Chapter 8: Legend

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies because if I did, I would be sitting on a golden-trimmed yacht, basking in my awesomeness.

A/N: I'm so glad on how the last chapter turned out in response to all you Newsie-lovers. To everyone who has read, reviewed and added this story on "Story Alert", "Favorite Story" and me on your "Favorite Author" lists, thank you so much! I've been having some rough times and this story has really kept me going. After moving and a bunch of school and life drama, I will able to update more so don't go away. Enjoy!

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As soon as we entered the familiar streets of Manhattan, Race and Jack had the sudden urge to tell everyone that they knew the "heroic details". It was rather admiring at first but after hearing the same story over and over again told to overexcited boys that we passed on the street got really annoying really fast. Besides, I felt horrible due to my first encounter of "The King of Brooklyn". My head throbbed with every step I took and along with the fact that I couldn't see out of one eye and the basic injuries after getting soaked; I was feeling too great after awhile.

So, you could hardly imagine my relief when I saw the familiar, worn-down boarding house only a little farther ahead of where we walked. But because I didn't want the two to know that I didn't feel good, I unhappily walked their slow pace instead of racing up the steps and jumping onto my bunk bed like I really wanted to. But that didn't fool a certain best friend of mine.

"'ey Tigah, you ain't lookin' too hot ovah deah," Race remarked, looking at my bruised and beaten face. "Ya suah yer alright?"

I nodded. "A coise I'm alright, Race," I laughingly added, ignoring the pains that I felt all throughout my body. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He looked at me, obviously skeptic. "If you'se says so."

Ignoring my skeptic friend's remark, we finally reached the top of the stairs that led to the inside of the boarding house. I somewhat eagerly opened the door and walked inside.

Kloppman was standing at his usual spot behind the front desk when we walked in. "'ey boys," he happily said, looking at the three of us. Then he saw me. "Ouch! how'dja get soaked so badly, Tiger? "

I decided to play dumb. "Oh this?" I asked, lightly touching the tender spot around my eye. I winced at the slight touch. "It ain't nothin'."

"Spot tried ta' have 'is way wid 'im." Cowboy answered proudly, draping his arm around my shoulders like a proud father would his son. "You should see da maiks Tigah ovah heah left on 'im!"

Kloppman chuckled. "I wouldn' doubt dat foah a minute!"

"Well, I should find da uddah guys," Race said, fixing his vest and cap. "I gotta collect some money from da chumps."

"I'm gonna jes' stay heah wid Kloppman an' wait ta' see if any a dem show up." I replied, sitting down on the bottom steps of the stairs that led to the second floor. "I'll see ya latah."

Race nodded before stepping back outside, the sound of his feet fading as he yelled. "Ya Specs, I sees ya ovah deah! Dun' botha tryin' ta' walk away!"

Cowboy took his cowboy hat off as he looked out the open door. "I'se gonna go wid 'im an' make suah nuttin' bad happens," he said, his face etched in humor. "Ya suah yer alright?"

Again, I nodded. "Would I lie to ya?"

Cowboy rolled his eyes as if to say, 'yeah, right', dodged my flying cap that I threw at him and ran out the door. "'ey Race, put 'im down!" I heard his now distant voice yell.

When the door closed behind him, Kloppman immediately turned his eyes back in my direction. "Why were ya fightin' Brooklyn, Tigah?" he asked, wiping his forehead with his old hankerchief that he put back in his pocket.

I shrugged. "Does a guy need a reason ta' be fightin' him?"

He mirrored my shrug. "Back in my day, young fellahs like yerself didn' fight anyone unless they had a reason."

"Well, it wadn't really my choice, Kloppman."

Kloppman moved from behind the desk, closer to me over on the stairs. "What's on yer mind, kid?"

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, looking at the stains from long ago. "I dun' know," I replied. "Jes' stuff goin' on."

"If it's about the fight, ya gotta know that ya can't win 'em all."

"Yea, I know dat," I replied, looking at him. "It was jes'...somethin' strange 'bout dis guy."

"Brooklyn's one helluva fighta," Kloppman practically exclaimed. "I'm surprised ya got away wid some cuts an' bruises an' that black eye a yers."

"Oh, ya didn' heah da heroic details yet?" I asked sarcastically, my mouth open in fake shock.

Kloppman shook his head, smiling. "No, I can't say I have."

"I'm suah Cowboy an' Race will tell ya awl about it." I said, lightly touching the swollen area around my eye and flinching a little from the contact.

"Speakin' a black eyes, did'ja get some ice foah that?" He asked, looking at my eye intently.

"Musta foahgot," I answered, shrugging.

He shook his head again. "I sweah ya gonna be the death a me."

"'ey dun' woiry 'bout me," I said, smirking. "We awl make ah contributions."

"Yea, you an' yer pahtner Race, the two biggest wiseguys in awl a New Yoik," he replied, straightening his spectacles. "If you'se guys spent as much time sellin' as ya do goofin' owf, you'd be millionaires by now."

"But den we wouldn' be humble newsboys an' givin' ya headaches."

"Yea, yea," he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand, walking back to his desk. "Lemme get cha some ice."

"T'anks, Kloppman."

As soon as he disappeared into a small room near his desk, I saw Skittery and Kid Blink walk into the lodging house, probably coming back from a day of lazing around Central Park.

Blink saw me first.

"'ey Tigah!" he exclaimed, a big grin on his face. "Yer alive!"

"We toight foah suah you'd be six feet undah by now." Skittery added, he and Blink walking over to me by the stairs.

I rolled my eyes. "T'anks foah da suppoit, Skitts."

He shrugged, sitting on the extra space of the step I was on and Blink sat on the step below us, obviously eager.

"So, what happened?" Blink asked. "How badly did ya soak Spot?"

I was about to answer when Kloppman returned, a towelful of dripping ice in his hands.

"Here ya go, Tigah," he said, handing me the towel. "Makes the swellin' go down."

I took the ice, nodded a 'thanks' to him, and slowly put the ice on my swollen eye, being careful not to wince in front of the guys.

Skittery scoffed. "'ey Klopp, why dun' we get ice when we get soaked?"

"When ya soak as many guys as Tigah does an' then get soaked by Spot Conlon, let me know an' I'll get cha a whole bucket." he answered, walking back to his desk.

Skittery frowned and Blink slapped him on the back. "Aw, come on Skittery, it ain't ev'ry day dat one a ah Newsies fights da King a Brooklyn ta' save da alliance 'tween 'Hattan an' Brooklyn."

"Afta almost destroyin' it."

I took off the ice and gave the pessimistic newsboy a look, despite my swollen eye.

"What's da mattah wid chyou?" I asked. "Blink steal anuddah goil out from undah you again?"

Skittery shot me a glare. At the same second, it was as if a swarm of newsies came pouring in, all talking about my recent 'meeting' with Spot. Circling around me, they all started bombarding me with questions.

"Did 'e club ya wid 'is cane?"

"Did any a 'is goons try a jump in?

"Is it true dat 'e tackled ya from 50 feet in da air?

"Did 'e-"

"Alright, alright, give 'im some space!" Cowboy exclaimed, pushing his way through the crowd, over to me.

The crowd moved back and quieted down, obeying our leader's orders.

"Now, Tigah had a long day so if anyone's itchin' foah a retellin', ask me oah Race 'cause we all knows we tell da stories da best," he said, smiling. "'sides, I t'ink Tigah is a liddle tired of it."

"Yea, if dey tell ya, it'll sound a lot moah majestic den what I t'ink actually happened." I added jokingly.

Race walked into the room. "'cause we know yer so humble 'bout it awl."

"Soah, 'humble'," I replied, rolling my eyes the best I could with the black eye. "T'ank goodness dat dun' stop you'se guys from sparin' 'em from awl da gory details."

"Dat's right! So, who wants ta' heah it again?" Race exclaimed.

It seemed like it was a stampede up the stairs, making me, Blink and Skittery move out of the way to avoid being trampled. The two followed the group up the stairs after Cowboy and Race, leaving only me and Kloppman in the deserted-looking room.

I shook my head. Boys. I walked over to the front desk where Kloppman was, a now cold, wet towel in my hands.

"Guess it's jes' you an' me again, huh, Kloppman?" I asked, putting the towel on the desk, safely away from the log books.

"Looks like it," he replied, taking the towel and putting it behind his desk. "Now, woin't cha gonna tell me somethin' 'bout dat Spot Conlon?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I musta foahgot," I lied. "Guess it wadn't dat impoitant."

Kloppman looked at me for a second and nodded. "Alright, den."

I gave him a nod. "Well, I'se gonna go outside foah a sec ta' get some fresh aih."

With that, I walked out of the lodging house and into the New York air.

Leaning against the brick wall by the door, I let out a sigh. I had some many questions about what happened today. Like, what was up with Spot Conlon? He had that way about him that just didn't sit right with me. I've learned to not show any emotions, but with him, it was like he didn't HAVE any emotions to hide. Well, except anger but other than that, it seemed as though he was carved out of stone.

Yet, he's able to control everyone he lays his eyes on. Despite his small figure, although he's taller than me, he's able to make the biggest guy do anything he wanted. It was probably because of those icy blue eyes of his. Thinking about his death glare from earlier made my throat close up again, like his cane was pressed against my throat again. Letting go of my previous thoughts, I felt the invisible pressure lift. After rubbing my throat rapidly for a few seconds, wondering what the heck happened, I decided to put away my suspicions about Spot.

At least for a little while.

I remained against the wall, searching for a cigarette or cigar to pass the time with or relieve my stress. Of course, no such luck. I had reached into my pocket to pull out my watch, which was hidden better in my pocket since the Delancy incident, when I heard a familiar voice.

"'ey Tigah, what's da story?"

I looked out into the street and saw a figure hobbling towards me.

I smiled. "'ey Crutchy, I toight ya hoid afta awl dis time."

Crutchy slowly hobbled up the stairs and gave me a good look. "Oh, I hoid but somebody already spread da story like wild fiah."

I shook my head. I knew exactly who that sombody, or two sombodies, Crutchy was talking about. "How ya wailkin' ta'day?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Coitainly bettah den you look," he said, still looking at me. "Ya look like ya got ran ovah by a bull's wagon."

"It ain't as bad as it looks."

"Suah hope so."

With that, he reached up and touched my face.

A terrible pain hit me. "Ow!" I slightly yelped. "What chyou touchin' me face foah?" I demanded, backing away.

"I wanted ta' see if you'se was lyin'."

"I wadn't lyin'..." I replied, straightening my clothes. "I'se jes' improvin' da truth a liddle."

He smiled. "If I didn' believe dat chyou was a newsie befoah, I coitainly do now."

Letting out a chuckle, I smiled back. "C'mon, let's go find da uddah guys an' bask in me glory."

Opening the door for Crutchy, he and I entered the lodging house.

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-What'd you think? It'll get better as time goes on. I promise. R&R, por favor! -Fox