Note: I love Spot. This is Spot's show. Enjoy!
The Rules of the StreetA Newsies novella by Kate, alias Fable
Part 1: The Name of the Game Is…
Being a thief was excellent training for numerous professions, both legal and illegal. Rummy knew this fact, because he had grown up around prosperous thieves all of his life. In his own right, he was a superb thief, having been one as far back as he could remember. He, and his sister Kitty, they had been some of the best back in Jersey. Kitty had been a wonderful mentor in that respect. Several years older than Rummy, she had introduced Rummy to the trade long before it had even been necessary for their survival. Their parents had not been rich, and stealing was a quick and easy solution. So was gambling, from which Rummy had earned his name. Not because he had been that great a player, but Kitty's boyfriend had been, and so that is what he and everyone began calling him. He couldn't remember his real name, and somehow, Rummy had become it.
He owed a great deal to Kitty. She was an amazing survivor. After their parents had died, they had headed to Manhattan, where the money was even looser. No, he elevated her status; she not only survived but also thrived. The rules of the street were simple. Look out for yourself, and never look back. Kitty had done that, and instilled it into him repeatedly. No love had ever been felt between them, but there had been respect. Love and affection were not possible if one wanted to succeed in life. Rummy believed that, because it had been the only way he had seen anyone in their circumstances make it. So he could not really be angry for Kitty leaving him stranded. She had landed herself a rich man, a weak one who was crazy about her, but not so much about Rummy. She might have been able to coax her man into taking Rummy out west as well, but that would mean sharing his funds with Rummy. Once landing this opportunity, Kitty wasn't planning on doing anything to jeopardize her milking her man out of everything he owned. So Kitty had simply told Rummy as much, and he had nodded, picked up his things, and left. She probably told her fiancé that she had sent him to the Refuge or something. After all, her fiancé would have been aghast at the idea of just turning a kid out onto the streets like she did. He didn't understand the rules of the street.
So that was his story. Looking it over, he felt no emotion about it, as he didn't remember ever having. He was now starting over, getting out of Manhattan, since the bulls had been getting too quick there. Unfortunately, he had headed to Brooklyn, where he found much the same. It didn't make sense, for the bulls to suddenly develop mental abilities, but there you had it. And rule number one for survival-be smart. No need to risk getting thrown in jail for years, where you'd lose all you'd worked for and become rusty. No, it was better to lay low for a while. He did card tricks and small gambling on street corners and in alleys. He knew enough cheating tricks to survive, and he felt proud to live up to his name, even if his opponents weren't really that tough.
He was closing up shop on a street corner. All he could think of was food, for he hadn't eaten in a few days. He quickly tried to push the thought away. He needed to be practical and save his money to where he could afford some kind of private place to stay, to hold bigger gambling events to get to know the lowdown on the people of the streets of Brooklyn. That way, when the heat from the bulls finally let up, he'd be ready to get back to his real business.
He was near the pier today. He stared out at the sea blankly, not feeling much of anything till he almost tripped on some small object on the ground. He cursed silently and looked down, picked up the object, and examined it. It was a slingshot, sturdy but not really remarkable. But then, Rummy didn't really know anything about slingshots, so maybe this one was special. He was considering this fact so deeply that he didn't notice several people standing beside him till one of them spoke.
"Hey kid, what do you thing you're doing?" Rummy cringed listening to the thick, horrible accent of Brooklyn and turned to face a boy not much older looking than himself. He didn't look that remarkable, but Rummy was smart enough to know not to judge based on physical appearances. The cold glint in the boy's blue eyes, his secure posture and small smirk belied his rather small physic. So did the respectable distance the other, larger boys behind him gave him.
"I didn't think I was doing anything special enough to speak of." Rummy wasn't easily frightened. Fright was an emotion, and just like all emotions wasn't worth being acknowledged. Several of the boys smirked, but the one who had spoken before merely pointed at Rummy's hand with a gold tipped cane and said, "Where'd you get that?"
At that, Rummy looked back down at the slingshot in his hand and almost smiled in amusement. He had always thought of slingshots as little kids' toys, but he got the feeling that this one belonged to the boy in front of him, who looked about sixteen. "I just picked it up a second ago. If it's yours, you can have it back." At that, Rummy extended the hand that held the slingshot out to the boy, and several behind him flinched at his quick motion. The one with the cane before him didn't, but he looked suspiciously and questioningly at Rummy for a second. Rummy couldn't understand at all what this was about, so he just stood there silently until the boy said,
"What, you're just going to hand it right back over?" His voice was edged with an incredulous tone.
"Rummy shrugged, not getting the big deal. "Why not? I don't want it. It's for little kids." What was he supposed to do, hack it to some little newsie kid for a penny? That was below his standards.
At that, the boy stepped closer, and the ones behind him began laughing menacingly. In a low voice that exuded intimidation, he said, "What's your name, kid? I like to know the names of the people I soak."
Rummy was not a fighter. He thought it barbaric, although at times he saw others find it effective. Rummy had always used his quick mind and mouth to talk himself out of trouble. It was a game at first, but then he turned it into a skill that he would improve and employ, like stealing and gambling. In his mind, they were all connected, and far greater challenges that physical combat. Sure, sometimes it hadn't worked and he'd had the crap kicked out of him, but he knew he would never make a really good fighter, so he'd decided long ago to cultivate his strengths. That strength was talking.
Thrusting the slingshot into the kid's hand, Rummy said smoothly, "No need. Here's the slingshot, everyone's happy. Better take better care of it, and see you…"
Before he could finish he felt rather than saw a fist connecting with his lower jaw. Flung flat on his back, Rummy shook his head clear and stood up slowly. The laughing boys had started to form a circle, and the one was the cane stood before him, fists raised in trained precision. He was obviously not new to these soakings.
With fury the boy said, "How dare you say that about me, telling me how to take care of things! I'll kill ya!" The others cheered shouting, "Go, Spot" And yelling "Soak him, Conlon!" But Rummy simply stood calmly before the boy, Spot he supposed, never getting into a fighting position or running away. After a moment the cheering died down, and Spot, slowly lowering his fists a bit, asked, "Ain't you gonna fight?"
Just as calmly Rummy responded, "No. What would be the point? I don't fight, and if I tried it would only prolong this. So I'd rather just stand here, and let you get it over with. Although I must tell you, knocking me senseless won't get me to admit whatever it is that you want me to. Why don't you just tell my what you want me to say or do?"
At that, Spot let a small glimmer of amusement show in his stone façade. Rummy guessed not many spoke like this around here. "Fine. Admit that you are a damn dirty liar and have no idea what the hell you are talking about. And that you are a wuss on top of it."
Shrugging, Rummy repeated the words verbatim, to the surprise of all those before him. No one was laughing anymore, all were too shocked that a guy would be willing to say such things about himself, especially one who didn't appear to be shaking in fear of Spot.
Spot slowly circled Rummy. Rummy had to admit, this Spot had the intimidation act down pat. If Rummy still cared at all about anything, especially his physical well being, he'd be begging at Spot's feet just now. Impressive indeed.
Spot stopped and said, "Ya didn't say it like you meant it."
"That's because I don't. And before you start, soaking me won't make me believe it any more, as I said. It would work better if you just told me that someone had stolen it from you and put it there. Or that you had put it there yourself as some kind of trap. Hell, even say that this is the first time you've lost it. Any of those would have given me reason to believe that you take good care of the slingshot, and say that my comment was unwarranted. Why don't we just go with one of those answers, so I'll just say honestly that, in that case, you are right and I am sorry, and I can leave now." Rummy was starting to go when he actually heard a laugh from Spot.
"Man, you don't need to fight. You could kill anyone by talking them to death!" He didn't sound that angry anymore, he was just highly amused. Since Spot was, the other ones became as well. Rummy guessed they were some kind of lackeys or goons.
"At the very least, you could put people to sleep with that mouth of yours. Hey fellas, we got ourselves our own walking mouth!" For some reason, that sent everyone into fits of laughter, though Rummy couldn't figure out why. It must be an inside joke, he figured. Spot was asking him his name, and one of the goons felt secure enough to speak up. "How 'bout Wuss?"
Spot turned and gave his henchman a withering look that shut him up. Rummy began to have some respect for this Spot. For him to have this great an amount of authority, he must be more than a common thug. Turning back and waiting for an answer, Rummy noticed keen interest in Spot's eyes. They didn't have the glazed over look that most of the others did. Figuring no harm could come of it, he responded, "Rummy."
Spot responded, "And I'm Spot Conlon." He quickly then pummeled Rummy's jaw again on the other side, sending him flying back again. Before he could think, he saw Spot standing over him, offering him a hand up. Not feeling like being hit again, he refused the hand until Spot said, "That's to help ya keep your mouth shut for a few days till you learn who you can go off on. I ain't one of them. Consider that a free lesson and sign of a truce, and we won't be having any more problems. Fair?"
He was good. It was very clever of him to have done this. Rummy could tell that Spot was not really upset anymore over what he had said, but to save face, and keep the bigger goons from bothering him, he'd made a strategic move. No doubt Spot Conlon was aware of the rules of the street.
Accepting his hand, Rummy said, "No harm done." Upon being lifted upright, he heard Spot ask, "So, what do you do, ki-Rummy? I ain't seen you before, and I know everyone in my territory."
His territory? Rummy wondered what he meant, but answered, "I just came to Brooklyn a few days ago."
Spot nodded, obviously not satisfied. "Uh-huh. So, what do you do? You in school? You sound like it."
Rummy shook his head no. "Not anymore. I was for awhile, but then I lost my family and I can't afford it anymore."
"So you've been living on the streets? Ya can't have for that long, since you don't look beat up, and with that mouth of yours and that not fighting policy, you should be. How do you make money?"
Spot was very observant. Of course, Rummy wasn't going to tell him what he really did for a living, or the fact that he had been a street rat almost all his life. Living in shacks with Kitty was practically the same thing, and he knew how to figure people out and not take stupid risks to put himself in dangerous positions. A careful thief was…a not dead one. "No, I'm fairly new….I play cards a bit, that's how I've been making a living. It isn't that good, but…" He shrugged, figuring he'd given enough information that resembled the truth to where he wouldn't be easily caught out.
Spot seemed to take it. "Oh yeah, I heard that there was a new shark in town. Been keeping to yourself though, no big hands or nothing. Good thinking, with the bulls on everyone. You're pretty smart. Ever think about being a newsie?"
That took Rummy a bit by surprise. He thought newsies had to know how to read to make it, and most of those before him looked like they couldn't figure out how to open a paper, let alone read it.
Spot took his surprise for indecision. "It ain't that bad a gig. It's probably safer than gambling right now, with the bulls so tight. You'd probably make more too, considering you can't do much cards now, except in the alleys. I've been looking for some new newsies, since some losers of mine-well, ill just say that I've been looking for some new blood. Ya interested?"
Spot was right, Rummy thought. The safest thing to do now to earn money was something legal, where he couldn't get caught. He'd have a place to stay at nights if he could afford it, and he would earn some till whatever that was in the water making the bulls so smart wore off. It shouldn't be that long. They were probably just after some criminal, and once he was caught, things would calm down and Rummy could get back to planning his career comeback. He could probably even still fit in some gambling rings in between selling the papers, earning even more. It was a win-win situation, if one was possible for him.
Looking at Spot, he nodded and said, "Ok, sounds good. I'm in." At that Spot grinned and spit into his hand, extending it towards Rummy. Rummy stared at it for a moment, before hesitantly taking the wet hand in his. Several of the goons stepped forward at that, and Spot frowned. Rummy cringed internally, wondering what the hell he'd done wrong now. There seemed to be different rules of the street for newsies than there was for thieves.
"You're supposed to spit in your hand first, then take mine. To seal the deal, kinda." Spot informed him, glaring to keep his boys back.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know that. Is there any other thing I have to do or know to be a newsie?" No harm in asking.
Spot grinned. It wasn't a warm look by far, but at least it was no longer menacing. He strolled over to Rummy and said casually, "Yeah, there is. THIS!" At that, he gave Rummy a sound push that caused Rummy to fall into the water behind him. He came up, sputtering and freezing to find Spot and the others leaning over the docks, grinning. "Now you're initiated, Rummy. I do that to all my new boys. Kinda a bonding thing. If you don't freeze from it or die of pneumonia, I'll like ya all the better for it." At that, he extended his hand to Rummy, who thought swiftly about pulling Spot in with him, but quickly thought against it. He took Spot's help, and soon was standing sopping before everyone. After a quick bout of cheers at his humiliation, Spot sent the others off to get the evening editions. They all rumbled off, leaving Spot and Rummy standing together.
"Sorry I didn't introduce you to everyone. I'll make sure to do that tonight. Now we'd better get our papes."
"Like this?" Rummy asked, shivering and pointing to his drenched clothes. Spot shrugged, unsympathetically. "You'll drip dry. If ya plan on sleeping inside tonight, ya gotta sell some. Besides, no one would give you any clothes to borrow. It ain't smart to share your things." At that, he started walking. Rummy followed, nodding his understanding. No one knew him, and even if they did, lending something as important as clothes out to another was a bad risk. Some rules of the street never changed.
No surprise, his theft background paid off in the selling of papes. Used to making up stories on the spot to get out of a sticky situation, he found that exaggerating the headlines was pretty easy. He also got some sympathy, for being wet he guessed made him look more pitiful. Spot sold near him, keeping his eye on Rummy all the time. Rummy guessed that it was as much for his benefit as for looking out for Rummy. For all Spot knew, Rummy would bolt or do something to make Spot decide he wasn't worth the opportunity given to him. Street rats like him and Rummy didn't do anything that they didn't have a personal interest or gain in.
It didn't take all that long, but for Rummy, who was starving and freezing, it seemed interminable. Spot sold all his before Rummy, but came over to stand by him, watching till Rummy finished. By the end, Rummy's voice was almost gone, and he was dying of thirst. He turned around, grimacing, to see Spot's ever-watchful eye scrutinizing him. An amused grin that Rummy had seen before and seemed to be a trademark of Spot's was in place. "So, whatcha think?"
"I think cards are easier." At that, Spot grinned a bit wider and said, "I can think of someone who would agree with you in Manhattan." The mere mention of Manhattan sent Rummy's mind to Kitty, and their loft. He hadn't been exactly happy there, but-no, thinking about the past was against the rules. He followed Spot in silence, letting Spot lead him through the city. As they passed, he saw many girls smiling and waving at Spot, who returned them all, faithfully if insincerely. Rummy himself got a few glances and smiles, which he returned. Growing up around prostitutes, thieves, and gamblers, he didn't think of women past his carnal lust for them. Maybe one day he'd find one who was as quick as she was pretty, and they'd become partners, but until then Rummy saw no need of any relationship with them other than physical.
Spot seemed to think the same, because he told Rummy in his low voice, "They ain't got much upstairs, but they get excited by the idea of dating street scum like us. Use them if ya want, but I prefer the girl newsies. They're just in it for the fun too, don't take all that relationship crap too seriously, and they can actually talk about stuff. But, it's your decision."
Rummy nodded, understanding exactly what Spot was talking about. Love he could never give, but the only girls he could stand and like to have around were thieves, like him. They, like Spot and the other newsies probably, understood life, at least what their lives, where about.
Spot took him to a run-down Italian diner close to the pier. Inside, all the newsies he had seen earlier, plus some new ones, turned to stare. Spot confidently walked in, pointing and naming people as he went. "That's Smoke, Blade, Feisty, Basket Case, Carver, Badger, and Brute. Over there's Apollo, Smarmy, Crackhead, and Gruff. They're my boys. And here," he said, stopping in front of the third table, "Are some fellas who ain't." Rummy noticed that his eyes, which were always guarded, became even more so with these supposed outsiders. Funny, he had been a newsie less than half a day, and already he was calling these people outsiders?
Three of the five guys sitting at the table stood up. Spot spit shook with all of them, then made the introductions. "This here from Manhattan is Jacky-boy, also known as Cowboy, Racetrack, and Kid Blink. Fellas, this here's my new newsie, Rummy. Jack's the leader of the Manhattan newsies." Rummy assumed that that meant that the tall boy in the cowboy hat was similar to Spot. Obviously, if there were leaders, Spot was it for Brooklyn. Rummy spat shook with the guys, receiving acceptance because of Spot. The Manhattan newsies smiles were somehow fuller, more open than any of the Brooklyn newsies. They seemed much friendlier, and as Spot and Jack sat down at the table with the two not introduced, Race and Blink steered him to another table.
"So, your nickname is Rummy? That mean ya like to gamble, play cards?" The one called Racetrack was asking him. Rummy was distracted by the obvious deep conversation going on at the other table. Turning back, he responded, "Uh, no, that's my real name. But yeah, I can play. Who are the other two at the table?" He inquired, gesturing back at Spot's table.
Blink paused, then said, "The one on the left is Count, the new leader of Harlem. The other one is a crony of his, called Buck."
"So, what do they want?"
"Um," Blink and Race stared at each other. "It's…nothing, I'm sure," Race said quickly. "Hey, so when did you join up with Spot?"
"Earlier today. I guess I insulted him, so he hit me twice, threw me into the water, and asked me if I wanted to be a newsie. That's the short story."
Race and Blink laughed, and Race said, "And after all that, you agreed to do this? Ya must be a madman!"
"Hey, that's it!" Blink exclaimed, grinning. Crap, did the guy ever stop smiling? Rummy wondered. He never knew Manhattan was such a happy place for the destitute. "That can be your nickname, Madman!"
He and Race laughed, and Rummy said, "Why do I need a nickname?" That caused a bit of a pause, but then Race said, "Well, we all got nicknames. It's just the way the newsie thing works, like an initiation thing."
"Well, its better than being thrown in the East River," Rummy acknowledged wryly. That caused Race and Blink to laugh again, and Race slung his arm over Rummy's shoulders and said, "I love this guy! You're hysterical. Listen, if you're serious about gambling, I can set you up in some nice games."
Feeling uncomfortable at the physical contact, Rummy nonetheless perked up. "You can? Even with the bulls?"
"OH, yeah, I got some connections. Granted, it ain't the highest stakes, but you don't wanna get in with that crowd anyway. I can still fix ya up for some decent rounds, if you're interested."
"Oh, sure," Rummy tried to sound enthusiastic, not showing his disappointment. High stakes was where he wanted, and intended, to be. It was only a matter of time. And being friends, or at least acquaintances, with Spot seemed to be a good career move. In a mood that as closely resembled happiness as he would allow himself, he ordered a full plate of food, and spent the night talking with Blink and Race, who turned out to be funny and nice, if a little too nice, guys.