Spot Conlon was known for disappearing at random times and not coming back for a day at a time. Nobody questioned it because it was Spot Conlon and if you went against him you had a death wish. So when Spot Conlon disappeared one July afternoon everybody went around like nothing happened. The Brooklyn Lodging House was quiet since the boys were tired and didn't have the energy to do anything. Once the last newsie came in through the door Ace, Brooklyn's second and Spot's best friend, raised his eyes from his cards and looked around.
"Are ya gonna fold or not?" Jay, one Spot's "birds," questioned Ace. "Ya seen Spot?" he asked Jay. The shorter boy shrugged and said, "Why does it matta? Ya know how Spot is." Ace nodded but his concerned expression didn't let up and he kept watching the door. It started to downpour outside and Ace threw his cards down, even though he had a full house and was ready to win the game, and went upstairs. Now the Brooklyn Lodging House was not like the Manhattan Lodging House at all. For starters the Brooklyn Lodge's owners had died over a year ago, leaving the place to be run by the newsies.
And since boys clean just as much as girls fart in public, the place was a mess. So when Ace tried to climb the stairs he almost fell over shoes and a newsie that had fallen asleep. With a growl of frustration Ace finally made it to the top of the stairs and stomped into the bunkroom. He collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes with a sigh. Somebody was complaining about a leak that was forming over their bed and Ace rubbed his temples to fight off a headache before falling asleep.
The next morning came and Ace was put to the task of waking the boys and bringing them to the distribution center. He did not like waking up early, neither did he like it when the boys tried to smack him. So he decided that the next time he saw Spot, Ace was going to push him into the river and not even offer a hand. But to his surprise there was no Spot at the distribution center.
There wasn't even a trace of him at his normal selling spot. And when the boys went to the docks after selling to cool off, there was no sign of the boy. Ace was beginning to grow frustrated and slightly worried. "Why're you so worried 'bout him? Spot can take care a himself." The boys would say that to Ace and then smack him on the back and walk away.
Ace would try to convince himself that maybe Spot was with Cowboy and his boys but somehow he knew there was something wrong. He had always trusted his instincts, and right now they said that something bad was going to happen, really bad. But Ace decided that he would try to forget about it and hope for the best.
Meanwhile a certain boy in Manhattan had been walking, or limping you might say, back to where his friends and a warm bed were waiting for him. He had been staring at the clouds all day and hoped it didn't rain again. But something had caught his eye and he stopped his slow walk.
Crutchie made his way to the alley entrance and peered inside. Everything seemed normal and Crutchie would have turned around and left again but then he saw it again, deeper in the narrow alleyway. It was shining and sparkling in the light. Crutchie hobbled over to the thing and stopped when he saw what it was, or more like who.
Shock was the first emotion that the boy felt, and then fear. He recognized the red shirt and the hat. A gasp flew out of his mouth when he saw the knife protruding out of the famous Spot Conlon's chest, a giant circle of red surrounding it. "Hey Crutchie, ya coming?" Crutchie couldn't respond to Romeo, he couldn't even rip his eyes away from the Brooklyn leader. "What, cat got ya tongue?" Romeo came up behind Crutchie and then stopped. His eyes went large and then he whispered, "We gotta tell Jack." Crutchie nodded and didn't even hear it when Romeo ran off to find Jack, he didn't even notice when it started to downpour.
Ace had burst into the Manhattan Lodge, his hair hanging down his face. "Where is he? I heard ya found him? Where's the bum, I'm gonna soak him for makin' me worried." Nobody answered; everybody was staring at the ground, too afraid to meet eyes with the Brooklyn newsie. "Ace, ya gotta understand we found him like this." Jack said softly, motioning for him to follow.
Ace felt like lead. His legs were heavy and his heart was already somewhere in his stomach. The door was opened and on top of a bed covered in rags, was the body of Spot Conlon. Ace went numb as he saw the peaceful expression on his lifetime best friend's face.
He couldn't even believe he could walk over there his legs were so heavy. But he walked right up to the body and he frowned, willing the tears in his eyes to disappear because Brooklyn boys don't cry. Jack walked over and put a hand on Ace's shoulder in a sort of comforting manner. "Who did it?" Ace whispered and Jack shook his head, "We don't know. It looks to be a muggin' 'cause his pockets are empty." Ace nodded and turned around. He had to tell his boys that their leader was dead.
The funeral was held a few weeks later. It was a meager thing that all of the newsies of the city had donated money for. The coffin was a cheap thing at five dollars but it would do, and right now it was packed with newspapers and the body of one Spot Conlon.
The day was overcast and for Crutchie it reminded him of the afternoon he had found the body. Each newsie went up and said something to the body, a fond memory or an inside joke. Katherine had come and though she had only met Spot a few times, she still was struck by the loss. Ace hadn't gone to the funeral; instead he had hoped the first train out of New York and made his way to Boston. Jack gave the service and shared his memories and the stories of a boy he had come to call a friend in the past year. Jack ended his speech by saying, "Spot may be dead, but he ain't gone." And with the newsies pondering the words of the infamous strike leader, the funeral ended, and the body of Spot Conlon was buried.