"Everybody Loves You Now"
More Gangs Come Under Fire, Midtown, 1989
Another long summer day passed in New York City, and over in the East Village, the Ninjas were settling in for the evening like they always did. Wise old Rats made sure that all the dogs in his gang were safe and sound in their city park, then settled himself down on the comfortable leaves and grass. The melodic rhythm and beat of the city all around them never failed to lull the Ninjas to sleep.
However, the loud city noises also covered the quiet snapping of twigs and the crunching of paws on leaves. Quietly, viciously, a score of dogs surrounded the sleeping gang.
All at once, the attackers erupted into booming barks and growls. The Ninjas bolted awake and went on the defense as quickly as they could, but it wasn't quick enough. The Kings were too great in number, and they soon overpowered the small gang in a frenzy of teeth, claws, and snarls. Poor old Rats had fought quite a few fights in his prime, but he and his gang were now outnumbered and outmatched.
Rats watched some of his dogs cower, some of his dogs fight, and most of his dogs flee for their lives. The poor old leader was overwhelmed in the fight – and then he found himself face-to-face with an enormous, sneering German Shepherd.
"How could you—How did you find—" poor Rats cowered in fear.
"Thank tha Dodger," the German Shepherd breathed, grinning from ear to ear.
That very same night, on the other side of Manhattan, the Bone-Crushers were all finishing up their nightly sing-alongs and games of tag around the construction yard. The collared dogs in the gang had all gone home for the night, and Skull and the other street dogs were ready for sleepy time.
Now, Skull was always very friendly to any dog that wandered into their Tribeca construction yard – after all, how would he make friends if he wasn't friendly? – so when Skull heard the noise of dogs' paws crunching over dirt and gravel, approaching him and his gang, he cheerily greeted, "Hello, friends! We're so glad you've come to see us!"
In a matter of seconds, the Kings were upon the dogs who had never fought a day in their lives. The Kings quickly overcame them by sheer number—and each and every invading dog was a hulking brute. They were being led by a young, fearsome Doberman, whose short black fur was covered in scrapes and scars.
"Tribeca is ours," the fierce Doberman Pinscher growled at the poor, terrified Bone-Crusher dogs, "So get off our territory."
"P—Please, c—can't we all share?" Skull whimpered and gave a weak smile.
The young Doberman marched up to the trembling Retriever and glared at him through bloodshot eyes. He gave a deep growl and snarled, "Survivors. Don't. Share."
He then loudly barked, echoing across the yard and sending poor Skull and the last of his lame, sissy Bone-Crushers running for their lives.
But the night beat on, and soon the barks and growls of the vicious gang were lost to the thundering noises of the city—honks from car horns, lonely cries in the night, and defeated whimpers from dogs who just lost what they'd called home.
Word Spreads of the Siege to SoHo, Lower East Side, 1989
"I can't believe this happened!"
"Oh, what are we gonna do?"
"They just attacked them without warning! What kind of dogs—"
"—control so much of Downtown now—"
"Everyone, QUIET!" an enormous Rottweiler roared over the crowd of fearful, frantic dogs below him. The mutters came to a halt and all the dogs looked up at Skippy Dawg standing atop a rusty, broken-down car in the dark, trashed-up back alley.
"Listen up. Ya know by now that tha Kings made their boldest move yet last night," Skippy solemnly announced to the dogs in the alley. "That's right. Tha' Kings have driven out two more gangs—tha Ninjas an' tha Bone-Crushers—an' now they've claimed most of Downtown as their turf."
When their leader confirmed this horrifying news, all the street mutts and mongrels once again began muttering and barking and shouting in terror.
"Quiet down! Quiet! Hush up!" Skippy barked, but his commands were unheard over the roars of the crowd. He groaned in frustration, then took a deep breath and let out one tremendous, echoing bark.
The crowd of dogs all stopped talking.
"Yes! Tha' Kings have taken a lotta territory! They even stole our own turf!" the Rottweiler looked down at what was left of his Refugees. "But it ain't over, boys! We ain't no lapdogs, an' we ain't beaten yet!"
Some of the dogs in the crowd woofed their approval, a few gave confident barks, but most of them remained nervously silent. One brave dog spoke out, "But Skippy, the Kings attacked two gangs in one night! Two gangs!"
"Not two. Three."
Gasps erupted from the crowd and heads turned to stare at the dog who had spoken. The mutt was panting, his breathing heavy, and he almost staggered into the grim alleyway; his body was scarred and his fur was ripped and torn. The dog's eyes, looking straight up at Skippy, were fearful and urgent.
"What are ya sayin'? A third gang was driven out?" Skippy's eyes widened in horror.
"They... came in the m—middle of the night..." the attacked dog coughed and nearly fell over, but managed to steady himself, "I'm from the Houstonians... We ran in SoHo—never gave any dog any trouble—but the K—Kings... Why would they do this?"
"We don't really know. Right now it looks like they're expanding their territory."
"Expanding their territory? They've expanded their territory all the way up to Houston! Isn't that enough territory for them?" the poor dog barked before collapsing on the concrete in exhaustion.
All of the weary mutts in the alleyway looked up to their strong, respected lead dog, the Rottweiler who stood tall on the car, protectively overlooking his gang.
But to their dismay, Skippy Dawg had nothing to say to them. His eyes watered, his lip trembled, and he hung his head low in grief and anguish for all the dogs who had been ferociously attacked that night.
Word spread fast on the streets of New York, and in a few short days, all of the strays in the city knew about the Kings' three attacks in one night. Among the street dogs and mutts, the alley cats and the house doggies, that night came to be known as the Siege to SoHo.
After that night, Downtown New York was ruled by kings with an iron grasp.
The Rottweiler paced through the alley until the gravelly concrete began to sting at his tough paws; he was panting not out of exhaustion, but from a terrible nervousness plaguing his mind. What was he to do?
The dogs hidden in the Midtown alleyway all looked up to him for leadership and guidance in their fight for survival. Although a few members of his gang had fled the night they were attacked, most of his Refugees remained dutifully loyal—and those Refugees needed him now more than ever.
That whole morning had been agony for Skippy, his mind flooded with questions—Would the Kings attack them again? What did he need to do in case they did? And how would his dogs survive if the whole city fell under the Kings' control?
"Skippy?" the smallest dog in his gang shyly asked, "W—What do we do now?"
"...We gotta stay safe. More than anything, I gotta keep ya safe," the large Rottweiler smiled down at her, then announced to the rest of the dogs, "Three different gangs lost their homes last night. Now, I need to find these poor dogs. I want to bring them here, if they'll agree to it, an' I hope they can find a new home with us. I want them all safe an' sound."
The mutts in the alley, so frightened and so scared, felt their hearts lift hearing him say that. They happily barked and woofed, but then one dog spoke up, "Wait—ya' not gonna' leave us here all alone, are ya'?"
"I have to. I have to find those poor gangs." Skippy solemnly nodded to the one who'd posed the question. "While I'm gone, ya all gotta watch out for each other. Fight off any strange dog that approaches ya, okay? Keep each other safe."
"B—But Skippy, we're scared!"
"We need you with us!"
"I know, guys. I know. But right now, out in tha city, there are dogs that need me with them even more," he explained to his beloved gang and walked away toward the alley's exit. "I'll be back here before ya know it!"
Skippy Dawg Comes to the Rescue, Midtown, 1989
He knew that when he found the three gangs, they would be hiding like his remaining Refugees were, and who could blame them? Right now, hiding from the Kings seemed like every street dog's best option.
After what felt like an hour of combing the city streets and asking every stray mutt he met if they had seen a gang in hiding, any group of refugees, he finally found a lead. Sure enough, when Skippy entered the Flatiron District and made his way to Madison Square Park, he found the hiding dogs.
Of course, he was immediately greeted with furious growls, snarls, and barks.
"Get away from us!"
"Ya already took our home turf!"
"Whoa, whoa! Guys, I'm not here to attack ya!" Skippy quickly explained. "I'm not from tha Kings! My gang got driven out just like yours did!"
"And why should we believe you?" the oldest dog among them, who looked to be their leader, regarded him with a suspicious glare.
"Well... I guess ya shouldn't. Ya just got ruthlessly attacked—I understand that. Same thing happened ta' my Refugees over a week ago," Skippy bowed his head to them and approached the dogs no further, "Of course ya' suspicious. But all I wanna do is help ya. I wanna keep ya safe from tha Kings."
The gang did not drop their defensive stance, but then their old leader slowly stepped forward and smiled at him. "I believe you speak the truth... you are humble and caring. My name is Rats, leader of the Ninjas. We welcome you."
"Thanks, Rats. My name is Skippy. Like your gang, my Refugees are hiding from tha Kings. We both got attacked, so I think we need to stick together from now on. Will you guys come with me to join my gang?"
The Ninjas considered his proposal for a moment, then Rats bowed and spoke, "We would be honored to."
"Great! That's great! But listen... two other gang were attacked last night—tha' Bone-Crushers an' tha Houstonians. First, I gotta' find them both an' ask if they'll join us too."
"It is a noble cause, Skippy. My dogs will accompany you on your way—the greater our numbers, the stronger we are," Rats nodded for his gang to follow the Rottweiler out of Madison Square Park and onto the city sidewalks.
While the small group of dogs walked down the street, old Rats whispered one more thing to him, "...You should know that our gang was sold out to the Kings by one dog in particular. The night before we were attacked, this dog found our park hideout."
Skippy felt his stomach twist in a knot, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. "But how can ya' be sure this dog sold ya' out? Do ya' have proof?"
"I do. The night the Kings struck, one of them gloated about the traitor. He said to thank the Dodger for the attack."
"Dodger. It was Dodger... again," Skippy fumed, then explained himself, "Tha same day my gang was attacked—tha very same day!—that Dodger came to our secret hideout, too. I had only suspected him before, but now—"
"Now we know," Rats said in a low growl. "But perhaps we should ask the other gangs if they had similar encounters with Dodger before we jump to conclusions."
"Yeah, ya' right. Man, I don't wanna believe it... I thought Dodger was a good dog. I really did," Skippy sighed, continuing on down the trashed and gravelly sidewalk.
Once Skippy and the Ninjas had walked and searched the city for another long stretch of time, they managed to locate a second group of dogs in hiding. Actually, these dogs weren't hidden very well at all—they were rather conspicuously gathered in front of the enormous, white marble arch in Washington Square Park.
"Hello, friends! We're so glad you've come to see us!" a beaming Golden Retriever came to greet them, "I really hope you fellas aren't the Kings here to attack us again!"
"No, no, we're not tha' Kings. We were both ambushed by them like ya' were. My name is Skippy, an' this here guy is Rats. We wanna help ya'."
"You can believe him. I was initially suspicious as well, but good Skippy truly does wish to aid you." Rats was quick to support his new ally.
"Oh, yes, I can tell how nice you are! You aren't a meanie like the Doberman who attacked me!" The Retriever happily wagged his tail. "My name is Skull, and we're the Bone-Crushers! Isn't it a funny name, friend?"
"Uh... yeah. Hilarious!" Skippy gave a big grin and a hearty laugh. It seemed to please Skull. "So ya said a Doberman attacked ya? Did ya happen to see another dog there—a terrier mutt with brown, white, an' gray fur? Wears a red bandana?"
"I know who you're talking about!"
"You do? Did he attack ya last night?"
"Oh, no. He came and visited us the night before!"
Skippy's eyes widened; he exchanged a look with Rats and could see that they were both thinking the very same thing.
"Skull, that dog's name is Dodger... an' he's tha one who told tha Kings your gang's location."
"What? How terrible! Oh, I can't believe he would do that to us!" Skull looked completely blown away, hurt and betrayed—like a child who had just now learned what it meant to be deceived, "But now that I think back on it, he did seem a little mean. He told us to watch out for the Kings. He said to stay out of their way."
"Maybe that wasn't a warning. Maybe that was a threat," Rats growled furiously.
"So Dodger can't be trusted..."
"Dodger is tha' enemy," Skippy said to a saddened Skull, then spoke to all of the Bone-Crusher dogs, "Will ya' guys join us? We want every dog tha' Kings have attacked to be safe, and we'll be safe if we stick together."
His offer was instantly and eagerly accepted in a round of happy woofs. While the dogs mixed and mingled into one large group, Skull explained that all the collared dogs had left his gang to stay with their families. Finally, Skippy led them out of the park and back into the city.
He reasoned that the last of the three gangs couldn't be that far away. Skippy knew that the Houstonians would've fled uptown from the Kings, heading somewhere in Greenwich Village. Of course, the area had a gang all it's own, but every dog knew to give the notoriously large and infamously unfriendly Villagers a wide berth.
So where would the Houstonians have gone? If the Kings had forced them out of SoHo, then they must've gone up to...
"NoHo. I bet they're in NoHo," Skippy announced to his dogs. It didn't take them long to arrive in the small borough, but the problem was locating the hiding gang. Skippy eventually caught the scent of a large group of dogs and led his gangs across Broadway and over to Astor Place. They found the gang inside a run-down warehouse that lay forgotten between all the wealthy residences.
"Nah, we never seen that Dodger fella before. Didn't see him before, during, or after tha attack," the leader of the Houstonians answered.
"Then you had better watch out for him. We know he's a spy for the Kings," Rats growled his warning.
"We will. Thanks for tha' tip-off." The gang leader nodded to the old dog. "So what gang are ya' guys, anyways? There's so many of ya, I thought ya were them Villagers."
"No, we're... Well, I'm from tha Refugees, an' these guys are tha' Ninjas – but them over there are tha..." Skippy began to explain but paused mid-sentence, and then, "...Actually, ya can call us all tha Refugees. We all been driven out too, so won't ya' join us?"
"Tha' Refugees, huh? Thanks, but no thanks. We Houstonians like to do things by ourselves... but I appreciate ya."
"Sure, I understand," Skippy smiled to the gang, then nodded for his own gang to leave the warehouse, "Ya stay safe, okay? You're awfully close to tha Kings' turf here."
"Oh, we know. We like to keep our enemies close."
Skippy, Rats, and Skull exited their warehouse and soon left NoHo far behind them. It would be a very long trek back to his Midtown hideout, but Skippy felt energized from getting so many dogs to join his cause—that morning he'd had one gang behind him, and now he had three.
"So, Skippy... we're part of the Refugees?" Rats grinned to him as they walked.
"Yes we are. I mean, we ain't divided no more. Bone-Crusher or Ninja, Refugee or stray, we're all together now. We're all tha Refugees now."
"I like the name!" Skull gleefully chimed in.
"Glad ya' do, friend. I figured it suited us," Skippy laughed, then stopped walking and looked over all his recruits, "Tha' Kings think they can take over tha city, but they're dead wrong! We ain't gonna' let them!"
Dodger Receives a Rather Cold Welcome, Midtown, 1989
"Why should I worry? Why should I care? I may not have a dime, but I got—"
"Dodger! I been looking all over for ya'!"
The red-scarfed mutt felt slightly annoyed that his beautiful song was interrupted, but he was still glad to see the Bullmastiff running over to him, "Hey, hey, Noah buddy! What's up?"
"Dodger, it's... it's tha' Kings. They struck again," Noah panted out and flopped down exhausted on the sidewalk beside a trash bin.
"What? What did they do? Did they attack a gang?"
"I—I know they drove tha' Houstonians out of SoHo an' up into NoHo..." Noah sighed miserably, "...I heard rumors that other gangs got hit, but I don't know which ones. Dodger, tha' Kings have completely taken over Lower Manhattan. Downtown is theirs now... it happened two nights ago. Dogs are calling it tha Siege to SoHo."
"Tha Siege to SoHo... I don't believe it... I just don't believe it!" Dodger barked and furiously kicked over the trash bin, causing garbage to spill out and several human passers-by to scoff and call him a dirty mutt. Dodger fiercely growled at them.
"Hey, man, c'mon... They're just dumb humans."
"I hate it, Noah! I hate tha' Kings an' I hate what they're doing! They can't just take my city away from me—from everyone! New York City is for every dog an' cat to roam free in!"
"Well, tha Kings seem to disagree," Noah shook his head in dismay, "Dodger, what are ya gonna do?"
"I'm gonna find tha Kings an' I'm gonna – I mean, I'll... I need ta' help those gangs that got attacked," Dodger decided, then asked his friend, "Didn't ya' say tha' Houstonians were over in NoHo now?"
"Yeah, I did. Good luck, Dodger. An' watch out for yourself..." Noah warned him before he ran off, "...New York ain't tha same city anymore."
"That's what I hate more than' anythin'."
He leapt up on top of a taxi cab and sped away from Noah, sped off through the streets. The Kings could take the city, but that didn't stop Dodger from knowing his way around it. He was soon in NoHo, and he jumped off his car to find the gang. Luckily, he was quick to spot a couple dogs further up the street who looked pretty beaten up – they had to be the ones he was looking for.
"Hey, guys! Are ya' tha' Houstonians?" he began to approach them, "Guys, I wanna' help ya' out. I heard about—"
"Hey, it's the Dodger!"
"Get him! Get him now!"
"What? No! No, I'm here to help! What are ya doing?" Dodger gasped in horror as the dogs began barking and charging and him.
Dodger had no choice but to turn around and take off running from the Houstonian dogs. He bolted down the street, bumping through the crowds of New Yorkers and tourists, racing away as fast as he could.
He couldn't believe he was being chased again—but these weren't the Kings. These were just street dogs like him, so what was going on? Dodger darted into an alleyway and dove into another one, then slid between two buildings and came out the other side; when he was finally sure he had lost his pursuers, he stopped to catch his breath.
He was safe, but he still had no idea what had happened. He didn't know what was happening to him or his city.