. "W-well, Mista Spot Conlon sir, see... I.. I know dis guy, he's hoid all about you an' he saw ya pitcha in da papes that time, but he ast me what.. what you wear dat key for, and den I says I dunno you just does, an' he says you ain't so tough if you wears keys like little goils wear lockets, and den I says Spot Conlon's da best an' baddest Newsie an' I woiks fa him!" he finished proudly.
The dumb one grinned with his pink, round face and crooked teeth. "He said that, he did!"
Stinker's face fell when he realized Spot was giving him the get-to-the-point glare. "A-an' den he says he'd give me a whole dollar if I could find out why you wears a key, Mista Spot sir.. I ast around but nobody knows! So den Hamface here-" he pointed to the dumb one, who smiled. "got a real flash a' brains an' says lets just go ast youse ourselves! So we did.. but we didn't know youse was sleepin', we'll scram.."
The little one was hiding behind Hamface and looked ready to bolt.
Spot thought for a minute, then reached over with his cane and pulled up a crate. He sat down, adjusted his hat, and looked at them. He stretched, took the key off of its string, and let it shine in the sunlight.
The little Newsie ran off for a minute, but came back with an armload of Newsies about his own age, some older, some who even had the courage to speak to Spot on a regular basis. They all crowded around and started yammering about why Spot was calling a meeting out of nowhere like this, but they didn't seem to complain much.
Spot tapped his cane on the crate. Everyone shut up.
"Youse wanna why I got dis key around my neck, eh? Awright then. Siddown, ya buncha basta'ds. Ol' Spot's gonna tell youse a story."
Author: MSG
Rating: PG for Language
Archive: You can if you want. Just tell me first
Summary: Spot tells his Newsies how he got that key he wears around his neck.
===========================================================================================================
KEY TO BROOKLYN
It was a sunny day in Brooklyn, and Spot had just finished collecting the money from the papes he had his underlings sell for him. It had been a good day, really, very calm. He stretched out on the dock, soaking up the sunshine, maybe taking it easy for the rest of the afternoon.
He yawned and put his hands under his head. It seemed that the undisputed king of Brooklyn decided to take himself a royal nap. Spot had just settled down for a nice dream of hot running water and eating keilbasa in the bathtub when he heard voices behind him.
"You shouldn't wake him! He'll kill you!"
"I can't just walk away, I gotta know! I got a week's wortha papes ridin' on this!"
"He ain't gonna give you the money anyway, let's just go.."
Spot jumped up and glared at the little rats who'd interrupted his nap. He recognized them as three of the younger newsies- a dark haired one, a real little one, and a rather dumb-looking one- barely old enough to be selling on their own, who'd wandered into his territory over the winter. "Whaddya youse runts want?"
"It was Stinker's idea!" said the smallest one, shoving the dark-haired one forward.
Stinker looked up at Spot with big please-don't-eat-me eyes. "W-well, Mista Spot Conlon sir, see... I.. I know dis guy, he's hoid all about you an' he saw ya pitcha in da papes that time, but he ast me what.. what you wear dat key for, and den I says I dunno you just does, an' he says you ain't so tough if you wears keys like little goils wear lockets, and den I says Spot Conlon's da best an' baddest Newsie an' I woiks fa him!" he finished proudly.
The dumb one grinned with his pink, round face and crooked teeth. "He said that, he did!"
Stinker's face fell when he realized Spot was giving him the get-to-the-point glare. "A-an' den he says he'd give me a whole dollar if I could find out why you wears a key, Mista Spot sir.. I ast around but nobody knows! So den Hamface here-" he pointed to the dumb one, who smiled. "got a real flash a' brains an' says lets just go ast youse ourselves! So we did.. but we didn't know youse was sleepin', we'll scram.."
The little one was hiding behind Hamface and looked ready to bolt.
Spot thought for a minute, then reached over with his cane and pulled up a crate. He sat down, adjusted his hat, and looked at them. He stretched, took the key off of its string, and let it shine in the sunlight.
The little Newsie ran off for a minute, but came back with an armload of Newsies about his own age, some older, some who even had the courage to speak to Spot on a regular basis. They all crowded around and started yammering about why Spot was calling a meeting out of nowhere like this, but they didn't seem to complain much.
Spot tapped his cane on the crate. Everyone shut up.
"Youse wanna why I got dis key around my neck, eh? Awright then. Siddown, ya buncha basta'ds. Ol' Spot's gonna tell youse a story."