((Author's Note - Hi Guys! This is a short story for Dewey for the NML 2010 Secret Santa fic exchange! Enjoy!))
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Runner Conlon was in a bind.
It was two weeks before Spot Conlon's birthday, and he was still completely at a loss as to what to get his cousin. Which was a major problem, considering how much time it took to save for an ordinary gift on a newsie's budget.
And for the First Citizen of Brooklyn, a person couldn't just buy an ordinary gift.
No, it had to be something unique; something rare, special, and fantastic. And something, Runner reminded himself as he made his way down the busy Brooklyn road towards his friends' usual lunch spot, that would cost less than a couple of dollars.
...
He was so screwed.
Pushing open the door to the busy diner, he brushed away thoughts of inevitable familial gift-giving failure and smiled big as the wave of greetings from the other Brooklyn newsies came at him. Speak of the devil, he thought, as he made his way over to where Spot sat at a back booth, thumbing through the afternoon edition of the paper.
"How do you always manage to get those early? I swear, you must have some sorta magic time tunnel," Runner laughed, taking a seat.
Spot gave him a good-natured smirk. "Yeah, I got a magic time tunnel that can go anywhere, and I choose to use it to get the afternoon edition early. Not to take medicine back to the dark ages and have them make me King of the World, or see the future, or at least go way back and grab some gold when it wasn't worth nothin' and make myself filthy rich. No, you got me – I use it for newspapers. … You don't think much of me, do you, Runner?"
"Well nothing sounds good when you say it in that tone," Runner replied, before grinning as their companions nearby laughed at the exchange. "Fine, fine. But just you wait 'til I tell my mom how sarcastic Brooklyn's made you. You know she thinks it's the Devil's language – she'll be pulling you across the bridge by the ear before you can blink."
"You value your mug too much to do that," Spot chuckled, leaning back. "So how's it rollin'?"
"Can't complain. Sold out the morning edition a little early, even," he replied. "Anything exciting happen this morning?"
Spot went back to his paper, flipping the page. "Couple of fights over selling spots – you know how antsy the boys get before the games. Nothing good."
Ah, the games. The poker games, to be more specific; once a month Brooklyn had a party in an old warehouse that all the local newsboys, often both past and present, attended. There was always poker, alcohol, and loud music – not to mention a few fights. All in all, they were Runner's favorite night of the month.
"You gonna be there tonight?" Spot asked.
Runner shook his head. "You even have to ask? We're supposed to be family, and this is how well you know me."
"Now who's the smartass?" Spot returned, looking up to raise an eyebrow at his cousin. "Just checking. I just got word that Dane's coming tonight, so I wanted to make sure you were planning to be there so that I could introduce you."
"Dane, the infamous Brooklyn leader who taught Spot Conlon everything he knows, Dane?" Runner looked impressed, which caused Spot to look slightly proud.
"The Brooklyn leader before the infamous Spot Conlon, I think you mean. Yeah, that's the one. He hasn't been to one of these for a couple of years, too busy with his job at the docks, so I want it done right." Spot almost looked nervous at the idea – or would, if the great Brooklyn leader could look nervous. "Want to show him he left the place in good hands."
Now it was Runner's turn to raise an eyebrow. He knew his cousin looked up to Dane – had nearly idolized him, really, back when Dane was in charge of Brooklyn – but he also knew that Spot still saw the man for lunches or drinks every now and then. It may have been Dane's first time coming to the games and seeing Spot in all his Head of Brooklyn glory, but there was something else causing his cousin anxiety about Dane's appearance.
Still, Runner supposed he could solve that mystery tonight. In the meantime, he had a gift to figure out.
"So, Spot, did you see that new pocket watch in the window of that store down by the distribution center? What'd you think, looked pretty shiny…"
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"A rum and… forget it, just rum," Runner said, setting a few pennies down on the bar and sighing as he glanced around. Ordinarily he'd be a dime in debt and the life of the party by this time, but tonight, he just couldn't seem to get into the spirit.
Lunch had been fruitless – from pocket watches to new caps to books, Spot either already had it or didn't want it. Trying to probe him for a gift idea without outright asking him what he wanted had proven a complete failure.
So, receiving his rum, Runner clenched his hand around it and started for Spot's table, ready to admit defeat. He'd just have to ask, and no doubt be given some silly, cheap item that his cousin didn't need. Just like all the other years, Spot would shrug and tell him something small to try and make Runner feel useful, not hurting his pride or his pocketbook. When he'd been younger, he'd fallen for his cousin's trick, and would be proud when his cousin would open his gift and make a fuss over it. Once he'd gotten older, though, he'd realized that Spot had just been looking out for him and had made it his mission to find something that Spot really needed.
Unfortunately, every year he'd come up short, and it looked like this year wouldn't be any different.
"Spot, I… Well, hi," he said, stopping short when he realized that his cousin was very much involved in a conversation with an older man and a pretty young girl.
"Hey, Runner; look who just arrived in. This is Dane, and this is his younger sister, Dewey – guys, this is my cousin, Runner," Spot said, motioning between them.
"It's Lillian – I haven't gone by Dewey since I was twelve," the girl said, reaching out and shaking Runner's hand firmly. "Spot just won't let me forget the nickname."
"How else would you know it was me calling for you?" Spot posed, chuckling and dodging when Lillian sent him a good-natured swipe.
"Nice to meet you, Lillian. And Dane, heard a lot about you – you're a legend in these parts," Runner said, smiling.
Dane shook his head, clapping Spot on the shoulder. "Maybe until I put this guy in charge – I'm pretty sure the only legend anyone's going to remember is how Spot Conlon sent Brooklyn in and saved the big strike from failing, changed this city forever. Put anything I did to shame."
Spot looked delighted at the compliment from his mentor, and soon the two were talking furiously, sharing stories and advice on things that only a leader of Brooklyn could (or would care too, as far as Runner could see). After a few minutes, noting that Lillian looked as bored as he was becoming, Runner cleared his throat. "So, I was always curious – is it a mandatory thing that you be named after a canine to be in charge of Brooklyn?"
Spot and Dane looked up from their conversation to give him equally bewildered stares. As it turned out, Runner noted, getting withering stares from two Brooklyn leaders really was twice as bad as one. However, he was relieved to find least one ally at the table; Lillian giggled loudly, which turned into outright laughter.
Unfortunately, this did nothing to ease Spot and Dane's stares, so Runner coughed and stood up. "… And, I believe that's my cue. Drinks, everyone? Okay, drinks it is. Don't worry, you don't have to ask, I'll be happy to surprise you."
After waiting long enough that he was sure Spot and Dane couldn't possibly be maintaining their lethal stares anymore, he headed back over, setting the drinks on the now nearly empty table. "Where'd they go?"
"Making rounds," Spot said, taking a drink. "Dane'll be back in a minute – Dewey, well, she'll be back when she feels like it."
"You never mentioned he had a sister," Runner posed, taking a seat. "She's pretty."
"Yeah, she goes to school here. Used to have to watch out for her back when Dane was running things – always been pretty, attracts boys like honey," he said, pointing out a rather full table where Lillian stood, surrounded by newsboys all desperately trying to get her attention.
Well, this was interesting. Runner leaned forward, trying to make sure he caught everything his currently soft-spoken cousin was saying. Even with family, Spot was tight-lipped – insights into him were rare and often few and far between. "You were friends?"
"She was my first kiss, actually," Spot said, sounding distant before seeming to realize how intently Runner was watching him and shaking it off, chuckling. "Anyway, enough of memory lane. Why aren't you off playing a few rounds?"
"Yeah, yeah I was. I'll catch up with you in a bit, huh?" Patting him on the back, he moved away until Spot was no longer watching him. Leaning back against the wall, Runner watched as his cousin's eyes moved to follow the petite girl as she flittered between tables of newsboys, all eager to receive their pretty friend. Suddenly, he realized exactly what his stoic cousin needed for his birthday.
Or, more precisely, who.