"A Matter of Trust"
Mr. Foxworth Helps Pay the Bill, Chelsea, 1989
"Of course I'll pay for the repairs, my friend." Mr. David Foxworth gave Fagin a supportive smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. "What's the good of having money if you don't use it to help people in need?"
"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I just—"
"But Alec, you must tell me... how did this happen? What dogs would wreck your apartment?" Mr. Foxworth cut him off. The questions made Fagin look down at his feet.
"I really don't know. I just came home from work an hour ago... and the whole place was ruined. It's all ruined," Fagin sniffed, gazing around at the apartment he'd grown so proud of. It was proof of how his life had changed for the better, but now it lay in pieces all around him.
"Don't worry, Alec. Your landlord can't charge you a thing once the repairmen make it as good as new," Mr. Foxworth assured him, but he then began to stroke his bushy gray mustache. He only did that when he was worried about something, "But I think... you need to move. Whatever terrible dogs did this, they might be local to the neighborhood. This could be some way of staking out their territory, since you have so many dogs here."
"Yeah, I... I thought of that. And I think you're right. My dogs and I gotta move. Again," Fagin nodded in agreement, but he didn't look any less nervous, "...Guess we'll need to get a smaller place. I honestly can't afford another apartment like this one."
"I can help you find a new place, and I'll even pay the first month's rent. But I can't keep giving you money. You need to provide for yourself, just like any other working man."
"I understand... I won't ask again," Fagin promised, feeling very ashamed. After everything he'd been through in his life—living in poverty, sleeping in slums and alleys, begging and working and stealing, then finally getting his big break and a good apartment to live in—he still had to beg a friend for money.
"Don't be embarrassed," Mr. Foxworth said, as if he could read Fagin's thoughts, "Life hasn't been easy for you, I know. But never be ashamed to ask for help. And how about this? If you keep working hard at the office, I'll put in a word and see if I can't get you a raise."
The two men cleaned up the apartment as best they could, and soon it was in a good enough state for Fagin and his eight dogs to live in once again. But they didn't stay in Chelsea for too much longer. After a few days, Mr. Foxworth found a cheaper, smaller apartment for Fagin to rent. The problem was, it was in Hell's Kitchen.
Fagin talked it over with Mr. Foxworth, and they decided that the price was too good to pass up, even if the neighborhood was a little rough. And so, the day before the repairmen came to fix the damage, Fagin packed up his few undamaged belongings and loaded them into the Foxworths' limousine. The Company all jumped in the back with their owner, then said goodbye to the Chelsea apartment as Winston drove them to Hell's Kitchen.
It was a third-floor apartment, and it was indeed smaller than their last home. The entire thing was just a single room, except for the tiny bathroom and one closet. Mr. Foxworth was generous enough to purchase a new table and chairs, a small bed, a couch, and a rug to furnish the room, and they stocked the shelves with his salvaged food. Lastly, Mr. Foxworth bought several bags of dog food, since they were all out. Fagin was grateful to have a place to stay, but he knew his dogs would be unhappy living in such close quarters. Still, this was the best he could do for them.
"You're lucky this apartment building allows pets. But I'm worried eight dogs might be pushing it," Mr. Foxworth frowned in thought, "Just be extra nice to your new landlord."
Fagin nodded, "Thank you for everything, sir. My life... my dogs' lives... we've all been so much better off since we met your family."
"I'm glad for you," he smiled at Fagin, "But I was also wondering... how has Dodger been? Does he visit you? He stayed with us for a bit, but I haven't seen him for weeks now."
"No, he doesn't see us very much anymore. Dodger used to visit a lot in the spring, but I've barely seen him lately."
"I'm rather fond of that dog," Mr. Foxworth sighed, "I just hope he's alright."
The Company Grows More Suspicious, Hell's Kitchen, 1989
Later that evening, Fagin patted his dogs on their heads, grabbed his warm gray coat, and headed for the door. The poor man took another sad look at his very small, very cheap new apartment and sighed to himself. Fagin mumbled something about a bar just a few blocks down the street, then walked out and shivered as the breeze hit his face. His dogs all watched him leave and whimpered sadly.
"Is our miserable benefactor to be deprived his peace of mind for the rest of his days? Alas, I weep for his unending woes," Francis said mournfully.
"Him? What about us, man?" Tito yapped up at the chubby Bulldog, "This place is so tiny! We're cramped up in here! I can't live like this!"
"You're beginning to sound like your rich, spoiled girlfriend."
"Hey! Ya can't talk about my woman like that, fatty!"
"Guys, guys! Stop it! I know we're all upset about the sudden move. And yeah, I know this place is really cramped... But there's no sense arguing over it," Rita spoke up over the two bickerers, but she couldn't help gazing around at their small, one-room apartment. It was really cramped, especially with the eight of them there. The kitchen, the table, the couch, the bed, all of it in one little room with morbidly gray walls. Rita supposed they would all have to say goodbye to their personal space.
She looked sadly at the members of her gang, all of them very tense and emotional. Tito and Francis were glaring daggers at each other, Einstein looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion, and the three pups were huddled together. Rita thought at first that they were staying close for comfort, but when she looked closer, she saw that two of them were surrounding one in particular.
"Runt! Runt of the litter!" Stud teased his brother gleefully.
"Don't call me that," little Billy muttered.
"Oh, come on, Billy. Grow a backbone," his big sister Kitten rolled her eyes.
Rita stepped over to them and put a paw between Billy and his three siblings, "Guys, guys, leave him alone! I've told you before, you can't make fun of each other!"
"Not each other. Just Billy!" Kitten snickered.
"He's so tiny that the Kings could eat him in one bite!" Stud laughed, then puffed out his chest and bared his teeth, "But not me! I would fight off those Kings!"
"R—Rita, make them stop! Th—They always call me names and—and they say I'm a runt! Make them leave me alone!" Billy pleaded with her.
But Rita just shook her head irritably and sighed. She shooed Stud, Honey, and Kitty away from him, but then she gave the littlest pup a stern look, "Billy, don't let them get to you. They're only fooling around—and you're not a baby anymore. You pups are several months old, so start acting your age!"
"B-But Rita, they—"
"I don't want to hear it," she cut him off, causing him to hang his head sadly, "You've already been trouble by sneaking off by yourself, so quit whining about your brother and sister."
And with that, the pup that looked like a little version of Dodger went scampering off to hide beneath Fagin's new bed. He was just tiny enough to squeeze under. Rita did not particularly like seeing Billy so upset, but she knew that he would just keep to himself for an hour or two, all alone, then reemerge as good as ever.
"Why do you suppose his siblings mock him so?" Francis asked, plopping down.
"It's because he lets them. He never really stands up for himself," Rita sighed, then looked over at the other three pups. Stud and Kitten were taking turns jumping on and off the couch. "They don't mean any harm by it. Pups will be pups. And I'm sure they're all just wound up over the Kings ripping up our old apartment."
"I'm afraid it's gotten everyone in a dour mood," he frowned, then gave a very dramatic huff and woofed, "Oh, curse those Kings! What they have done is just unforgivable!"
"That's right, man! An' I think we all know who sold us out!" Tito joined in their conversation, loud as always.
"For the last time, Tito, we don't know that he—"
"Come off your high horse, Rita! Your judgment may be superb at most times, but you are putting emotion before reason," Francis barked at her, "It was obviously Charl who told the Kings the location of our apartment."
"Yeah, man! It was Charl! Tha' good-for-nothing, rotten—"
"Okay, Frankie, Tito! I know it looks like Charl sold us out, but we don't know for sure."
"Looks like? That's being a little generous!" Tito scoffed, "Charl just comes out of nowhere an' gets really familiar with our apartment's location? He always took those morning walks, remember? Was it to stretch his legs or to report to tha Kings?"
"And if you recall, Charl was the one to suggest that we all leave the apartment when you announced that you were walking him back to Harlem. Once we had left the apartment all alone, the Kings ransacked the place!" the stuffy English Bulldog declared, "That's an awfully big coincidence, if Charl wasn't the traitor."
"Listen, guys! All we know for certain is that the Kings somehow found out where we lived. And it's very likely someone told them. A traitor to our gang," Rita stood up tall and addressed everyone, speaking loud and clear like the leader she was, "Well... I've been thinking. Yes, Charl could easily be the traitor. But you're forgetting that someone else knew our location... Dodger."
"Dodger? Ya' can't be serious!"
"This is absurd, Rita!" Francis puffed up angrily, "I always suspected you had lingering anger towards our old friend, but I never knew you hated him this much!"
"I don't hate him! I'm just saying..." she faltered, a bit taken aback by their attitudes, "Well... Dodger always just comes and goes. He's never really here... he's not one of us anymore. So what if he's joined the Kings? When Dodger saw what they did to our apartment, he immediately ran off again. Said he was going to make the Kings pay... but we haven't seen him since. Maybe he's one of them."
"I... I don't know what to say..." Francis shook his head, "I just can't believe that... At least, I never thought Dodger would..."
"I dunno, man! She got no proof Dodger betrayed us!"
"Just like you have no proof that Charl betrayed us," she threw back at Tito. Rita then turned to the one member of the Company who had said nothing since they'd moved to their new place, "What do you think, Einstein? Do you think Dodger could've sold us out?"
"...I think we've become... a very sad gang. First you all tried to rob the Foxworths to save ourselves, now you call Dodger a traitor. Dodger is our friend," old Einstein told her off, slowly but clearly. Rita was speechless. It was the most she'd heard Einy say in a long time.
"Einy... I wish I could trust Dodger, but I just can't," Rita said to him. The way her words came out, it sounded like an apology. "I... I don't even know if he's our friend anymore."
Einstein did not say anything in response; he instead turned around and climbed onto Fagin's bed. Without a word, the gray Great Dane laid down with his back to all of them. Kitten and Stud looked up at the old dog, considering whether they should jump on the bed with him. They decided against it.
"I don't believe it! Dodger wouldn't sell us out!" Tito yapped.
"I... I cannot be sure..." Francis muttered, "We can hope for the best, but... he has been very distant with us as of late."
"Rita just don't wanna believe it was Charl! She don't wanna admit that he's a bad dog!" the Chihuahua glared up at her, "So she's trying to put tha blame on Dodger!"
"That's not—I am not trying to... I mean, I'm..." Rita started, but she had trouble arguing against him. "...Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't want to think badly of Charl. And like you said, I can't let emotion come before reason. From now on, we'll have to play it safe. That means we can't trust Charl... but we can't trust Dodger either."
Skippy's Refugees meet the Park Pack, Central Park, 1989
"Dodger? As in the Artful Dodger? He's with the Kings?"
"We don't know for sure..." the scarred, muscular Rottweiler explained with a sigh, "But before every one of our gangs got attacked, tha Dodger arrived an' got familiar with our locations. Little suspicious, huh?"
Skippy the Rottweiler and a few of his friends, including old Rats and blissful Skull, were currently deep within Central Park. They were in the midst of a rather large gang of dogs, known as the Park Pack, who made their home in the extremely spacious city park. The cool grass beneath their paws made for a nice change from the rough alley concrete, and the trees were changing from green to a beautiful orange, but Skippy and his dogs had come to the park with a mission.
"You're right. That's too coincidental to ignore," a large brown Boxer, who appeared to be the leader of the Park Pack, nodded to agree with Skippy, "I've never met the Dodger, but I've heard a lot about him. Most street dogs look up to him as an idol. Do you really think he'd join these Kings?"
"I hope he hasn't, I really hope so. Dodger seemed like a nice, cool dog," Skippy shrugged his shoulders, "But tha evidence don't lie. An' if Dodger really is a traitor, working for tha Kings... then I want every gang in New York City to know it. I don't want any more dogs to lose their home turf like we did."
"I have to ask... since living in a big park kinda' cuts you off from the world..." the Boxer dog asked him, "...How many gangs have the Kings hit?"
"I dunno... they first attacked my gang, tha Refugees. Then they drove out tha Ninjas, tha Bone-Crushers, an' tha Houstonians all in one night. An' I even heard a rumor that they scared tha Company out of Chelsea. If that's true... that's five gangs."
"Oh, man... They really are taking over New York," the Boxer shook his head in frustration and distress.
"But that's why we're gonna' stop them!" Skippy growled confidently, "Ya see, after they got driven out, I went an' found tha Bone-Crushers an' tha Ninjas. Together, we're all tha' Refugees. Every day, more an' more dogs come to us, looking for either a place to stay or a way to fight tha Kings. We give them both."
"That's noble of you, but if this is an invitation to join your club, the Park Pack isn't interested. We keep to ourselves in Central Park, and we're gonna' keep it that way," the Boxer leader answered him, a little rude but friendly overall.
"I understand. But I hope ya' can call us allies," Skippy smiled.
"Then allies we are. We street dogs have to stick together, right?"
"That's right," he nodded to the Park Pack, grinning at the camaraderie among the dogs. Skippy gave a woof to his own dogs, telling them it was time to go. Before they left, he turned back to the Park Pack, "Ya' stay safe, okay? An' I really hate to say it, but... don't trust Dodger. If he visits ya, run him out an' be on your guard for an ambush by the Kings."
The Park Pack dogs all nodded to show their understanding and agreement, then the large Boxer turned around and led his gang away. They ran over hills and walkways, finally disappearing into the tree line.
When they were gone, Skippy looked to his gang members and spoke, "Alright, guys. That's another gang in tha know about Dodger. Who should we tell next? How about tha Company?"
"The Company? I could be wrong, but... are they not Dodger's friends?" old Rats titled his head in confusion, "Can we trust them?"
"I think so. If tha rumors are true, then tha Kings scared them away from Chelsea. An' I've heard tha Dodger quit their gang a while back," Skippy mused to his gang members, "So it sounds to me like Dodger had a falling out with them, an' now he's betrayed them to tha Kings. That is low."
"I thought Dodger was nice!" Skull moaned, "But he's not nice at all. He's just a big meanie!"
"You said it, man," Skippy smiled at the childish but lovable Golden Retriever, then looked at all of the dogs standing before him, "Okay, Refugees. Let's move out."
The Refugees and the Company's Meeting, Hell's Kitchen, 1989
It was late in the evening, and Fagin would be back from the office soon. Right about now, the Company would normally be settling in for the night and happily chatting with one another about how the day went. Instead, every one of them was tense, frustrated, and desperate to get out of their crowded, one-room apartment. They had only been there less than two days, but they already hated the place.
Rita stood up off the couch and told her gang that she was going out, and said that they were welcome to join her. Tito sprinted for the door, followed by Billy and Stud. Before Francis joined them, Rita told him that it was best if he stayed behind with the others. She was nervous about leaving their apartment empty.
She led them out the doggy door, down the flights of stairs, and onto the dirty streets of Hell's Kitchen. Rita got a bad feeling in this new neighborhood, and its name certainly didn't make her feel any better. The worst thing was that she knew there was another dog gang in the area, a gang that called themselves the Hellhounds. Few street dogs had ever met them, but according to rumor, they were vicious brutes. Maybe they had been safer facing the Kings.
But they hadn't run into trouble so far, and it took more than a scary name and a few rumors to frighten Rita. She confidently strolled down the city streets ahead of Tito, Billy, and Stud. It felt wonderful to stretch their legs, even in the cool weather.
Suddenly, Rita spotted a group of dogs walking up the street towards them, led by the biggest Rottweiler she had ever seen, with scars all over his body and a spiked black collar around his neck. These had to be the Hellhounds.
"Guys! Run, quickly!" Rita barked at her gang.
"Wait! No, don't run!" the Rottweiler called out to them, "We ain't gonna' hurt ya'! Just came to talk."
"No way! I know who you are! You guys are the Hellhounds!"
"We're not. Our gang is tha' Refugees, as in refugees from tha' Kings," he explained. When he mentioned the Kings, Rita's eyes lit up with interest. The dog then asked, "Are ya guys tha Company?"
"That's right, man! An' don't ya forget it!" Tito yipped up at the enormous Rottweiler, who was easily ten times his size.
"Oh, good! We've been looking all over for your gang!" the huge dog smiled, quite relieved, "See, we heard ya got run out of Chelsea, but we didn't know where ya went! Figured ya didn't go far. We spent hours searching Midtown an' tha Garment District, then we went over to Hell's Kitchen."
"Well, you found us," Rita told him, keeping a safe distance between her gang and these strangers, "What do you want?"
"You're direct. Must be tha leader," he grinned. "My name is Skippy, an' I'm tha leader of our little rebellion. Tha thing is, every single gang tha' Kings have attacked all noticed something similar... before they got ambushed, they all got visited by a certain dog. Ya' know tha' Dodger."
"What? Dodger was at all the—but that means... he IS working for the Kings!" Rita gasped at Skippy's words. "Are you sure? You're not just trying to trick us?"
"No, no, I'm not. I'm trying to warn ya'. Believe me, I wish Dodger wasn't tha bad guy here, cause I actually liked him when I met him... but I can't ignore what he's done," Skippy sighed. When he looked at the Company again, his eyes were full of sympathy, "Heyou're your friend, wasn't he?"
"...Not really, no," Rita shook her head. Tito raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn't flinch. Rita explained, "Dodger sold us out to the Kings. He told them where our old apartment was, and the Kings waited till we left it empty, then ruined it. Destroyed the whole place."
"That's awful! I'm glad ya guys are okay. But if ya want... ya could always join tha' Refugees. What do ya say?"
"Wow! Can we, Rita?" Stud asked her with wide eyes. The pup gazed at Skippy and all of his battle scars in complete admiration, "I wanna fight those no-good Kings!"
"Maybe when ya get older, hotshot," Skippy laughed, but then peered at Stud and Billy curiously, "Rita... are these two related to Dodger? Are they his sons?"
"Brothers, actually. His brothers," she corrected him with a smile, "Their mother stayed with us a couple months back an' had three puppies. She died, but we've raised Dodger's siblings for her ever since. Guess they're part of the gang now!"
"Oh, man... this little guy looks just like him," Skippy shook his head in amazement, giving Billy a friendly smile. The tiny pup quickly hid behind his brother. Skippy backed off politely, then asked Rita in a hushed voice, "Are they... close with Dodger? I don't want them feeling hurt over what he's done."
"They like him a lot, but they rarely see him anymore. They'll be alright," she reassured him, "But I'm afraid we can't join your cause. We may be a gang, but we're not street dogs anymore. Our human has a new apartment, and we stay with him. He needs us in his life."
"That's kind of ya, to live with a human like that," he beamed at the Company, "Ya guys are good dogs. If tha Kings ever bother ya again, or if those Hellhounds give ya trouble, come find us. We'll take care of them for ya."
The Company grinned and thanked the Refugees, then the two groups of dogs went their separate ways. Skippy and his gang disappeared into a trashed alleyway, while Rita decided it was time for her gang to head back to Fagin's apartment building. The Company was silent while they walked. Just like always, Tito was the first one to speak up, "Ya' really think Dodger did all that? Betrayed those gangs? Betrayed us?"
"Yeah. I really do," she glared at no one in particular, "I'm certain of it. Dodger's our enemy now... and he was never our friend."