"So what's it like Spot?" A deep voice asked from a tall dark figure from the end of the Brooklyn docks. It was almost three a.m. now and no one was around. Then water's of the harbor were still now and gently lapped against the piers of the docks. The sky was completely dark there wasn't a star in the sky. The full moon wasn't playing its usual game of hide and seek with the clouds and if it had been earlier in the night then it was hiding pretty well now. A cold chilly wind swept across Spot's bare chest sending a shiver down his spine.
Spot had fallen asleep early with Spit Fire in his arms, but when he had been awaken during the middle of the night she was no longer there. Spot had been ripped from the warm confines of his bunk and dragged down to the ends of the docks. His hands were now tightly bound with a rope behind his back. On either side stood two large guys holding each of his arms, "Let 'er go!" He muttered through clenched teeth as he tried to tare one of his arms from their grips.
"Let who go?" The guy asked in an amused tone like he didn't know what Spot was talking about.
"You know who." Spot lifted his head and looked up at the guy at the end of the docks. His blue eyes pierced through the thick dark night. The grip on his arm was tightened on both sides. Spot tried to figure out what this guys angle was and what he wanted from him.
"Oh, I think I know who you are talking about." The guy laughed and snapped his fingers. Another figure appeared on the docks next to the first one. In his arms he had a smaller limp body that belonged to a girl. She was slumped over and her red hair hung in her face. Spot looked at the girl and saw that she was wearing the same thing Spit Fire had been wearing that day, "Is this what you were talking about?"
"Let 'er go!" Spot snapped pulling forward, but he couldn't break free from the two guys. He could feel the anger rising inside of him as he looked over at Spit Fire, "What the hell do ya want? Name it an' I'll get it fer ya as long as ya let 'er go!"
"Mmm…as appealing as that sounds…I am going to have to say, no." The dark figure pulled out a switchblade, but left it closed for a few seconds, "Now what to do…" He paced a little and opened the blade grabbing Spit Fire's arm. Her head hung down still and her hair still covered her face.
The clouds slowly started to shift allowing the silver moon's light to spill down onto the docks. Spot swallowed hard watching what was happening, he had a bad feeling about this. The guy smirked as the light hit his face. It was Rage the co-leader of the Rippers, one of the largest most dangerous gangs in New York to the newsies.
Rage brought the blade gradually up to the throat of Spit Fire sliding the blade across it. The warm crimson blood flowed from her throat and down her chest soaking her pale yellow shirt, "NO!" Spot shouted as he violently struggled to get away from the two guys, but he couldn't do it. The tears burned at the back of his eyes threatening to spill over as he watched this go on, "Spit Fire!" He felt his legs turn to jello and collapse underneath. Spot fell to his knees hard and the warm salty tears flowed down his cheeks freely now. The next thing Spot felt was a sharp pain in the back of his head, then everything bit by bit grew dark.
Rage tossed the switchblade over the edge of the dock. It hit the water with a soft plunk and quickly drifted to the bottom of the river, settling into the soft silt.
It was now the wee hours of the morning and people would be waking soon to start work. Rage and the other figure left the docks with the body as quickly as they had appeared. The two guys who were holding Spot's arms lugged his heavy body back up to the lodging house. They cut the ropes from Spot's wrists; they had been tie so tightly they left red imprints. The two guys dumped him on his bed and then left.
Spot sat up in his bunk quickly and peered around the bunkroom. The sun was starting to rise and slowly spilled into the bunkroom gilding everything in a golden glow. Spot's head throbbed with pain and he was confused on whether the events of the night before were real or just a dream caused by too much alcohol.