Chapter 9 – Warnings

He walked through the rain carrying her in his arms. His brain felt like it had been bashed in with a blunt object and was only working at half capacity. His feet, as always, found the way. As he came to the pier, he whistled and Mitts poked his head out from the warehouse door a few moments later. She stirred in his arms, but did not wake, apparently too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

"Spot what tha hell?" Mitts asked as he came splashing up to them through the rain.

Spot silenced him with a deadly look, his eyes flashing dangerously as they narrowed. Mitts swallowed and looked down at the girl in Spot's arms.

"Should I help youse?" And he made to grab Amy's legs as if Spot was going to let her be carried like a sack of grain.

"Don't touch her." He growled and Mitts raised an eyebrow and backed away swiftly.

"Just get tha door." He said, slightly more in control of his voice.

Mitts obliged and rolled the heavy warehouse door open wide enough to let Spot, encumbered as he was, through it. The warehouse was their home. When Spot had first arrived in Brooklyn the newsies had all lived at a Lodging House. Soon afterwards, though, Spot had established himself as their leader and boys came flocking from all over.

The Lodging House had been too small. He had moved them to an abandoned warehouse on the docks. The floor of the warehouse served as a makeshift bunk room. It was littered with bunk beds, hammocks and even, in some cases, just mattresses on the ground. Most of the boys were here, inside because of the rain, and Spot met thirty or so pairs of curious and incredulous eyes as he entered. He was soaked to the bone and carrying what appeared to be an unconscious girl. He couldn't blame them for staring, but he wished they weren't.

"Fuck off." He said loudly and the boys all turned back to what they had been doing moments ago, though most of them continued to watch him surreptitiously.

It wasn't as though he had never brought a girl here before. He had certainly done that, but she usually arrived on her own two feet and Spot was usually pleased to let them see him take a woman up to his room. He headed there now. An old office in the very back of the warehouse now served as his bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and then straightened up to face Mitts' blank stare.

"Let her sleep for now." Spot said closing the door on her. Mitts followed Spot back outside and waited until they were out of earshot of the rest of the boys before he exploded.

"What's dis about, Spot?" He asked seriously.

Spot clenched his jaw tightly. His eyes narrowed and a crease formed between his eyebrows.

"I've brought goils hea before."

"Not like dat. Youse know what I'm talkin' 'bout." Mitts said pointing a finger at Spot's closed door across the warehouse floor.

Spot was silent for a moment. He considered lying to Mitts, but he never had before and there was really no reason to.

"She needed my help and I owe her. She's tha one that saved my life."

Mitts shook his head.

"She's also the daughter of Pulitzer." He said bracing for another explosion. If he was going to tell Mitts the truth he might as well tell him the whole truth.

"What?!"

Spot nodded.

"So youse just takin' in any stray offa tha streets now?"

Spot's expression immediately hardened and Mitts knew instantly by Spot's flashing blue eyes that he had gone too far.

"She ain't a stray." He said in a deadly quiet voice. "And where would youse be right now if I hadn'ta taken youse in?"

Mitts stared at him for a long moment and then, with a sigh and a shrug that said: 'do what you want' he turned and walked away from Spot.

She awoke to an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed and panicked sitting bolt upright as soon as her eyes had opened. Spot Conlon had been asleep on the floor a few feet away, but roused by her sudden movement sat up too. Instinctively, she yanked the bed covers up to her chin and stared at him. He grinned a little even in his still sleepy state.

"Hey whoa, easy dere." He said soothingly.

"Where am I?"

Spot cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows for a moment.

"Actually, youse in my bedroom."

She flushed a deep red. Something he had yet to see her do. He watched the color rise all the way from her neck to the top of her forehead. For some reason, he thought it was adorable. He stood up to hide his laughter, and reaching for his hat and cane he said a little off-handedly.

"So look, youse at tha home of mosta tha Brooklyn newsies. None a my boys will hoirt'cha. I'd soak 'em if dey did. But uh- dey ain't used to seein' goils around hea. Also, I think it might be safer if youse stayed inside today. At least don't wander far."

She raised her eyebrows. He had stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

"Unless you wanna leave. I can keep ya hidden. Only if ya want me ta though." And with that he left.

She sat there in bed for a long time. How in the world had she wound up in this situation? Waking up in the King of the Brooklyn Newsies' bed. She suddenly felt relief surge through her. If it was true, if Spot could keep her hidden then she was, in fact, free of her domineering and abusive brother and her blind, half-mad father. If he could keep her hidden.

But what if he couldn't? How powerful was he? Surely, the police would be looking for her sooner or later. How did he plan on keeping her hidden? Confined to this room? Then again, she thought wryly, her brother would much rather she didn't exist and her father would go along with whatever her 'dear brother' decreed. Perhaps, they wouldn't look for her after all.

She threw the covers off herself almost a little angrily. She found Spot had his own bathroom in the corner, complete with wash basin and a white porcelain tub. She marveled at the tub for a second. It was not the sort of thing she expected Spot would have. Shaking it from her mind, she peered down at the clear water in the jug standing next to the basin. It looked cool and inviting and she bent over and splashed some water on her face and neck.

Checking her appearance in the mirror she noticed she looked rather a mess. She did her best to comb her hair with her fingers, but couldn't do much else. She had no make-up to hide a bruise with. She wondered what people would think of a girl with a black eye. A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. She was suddenly frightened, but peered around the wall of the bathroom at the door. Who was it? Should she tell them to come in? Was it Spot? What if it wasn't? The door opened a bit after a minute or two and she saw a round brown eye at the crack. Upon seeing she was awake, the door opened fully and a boy walked in. He was about as tall as Spot, with big brown eyes and a friendly face. He checked on the doorstep.

"I uh- My name's Mitts."

"I'm Amy." She practically whispered.

"You found Spot's tub." He said with a grin. "A present, that was, from Governor Teddy Roosevelt. Spot brags about dat thing all tha time. He'll tell anyone dat'll listen about tha time dat Roosevelt gave him a ride in his carriage."

Mitts rolled his eyes and Amy had a strong desire to laugh. There was something about this boy. He was friendly and smiled easily. She liked him almost immediately. What she did not know was that he had tailored his personality and habits over the years to give just that impression.

"Spot said I should bring ya somethin' ta eat." And he lightly tossed a brown paper bag on a small table near the door. Suddenly ravenous, she sat down at the table, took the bag and pulled out some sort of sandwich. She unwrapped it and tore in hungrily. He sat down in a nearby chair and watched her eat with something of a grin. After she had finally slowed down he spoke up.

"So, Amy, ya can tell me. Why youse hea?"

Amy swallowed hard. She didn't have a readily apparent answer.

"Spot said he could hide me from my family."

Mitts nodded, knowingly.

"Dat much I know. He's thinkin' 'bout hidin' you at Jacky-boy's"

"Who's Jacky-boy?"

"Ah, another newsie. From Manhattan. They're old friends, him and Spot."

Questions burst into her head.

"You mean I'm not staying here? And my father's office is in Manhattan. Why would he-"

Mitts was grinning openly at her.

"Spot was right, youse got brains. Anyways, Spot thinks they'll be lookin' for youse in Richmond and in Brooklyn, where youse was last seen."

She nodded. That did make sense. If she had engineered her own escape, she certainly wouldn't have gone to Manhattan, which made it less likely that anyone that was looking for her would look there.

"If they look for me at all."

Mitts furrowed his brows, but didn't pursue it farther. Instead he leaned in across the table towards her and changed the subject.

"But, Amy, what I was really askin' was why Spot did it."

Amy shrugged and shook her head.

"Maybe he felt sorry for me?"

"For what?"

She was silent. She saw both his eyes focus on her left eye. She knew he saw the dark bruise standing out against her white shin. After a while, when it became clear she was not going to answer him, Mitts leaned back and seemed to ponder that thought.

"He felt sorry for youse. Maybe. I've known Spot for a long time. I would say dat's it, if he had a heart."

"He doesn't then?"

"Well, not about goils. He lives for dis place, his newsies. But goils dey usually come an' go."

He looked up suddenly, afraid he might have offended her.

"Not dat ya not different from all dose other goils. Spot's never done anything like dis before."

"Well, you tell me then. You've known him such a long time. What do you think?"

"He said-" Mitts hesitated thinking back to his conversation with Spot that had ended up with him being thrown off the end of the pier. "But I don't really know if he was tellin' tha truth or not."

"What did he say?"

Mitts looked at her carefully for a long time. She had the funniest feeling like he was making up his mind about her. Judging her at that very moment.

"I tell youse this, Amy. Cause ya seem like a nice goil, and smart and pretty too."

He watched her face color a bit and grinned at the effect.

"Spot's goils usually come and go. But they're not like ya. Since ya different and Spot's actin' so different, I think dat maybe tha reason is different."

He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head.

"But I dunno. Spot's a creature a habit. He usually use 'em and loses 'em. So you just be careful Amy."