Pawns
By: Ambrlupin
Part One: One
Summary: "We were nothing more than pawns, kept around until we were no longer useful, and then discarded without a second thought or glance. I was a pawn. I just didn't know it yet."
Disclaimer: -sighs- you think you would see the pattern here. I don't own newsies or anything relating to them.
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"Present for you...leader..."
Spot Conlon stirred in his sleep, wrapping the thin cotton blanket around his legs, a crease between his eyes and a frown on his face. His breathing, short and ragged, ruffled his cinnamon colored bangs from his face.
"I aint impressed."
His own voice, sounding odd in his ears. The crease deepened as he shifted, curling up on his side, his stomach, his back. He couldn't get comfortable no matter where he went, which way he turned.
It almost felt like he was laying on a bed of nails.
"Who...Who told you to do dis?!"
A slight whimper tore itself from his throat, murmuring the words out loud just as he spoke them in his mind. He could see, but it was hazy, and the picture was blurred. He couldn't make out faces, just his own voice, and that of the other.
"Ignorance is bliss, little Spot."
And a gunshot.
Jerking up in bed, Spot gasped, a shaky hand moving to his forehead, wiping at the sweat there. What had that been about? He couldn't remember. Shivering, he pulled his night shirt tighter about himself and was thankful he had his own room.
Wouldn't have been good for anyone to see how scared he had been.
Cursing his own foolishness - it was a DREAM - Spot slid from the bad and padded barefoot to the window, opening it and leaning out, sighing. A dream, yes... But about what? It had felt so real, and he had felt pain, real pain, when the gunshot sounded and he had woken.
Reaching up, he placed a hand over his heart, and brought his fingers together until he was clutching his shirt tightly. "Why?" He murmurred to the night sky, as if it held the answers he needed. "Why do I feel dis way? Like somethin...somethin bad is comin."
0-0-0-0
That bad feeling was gone by the time he was down in the morning. There wasn't much time for anything, really. Snagging an apple off a cart on his way toward the upper docks, Spot turned and looked at the man striding next to him.
There were many ways to describe Red Russiani, and none of them actually seemed to do the guy justice. He was the ex-leader of Brooklyn, he had the absolute trust of every one of the borough leaders, and the authority to actually do what he wanted, whenever he wanted.
However, the one thing Red was, and perhaps, the most important of them all, was that he was Spot Conlon's father. The father he never really had, that was. You see, if you had the nerve to compare Jack Conlon to Red, you sure had a death wish, for the latter would knock your head off so quick you wouldn't have a second to reconsider your words.
"Red?"
"Hm?" Glancing down at the other, Red's eyebrow quirked up over one of his stunning emerald green eyes. When no answer came, he turned his head fully. "Kid?"
Spot paused, not really knowing what he was going to say. "...Fuhget it. Come on."
"No... Come on, tell me."
Spot shrugged as he started walking again. "Nuttin ta tell. Really."
Red clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth and caught up to Spot, hands in his pockets. He'd let it go. For now. However. "Hey, Spot?"
"Hm?"
With hardly a change in his expression, Red pulled a hand from his pocket and pushed the other off the dock they were walking along and into the water with a splash that sent water flying back up into the air.
Bursting back to the surface and sputtering water, silver-blue eyes locked onto laughing green ones. "What in the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded, treading water.
"Quite a lot of things. Which are we talking about?" Red crouched down near the edge, eyebrow raised.
"All of them." A new voice entered the conversation and Red felt someone push him from behind. Unable to keep his balance he hit the water and splashed back up, just in time to hear Ace laugh.
"Aw hell." Spot groaned. "Its him."
Ace Cardoni chuckled and held a hand out for Spot. He took it, albeit grudgingly, and Red leapt up, grabbing a hold of the boards and pulling himself up out of the water. Sitting on the wood, and wringing water from his hat, Spot looked over and sighed.
"What brings you to Brooklyn, Ace? The Bronx not good nuff foah ya?"
The other laughed, running a hand through his jet black hair. Sitting down, swinging his legs over the edge, Ace grinned. "If only. I've got to talk to you, Spot." His accent was different than the two with him.
Ace was from Boston, Massachusetts and was currently the leader of the Bronx. He was one of the ones that kept his past hidden, and who was going to complain? It wasn't like the newsies to pry into places they weren't meant to. Usually that is.
"So talk." Spot shrugged. "Unless you don't want Red heah."
"No, no... He'd probably be able to help anyway." Ace bit his lip. "It's bout Diamond."
"Diamond." Red's head came up. "We talkin... Gang leadah, Diamond?"
"The very same."
Spot frowned, his attention thoroughly caught. "Wait... Don't we have an agreement with Diamond? Didn't you talk to him, Red? A few years ago?"
Red nodded, leaning back with his arms behind his head. "Soah did. Back when he was a wet behind the ears leadah and I outranked him. He swore to leave da newsies alone, and we'd stay off their side of Brooks."
"His buddies are runnin round da Bronx."
Spot shrugged. "Dat's your problem, Acey. Why come to us?"
"Because they're gettin a little..." Ace trailed off, not sure how to finish his sentence. The silence was loud and both Brooklynites sat up and looked over, eyes serious.
"A little what, Ace?" Red asked softly.
"I just...They're oversteppin their bounds, Red. Badly. A few of my kids came back hurt and threatened by them. I think they're gonna try somethin."
Spot snorted, shaking his head and effectively breaking the serious thread of their conversation. "Hell. We've nevah had a problem with Diamond befoah, Ace. You're readin too much into it. Just go talk to him."
Ace shrugged, a little miffed that they weren't listening to him more. This was serious... Or so he thought. "I was plannin on it... But I wanted to come and let you guys know."
"Consider us told." The Brooklyn leader stretched and got to his feet, Red at his side. "Seriously... Just go talk to him. He's a good guy. I'm soah he'll help ya out."
"Yah..."
Red and Spot exchanged smirking glances before they each placed a hand on Ace's back and pushed him off the dock, landing him in the water with a splash. Spot laughed and leaned over the edge of the dock.
"Revenge is a bitch, Ace!"
Breaking the surface of the water, Ace brushed his hair from his eyes. "Yeah, you just wait until I get out of here!"
Throwing an arm around his son's shoulders, Red led him away, turning his head to smirk back at the soaked Bronx leader. "We'll be waitin."
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It was a few days later, with no word coming back from the Bronx, that Spot started to go out at night. He would walk to the edge of Ace's land, sometimes heading into Queens, sometimes into Manhattan.
Red had mentioned, in passing one day, that they hadn't been keeping a good eye on the gangs lately, and that it might not be Diamond's boys running through the Bronx. There were gangs everywhere, all sorts of nationalities. And not all got along with each other.
It was late one night, really late, when Spot got up from where he had been siting, throwing the rest of his drink back. There was only two people in the room; Shorty and a young kid from the Bronx that was heading back in the morning.
"I'm headin out, probably be back late."
"Where ya goin?" Shorty asked, looking up from where he was cleaning off his switchblade.
"Probably just ovah the bridge." Spot shrugged, throwing a jacket on over his shoulders.
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"Spot?" Red wiped sleep from his eyes as the door to the bunk room busted open, slamming against the opposite wall with enough force to knock paint from the wall and flood the room with light. "Kid...What's wrong?"
The leader stood in the doorway, his silver-blue eyes narrowed dangerously and his thin body trembling in rage. Blood was splattered across his face, turning strands of his cinnamon hair russet red.
By now, all of the lodging house was alert, blinking in shock at their bloodied leader. In utter silence they watched as he crossed the room, unable to form words in the face of such pure anger and hatred.
Stopping in front of one of the bunks, he just struck out, right-hooking the kid from the Bronx, who had still been blinking weary eyes up at him. "How dare you." Spot growled, voice husky, "How DARE you!"
Instead of pulling the youth back, Red got to his feet and went to his side, laying a hand on his arm lightly. Not to restrain, but to comfort. "What did he do, Leadah?"
He was hoping the title would sooth the other slightly.
"Sold us out." Spot snapped, "Tried to kill me! Three of em from da Bronx, showing up deep into Brooklyn- waiting for me!"
The kid's mouth fell open, as he stammered his innocence in shock. "I...I didn't..."
"Who else knew where I'd be tonight? This is my first time telling anyone- and my first time getting ambushed!" He roared.
But the other had gotten his courage back- however small it was, and stated up at him. Sure that he had the upper hand now. "I wasn't the only one you told! You told Shorty too! How do you know he didn't tip Bronx off?!"
It was silent for a moment and then Spot chuckled, breaking the way for everyone else to do the same. From a bunk near the wall, Shorty was laughing so hard tears dripped off his face. He raised a hand, biting back giggles. "Lord high and mighty, Spot! If you aint gonna smack him- I will!"
Spot waved him off, his fit of laughing all but gone, and he turned the full force of his frightening smirk on the boy. "You messed up one dat one, pal. I trust Shorty, with my life and the lives of my bois. He's co-leader to Red, ya idiot, and there's no way he's working foah Bronx."
He ran, and being small worked well in his favor. He bolted past Spot, and nearly flew down the stairs. Shorty leapt from his bunk and was two seconds behind him, Docks and a few of the others mere nano-seconds behind that.
Spot spun to follow, but Red grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Let the bois take care of it. Come here and let me bandage you up." The elder's fingers had already found the shallow cut underneath his fringe of bangs, and no doubt was looking for the on his collar-bone.
"How many did you take on?" Red asked as soon as they were in the washroom with the door firmly shut behind them.
"Three." He murmurred bitterly, "Three I recognized immediately from Bronx."
"This is completely out of the blue." He commented as he rung out a wet rag, "Any reason why, Spot?"
"If you're asking if I did anything to Bronx- da answer is no." He slid out of his bloody shirt and let it fall to the floor.
"Really?" Red sounded surprised as he handed the clean cloth to the kid.
"Yes, really! Lord, Red, who do you think I am?" He snorted, "Heartless? Cruel? I haven't done nuttin to Bronx. Why would I? Ace is leadah dere."
Red shrugged, "I dunno, Kid. But I will tell you one thing- Ace has never, ever started anything with anyone, and he wouldn't either. Not without a good reason."
Spot threw the towel on the ground, slightly agitated now. "I didn't give him any reason!"
"All right. Calm down." He held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. "I believe you, Matt. But if you didn't give them any reason...the question is, who did?"
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Word caught up the next day.
Ace Cardoni was dead. The co-leader of the Bronx, Munch, had declared war on the completely stunned Brooklyn, and on the shocked Spot, on whom they said did it.
They had tried revenge once, and missed their chance. This time, they were taking everyone down. In their minds, the leader represented the people. What the leader did, the people did.
Except for the face no one in Brooklyn, much less their leader, knew what was going on.
But that didn't stop the war, or the questions.
It was no surprise Spot received caller after caller every day, more than one at first being assassins in disguise. One of them had even managed to pull a weapon on the leader, but Spot was anything but unprepared.
He didn't kill them, why should he? That was just the thing to start up a war, and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't kill Ace, didn't know anything about it until later. There was no reason for this war, and he wasn't going to stoop to that level.
But all this trouble had taken a toll on the youth. He was tired, and often would sit on the docks, legs hanging over the water, rather than go out and sell. Not that it was exactly safe on the streets. In a way, he was safer watching the waves roll in.
Which is where Race found him.
"Hey." The other crossed his legs and sank down next to the leader. "Its been a while."
"Hn." Was Spot's only reply, eyes looking far out over the water, to where a gull drifted on the lazy air of the afternoon.
"What? I don't even get a decent greeting?"
Spot sighed, "What do you want of me, Race?"
"Want? Of you?" He raised an eyebrow, "I don't want anything of you, Spot. I've just come here to see how you were doin."
The other was silent for a moment, and Race started to tap his fingers on the wood lightly. Spot brushed a strand of his hair back, mouth parting slightly. "And to spy for Jack." He murmurred.
Race blinked at him, licking his lips. "There...is dat."
Finally the Brooklyn leader turned to him, "Don't sound so shocked. You warned me about the strike, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but dat was different, Spot." He sighed, fingers curling into fists, "I know you didn't do it, but Jack...He doesn't know what to believe. He says that if Munch thinks you did it, then he has to have a good piece of evidence against ya."
"Which I haven't even seen!" The leader snapped, "I don't know WHAT they think they have on me, because all they keep doing, is tryin ta kill me!"
Race tried to keep the grin off his face, and failed. "Don't sound so shocked. You do have a habit of making people want to kill you."
Spot snorted, shaking his head and rubbing at his face. "Dis is so messed up, Race. I just saw Ace, not a week before they accused me of killin da guy!"
"What foah?" Race asked curiously.
The other sighed, "Somethin bout the gangs movin' in on his territory..." A light came on behind his eyes and he sat up straighter. "Race, go get Jack and Red. Meet me back here." He jumped up, smirking.
"What? Wait...Spot, what?" The Italian scrambled to his feet, confused.
"What if a gang member did it? Ace was worried that they were gonna try somethin. What if he was right? They couldn't blame me den."
Race nodded, looking thoughtful. "No... Not if they had a reason to blame you in the first place. Spot... Munch would think of that before he called you out. He's not stupid. No one wants a war, and much less with Brooklyn.. But you were taking a whole lot of walks late at night."
Spot pushed his friend's words away. "Meet me back here, Race. We're gonna go have a talk in Bronx."
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Sorry it took me so long, guys. I've been bogged down beyond words. But look, I was good on my word for longer chapters! Its twice as long as one of my usual chapters! Heh.