He had left his cane leaning against his dresser, thinking it would make him look less intimidating. He was so mistaken. The boy knocked on the back door of the lodging house and waited for someone to grant him access into the lair. Spot Conlon or not, you didn't just walk into someone else's territory—regardless if it was technically on the grounds of Brooklyn, and this was a rebel group of newsies—unless you wanted a full out war.
"Thanks, Bronco," Spot muttered as the small child opened the door. "Where's Cheat?"
"I'd guess your best bet is up da stairs, but ain't no one keeps tabs on Cheat no mo', an' ya best not eitha if ya don't wanna get dat pretty little red head a yours messed up worse den she already is." He winked creepily and stalked out.
Spot trudged up the creaky, breaking stairs and called out for Cheat. "'Ey! Where are ya, ya lousy, disgustin' bastard!" Cheat walked out of his room menacingly.
"Don't evah call me dat in my house!" Then, calming down, "Let's go for a little walk, shall we?"
No one knew where they were going, no one cared. But Spot knew one thing: if he ever got out of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it wasn't going to be pretty.
"So, Spot," Cheat spat venomously, "What do ya want?"
"Well, I think dat you an' I both know da answer to that question. But, ta clarify, jus' some compensation for what ya did ta me goil."
Cheat scoffed. "Oh, yeah? Like what? I think dat little Spotty boy needs da same treatment she got."
"'Least den I would have a different pain ta distract me from da pain a her not wantin' anything ta do with me."
"Sorry, what was dat?" Cheat cupped a hand around his ear and leaned closer.
"Nothin' of importance." Spot commented with an air of nonchalance.
The taller of the two stalked closer to him, "Look, I don't appreciate da way you're talkin' ta me. You're da one dat came heah, onta my turf an' started harassin' me an' my boys."
"Excuse me? Sorry, but Brooklyn's mine, an' seein' as Williamsburg is part a Brooklyn, you're under my control! Lacey's da one dat declared me leader, not you, but until ya beat me fair an' square like I did when I won da title 'King of Brooklyn,' you ain't got no right ta be soakin' goils half ya size!" And with that, Spot charged into Cheat's chest, knocking him down and cracking his head on the cobblestone. He pummeled Cheat's face until his hands were bloody and his opponents face was unidentifiable. In an epic movement of strength, Cheat had reversed the roles and was beating on Spot's exposed stomach. Spot flung himself away from Cheat and stood, heaving and wiping his face before coughing up blood. He spat once then tore into Cheat again. How Spot wished that he'd brought his cane along to inflict more pain, so that his friend-turned-enemy could know the torrential downpour of anguish he felt about his precious Trousers. Cheat somehow managed to extract a knife from his boots, grazing Spot with it twice, once right above his eye, and then on his cheekbone.
Seeing the look plastered on Spot's face, Cheat yelled, "All's fair in love an' war! You of all people should know that! An' if it takes fightin' dirty an' hurting your goil so be it!" In a renewed burst of anger, Spot let out a guttural cry and shoved Cheat back again, sending the knife flying. He ended up with his hand around Cheat's neck, Cheat trying in vain to reach his just-out-of-reach weapon, until Spot saw his adversary's features go slack in unconsciousness. Admiring his handiwork, Spot slunk away into the dusk to nurse his wounds.
