Authority: Allies



Author's Note: I own Callie, Green, Cricket, Crash, Chain, Jimmy, Wheat, and a few others not mentioned in this part. This is the first story I've ever been proud of writing. I wrote it three years ago and finally got it re-edited. I've worked way too hard on this story alone, so feedback would be awesome. Thanks!



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Callie was sitting in the padded chair watching Medda, the Swedish Meadowlark perform one of her latest songs. The music swelled and Medda, clad in pink, fluttered off the stage, assumedly to get ready for her next song. She could smell the drunk men downstairs, and hear them grunting and yelling obscenely. She wasn't particularly enjoying the show, but Irving Hall provided comfortable if not worn out seats. Callie was just glad to be sitting. It had been a long day running her establishment out in Five Points, gambling and conning innocent people on the streets.

She took off her newsie-style cap, revealing masses of dark hair braided down both halves of her head. The dark strands met in the middle and were tied in a knot of sorts. Callie was dressed in newsie-style clothes also. She sported a button-down shirt with a vest over it. Everything about her represented a newsie, right down to the dust and dirt. It was how Callie wanted to look. She wanted to blend in, be who she wasn't. The disguise hid her muscled body well.

Someone near Callie's seat in the balcony coughed loudly. It was the fake cough only meant to catch someone's attention. She looked around to identify the source. She found herself looking straight into the deep fathomless blue-grey eyes of a newsie flanked by two other brutes.

"Can I help you?" she asked innocently, mocking the look of accusation on the boy's face.

"Yeah, I think you can." He was definitely the leader, even though he was of skinny stature. "You can get the hell outta my seat."

"Didn't see no sign identifyin' it as yours."

"Don't need ta be a sign. It's just automatically assumed that this seat here is Spot Conlon's seat." He indicated the chair Callie was sitting with a gold tipped cane. "You're in my way girl. If ya don't move, I might have my friends here remove ya."

"My name ain't 'girl'. And I'd just like ta see your friends try and move me."

Spot nodded. The two Brooklyn newsies behind him saw the signal and immediately yanked Callie out of her seat roughly. She in turn jumped up and kneed one of the boys in the groin. While he was doubled over, she gave the other a sharp smack in the jaw with her elbow. He fell to the ground rubbing his chin. Callie promptly sat back down.

"Girl! Get your ass out of my chair!" Spot was mad now. No one disobeyed his orders, especially not a girl. He was the fearless Brooklyn leader; no one dared to defy him. He stopped his goons from attempting to soak her again. "You just made yourself unwelcome in Brooklyn. You set foot in Brooklyn then your ass is mine. Got it?" His eyes blazed with an internal fire. His stature was rigid, ready to take her on if she dared to defy him again. His face held a smirk of effortless control and anger. It was one that normal people feared. Callie, on the other hand, stood up and gestured towards the seat in a mock bow.

"Have a seat. Enjoy it now that the show's ovah." She smirked. "An' remember. I may be public a enemy in your territory, but that makes you not welcome in mine too. You show your face in my territory, then you're gonna be beggin' me for forgiveness." Callie twisted her cap in her hand glaring back at the Brooklyn newsie. Easily she brushed him aside prepared to make an exit. Spot grabbed her arm. Callie whipped around and faced him. They were inches from each other.

"Don't forget my warnin' girl. Your ass is mine."

"My name's Callie. Don't you forget it." She jerked her arm away and stalked towards the exit. Not once did she look back at the arrogant newsie.

Spot was seething. Not only did that girl have the guts to defy him, but she had spent so much time aggravating him that he had missed Medda's new act. Spot struck out at the closest of his newsies. He caught the guy in the jaw.

"'m sorry, Spot, but you saw 'er." He mumbled rubbing his bruised jaw.

"Let's go. Don't talk about her 'cept to tell the others to soak her if they see 'er in Brooklyn." The boys nodded their agreement. Spot put his cane back in his belt loop and led his newsies out of Irving Hall. Just wait girl…Callie. You'll get yours.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Callie leaned against the brick wall outside of Medda's place to smoke a cigarette. Quietly she searched her pockets for a match. "Dammit." She couldn't find one. Callie turned and struck the wall with a balled up fist. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? What a jerk. Brooklyn was well known for their poker games, and she didn't want to be left out.

Just then a shadowed figure sauntered along down the street.

"Heya Race. How's it rollin'?" Callie walked out towards him.

"Hey Cards. Remembah that tip I told ya I got from that newsie in Queens?"

"Yeah."

"Well nevah trust the Queens for tips on horses." Race took a puff on his cigar. "Whatcha hangin' out heah for?"

"I was at Medda's new show when I had a run-in with your famous Spot Conlon." Her brow furrowed as she thought about the encounter.

Racetrack laughed. "Five ta one that you didn't quite hit it off. Eh?"

Callie took a friendly swing at him. "Bum odds ya gamblin' fool." She slowed her gait to a stop. "This is where the road ends. I'll see ya tomorrah." She looked out at the darkening sky. "Oh yeah, 'bout tomorrow. We're hostin' some big outta towners. It's gonna be a huge night. Tell Jacky-boy and the rest of them. Lots of money at stake." She grinned mischievously. "It's gonna be a fun one."

Racetrack grinned back.

"I'll tell 'im. See ya Cards."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Callie stood, the next afternoon, on the three-foot wide balcony overlook in her warehouse. She supposed it was where supervisors had stood to oversee production, but they had abandoned it. Now it was hers. She surveyed the floor. The tables were set up with cheap stools and broken chairs around them. She smiled with satisfaction. Her boys leaned against the walls smoking, waiting for her approval. Callie jumped over the short railing and flew down the ten feet. She landed with a thud but managed to stay on her feet.

"Looks good, boys." They grinned knowing that the work was done. They waited for her dismissal. "I need to ask a favor of you tonight though." This drew their attention. Their leader never needed anything except loyalty from them. "If any of you sees a Brooklyn newsie here tonight, find me, no mattah what." Callie's eyes blazed, but her voice remained steady.

"Whatevah you say, boss," the biggest of the boys said.

His name was Crash. He was Callie's biggest backer when she had taken the Five Points warehouse. She had clashed with the Five Points newsies' leader, Chain, who was as good as his name. Quite a few of his newsies, namely Crash, Cricket, and Jimmy, had stepped up to join with Callie because she would not only verbally defy Chain, but she'd back it up with her fist. Her fearlessness convinced them to join with her. Because of Callie's "agreement" with Chain, all who had joined with her were still allowed to remain newsies in the Five Points region.

Callie was also as good as the name her boys had given her: Cards. She was the queen of all card games involving money. She spent her days conning people out of hard earned cash by flipping a couple of cards and playing a few hands. She had also opened the warehouse to newsies and other street kids, in the effort of expanding her game. In short, she ruled the world of gamblers.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That night around eight o'clock, newsies started arriving, followed by the out-of-towners Callie had told Race about. When Manhattan arrived, she pulled Race aside. His love for gambling matched if not exceeded her own, so Callie had found a unique friend in him, a newsie.

"Race, tell your guys ta watch their pockets tonight. The gang I brought in here travels around. They," she paused looking for the right words. "touch people for money, if you get what I mean." She grinned, the atmosphere of the already beginning games getting to her.

Race also smiled. "T'anks, Cards." He hurried off to the closest table, eager to begin the betting. Callie rolled her eyes and turned around to look for Manhattan's leader, Jack. She ambled over to talk to him about the pickpockets, figuring he might care.

"Say, Jack." She caught his attention.

"How's it hangin' Cards?"

"It's good, Jack." They spit-shook. "I just wanted to let ya know that the boys from outta town, they might go looking in your pockets. You should let your boys know." Jack nodded, accepting the helpful hint.

"T'anks Cards. I'll let 'em know." With that said, he went off to notify the others, unlike Race.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After hours of gambling (and winning), Callie retreated to her balcony. Once up there she lit a cigarette to clear her mind. Before she knew it, Cricket had snuck up next to her. He had the uncanny ability to do that, no matter how alert she was.

"Cards?" he asked tentatively. Callie's boys were forbidden to climb up to her outlook, but she had said to find her no matter what. Still, Cricket was hesitant. "Some of the Brooklyn boys snuck in without us catchin' them. Spot's here too."

Callie looked up at him sharply. The little boy trembled a bit. "Go get Crash an' Wheat. We're gonna give 'em a nice Five Points style good-bye." Cricket skittered off. Callie stood up and stretched. She was ready for this fight. Cricket, Wheat, and Crash appeared below her spot on the balcony. "Let's go greet mistah Conlon boys." She jumped off, and landed beside them. Callie led them through the loud smoky room to where Crash had pointed Spot out.

Callie stepped up behind Spot to aggravate him. He whirled on her. "What the hell do you think you're doin' behind me?" His eyes deepened into angrier slits when he recognized her. "What are you doin' here, girl? This place is for newsies only." He spat each word out at her.

She smirked at him, keeping her hatred under control. She stared straight back into his blue-grey eyes and answered him. "I was about to ask you the same thing, seein' as I told you to keep the hell outta my territory!" She gave a short snort of laughter when the realization crept into his eyes. "So I suggest you leave before we give you a traditional Five Points kick in the ass."

Spot glared back into Callie's normally bright green eyes that were darkened with anger. "I'd like to see you try," he dared her.

Callie grinned at the challenge. Other newsies at the table Spot had been playing at looked uncomfortable. They shifted anxiously. "Alright. Let's see what ya got Conlon."

Callie faked a punch at his eye with her right and caught his stomach with her left. Immediately Spot was flanked with two beefy Brooklyn boys. Crash and Wheat responded by grabbing the Brooklyn boys, but Callie held her hand up to stop them.

"Let's just say that if you get your boys out, then we'll save it for another time when you're…more prepared." She gave a haughty laugh. Spot's fist flashed and caught her jaw. Callie stopped mid-laugh. "Now, Conlon." She pointed towards the door. If looks could kill, the one she gave him should have maimed him.

Spot reluctantly called off his thugs and retreated towards the door. "Your ass is mine, girl!"

"Guttersnipe!" Many newsies looked on with interest, but most continued their games. Callie let her boys get back to the gambling, but she retreated back to her perch above them all. Her jaw ached but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction by acknowledging it, and the night passed without further incident.