Hey folks, here's another one. This story is another prequel to Behind Every Good Man. If you haven't read that story, I recommend reading it first, even though this is a prequel. Also, if you haven't read First Impressions, read that one first too.
And most importantly, REVIEW ALREADY!!! Lots of you read my stories, but aren't reviewing. I definitely want to know what you think. If nobody reviews, I will be forced to assume that you don't like my little scribblings and stop scribbling them!
In a few weeks, Spot had managed to establish himself as the leader of Brooklyn. He knew he would still have to fight against other boroughs interference, but within Brooklyn itself, he had no opposition. Thanks to Pocket's tip-off, Spot had been able to avoid a messy situation with Ace and O'Grady, in fact, with her advice, he had been able to turn the whole thing to his own advantage.
Just as they'd discussed, Spot confronted the two conspirators in a public forum, before an audience of watchful Brooklyn newsies. Calmly and without flinching Spot had asked Ace how he'd lost Carver's trust before the old leader died. When Ace had stuttered and hedged and tried to avoid answering, Spot accused him of stealing from the younger boys. Ace denied the claims, but a few of his former victims, emboldened by the crowd, had stepped forward and confirmed that Spot spoke the truth.
In the uproar that followed, Spot had stood quietly, watching Ace. Once he felt that the babble of outraged voices had gone on long enough, he'd spoken again, his words laced with a thread of steel that instantly silenced the room. Casually, with the air of one telling an amusing tale, he told the other newsies of Ace's plan to get rid of Spot and take over Brooklyn.
There in the crowded main room of the Brooklyn lodging house, Spot had coolly informed Ace and O'Grady that if they wanted to get rid of him, they were welcome to try. There, in the middle of the cheering crowd, Spot beat Ace within an inch of his life, his face an emotionless mask the whole time. No one made a move to stop him. O'Grady, coward that he was, turned and ran the second Ace fell.
As Spot predicted, there were questions from the boys, who wondered how he had managed to discover Ace's plan. Spot laughingly told them, "A little boidie told me," and a tradition in Brooklyn was born. Spot would go on to have many "boidies" feeding him information about the other boroughs, Pocket was the first.
That wasn't the last time Spot had to defend himself against other Brooklynites who felt they had more right to leadership than he did. None of them managed to defeat him. Finally, the few boys who disagreed with him were run out of Brooklyn, and the newsies that remained had no doubt about Spot's authority.
To celebrate, Spot sent a runner to Manhattan inviting them all to a party. The promise of whiskey and cards was more than enough to send Pocket and her friends tramping merrily across the bridge. All the boys greeted Spot with shouts of congratulations, all of which he accepted with a smug, satisfied grin. Pocket hung back, waiting until he finally pulled her aside to give her his own good wishes.
"Ya did good, Conlon," she told him.
He waved her words away impatiently.
"I owe's ya me thanks," he said solemnly. "If ya hadn't warned me about Ace, who knows what woulda happened. I'd prob'ly still be fightin. Ya gave me good advice, and I got things under control pretty quick."
Pocket smiled modestly. "Hey," she shrugged, "I do what I can."
Racetrack bounded over and pulled Pocket into a game. Spot sidled after them, electing not to join the game, instead pulling up a chair to watch.
Race played a few hands before drifting off to another table, and before long the game was down to just Pocket and Blue, a big, smelly brute with not a lot of brains but more than enough temper. Pocket easily won the first couple of hands, shaking Blue's concentration when she teased him about it. As the game went on, Blue grew more and more angry, and his playing got sloppier. Finally, Pocket bluffed him into folding on an inside straight, smiling cheerfully as she counted her winnings. Blue reached out to grab the cards she'd tossed face down on the table, and when he turned them over his face went white with rage.
The gathered newsies laughed uproariously when they saw that Pocket had beaten Blue's full house with a measly pair of sevens. Their light hearted insults stung his pride, and with a last angry look at Pocket he stomped out of the lodging house. Laughing, Pocket turned and yelled over to Racetrack.
"Hey Race, got me some real money, wanna play for serious?"