As far as anyone could remember Brooklyn had always had a leader. The history of Brooklyn's leaders usually varied depending on who was telling the story. Of course, there were a few names that always stuck out while others had faded into a distant memory. Leadership was earned in a variety of ways with accompanying stories and rumors that made it difficult to tell fact from fiction. Life in that city had never been particularly pleasant and plenty of newsies had discovered that the best course of action was to just mind your own damn business. Racetrack Higgins had learned to live with all of it but once Spot Conlon had taken over Brooklyn at the tender age of fourteen it didn't take long before Race decided he needed a change.
As it turned out, leaving Brooklyn wasn't that difficult. Race had always been careful to keep himself as far from the center of attention as possible. He preferred to stay on the fringes, particularly during the inevitable turf warfare that occurred between the rival gangs amongst the newsies. Brooklyn had one true leader, but there were plenty of boys who wanted more of everything. More territory, more money, more opportunity to become the next leader no matter how high the stakes were. Race didn't want to be a part of any of it.
"What's he like?"
Race stared down at the cards he held as he considered the question. He was still trying to figure out this new kid with his charisma and big talk about someday getting to his parents in Santa Fe. Race suspected the whole parents in New Mexico story was just that, a story. Since his arrival the new kid had followed Race around like a lost puppy, repeatedly requesting information about Brooklyn and Spot Conlon. At first Race had tried to be polite and just toss him a few crumbs of information but he was growing frustrated.
"No offense, but if you're so interested, why don't you go see for yourself?" Race asked irritably before tipping a bit of ash from his cigar onto the floor. Jack's eyebrows raised up in surprise at Race's tone and he felt a bit ashamed but he wasn't sure just how much he wanted to reveal about Spot Conlon. The truth was, Race couldn't begin to explain Spot to anyone who hadn't been there that night when Spot had taken over as leader. He didn't want to explain and he certainly didn't want to keep waking up every night with the same bloody images racing through his brain. Violence in Brooklyn had never been a rare occurrence but Race had never suspected that a fourteen year old, scrawny kid from Vinegar Hill would be capable of capturing all of Brooklyn by committing murder.
"He's just a kid," Race muttered as he picked up a card. It didn't really matter which card he drew as it was clear Jack's mind wasn't really on the game so there was no point in stacking the deck. Race was beginning to miss the old poker games around the dining room on Poplar Street. The kids in Manhattan were too soft-hearted, too generous for Race to really enjoy taking their money or cheating them out of their earnings.
"I heard he's only fourteen," Jack mentioned as he glanced from his cards to small pile of coins on the table and back again.
"He is," Race confirmed.
"What happened with the last kid again?"
Race quickly reviewed the bits of information he had doled out over the last few months and decided that lying would only lead to more problems. The timing wasn't right and telling the truth wasn't his normal way of doing things but he was trying to start fresh. Lying had become second nature in Brooklyn and it hadn't been until he'd moved to Manhattan that Race realized how comfortable he had become with disguising the truth. Before taking up residence in Manhattan, Race had never thought much about things like telling the truth or owning up to one's mistakes.
"He died," Race began and took a moment to clear his throat. "Truth is, he was killed. There was a fight and, well, Spot won."
There was a long moment of silence as Jack contemplated the information Race had just provided. It was the first time Race had spoken about the incident with anyone outside of Brooklyn and he quickly wished he could take it all back. He wasn't used to giving up secrets and it was something he'd been struggling with since arriving in Manhattan. The newsies in that lodging house didn't seem to hold many secrets from one another and had formed a bond that went beyond just sticking together because they were from the same place.
"Is that why you left?" Jack asked hesitantly.
"No," Race admitted. He thought briefly about what life under Spot Conlon had been like compared with life before Spot had taken over. The fact was he and Spot had once been friends, or at least he considered Spot a friend. How the other boy had felt was still a mystery as Spot rarely revealed how he felt about anything or anyone. But acting as leader of Brooklyn had caused Spot to change in a way that negatively affected Race and those who were closest to him. Race was still recovering from the shock of discovering his friend was capable of murder and it wasn't long before life in Brooklyn became unbearable.
"Sometimes you just gotta find a new place," Race set his cards down on the table and headed for his bunk. He tamped out the cigar and set it aside before climbing into bed and hoping that for once he might get a night's rest for a change.