Disclaimer-I own nothing related to Newsies

Note-I have no idea where those weird numbers at the beginning of the fic came from. Sorry about it, but I don't know how to fix it either.

Part 2: The Game Plan

Spot looked over the three men sitting before him. Only Count was smiling, trying to give the appearance of aloof confidence. Spot had never met him before, but he knew about him from Jack and some others. The only information repeated was that he was fairly new, extremely ambitious, and intimidating. In only six months he had taken over Harlem, and had unspoken control over midtown. Last Spot had heard, he was starting to shake things up in Manhattan and the Bronx. At least, that's what Jack had told him. And Jack didn't normally go to anybody outside to confide in or for help. He was the best leader for Manhattan, all his boys liked him and were loyal, and he was great at keeping things in line. Manhattan wasn't as tough or intimidating as Brooklyn, but Spot was no idiot. Manhattan newsies were smart, for the most part, and kept their system flowing in order. They could normally quench a problem easily, and the times they needed more force, Brooklyn was there. Spot and Jack went way back, and while Spot didn't have any friends, Jack was as close to one as they came. Brooklyn and Manhattan respected and helped each other, producing a solid alliance. Anyone who seriously threatened one did so to the other, everyone knew that. So what was this Count guy doing, it was like suicide!

And yet he sat there, smiling away. It grated Spot to no end, making him want to throw him outside and soak him. But that wasn't what this meeting was about, and anyway, the bulls might be near. Some might think Spot wasn't this prudent, but in actuality, he only fought when necessary or when he couldn't be caught. Well, most of the time. But if he fought as much as his reputation led others to believe, he doubted he would have time to breathe. He'd earned his feared reputation; he didn't have to prove that he was the best fighter anymore, though he did so enough to keep in practice.

"So basically, what you guys are asking me is, what are my intentions regarding your territory?" Count asked this snidely. He was tall and muscular, but so were a lot of guys. He was also a good talker and thinker- it made sense he was a leader, Spot had to admit.

"That, and why did ya take midtown from Skirts, and been bothering the Bronx and me?" Jack appeared unfazed by Count's attitude.

Count shrugged. "It was there, boys. Skirts wasn't doing that great a job, you know it. So I thought I could do better, and I have. I just want what's best for all the newsies, and I humbly think that's me. But you guys don't have anything to worry about. You are great leaders. I'm sorry you got the wrong impression, I'll find out whose been bothering ya and make them stop. So if that's all, I'll be going." Count and Buck stood up. Count spit and held his hand out, and reluctantly Jack and Spot both took it. As they left, Jack leaned over to Spot and whispered, "Ya believe any of that?"

Spot turned back. "Hell no." He looked Jack in the eyes. "We gotta take him down soon Jacky boy. Without causing a huge riot from all his newsies. I hear they are loyal to him, and a fight between us and Harlem and Midtown wouldn't be pretty."

"I agree. But Spot-" Jack hesitated, then said, "I heard that how he got Harlem, and Midtown, was partially by infiltrating. You know, getting some guys inside to talk to the others, get the scoop on the leader and bad mouth him."

"Yeah, I knows Jacky. It happened here. That's why I threw their asses out weeks ago, and am in need of some new newsies." His voice trailed off as he realized what Jack was saying. "Ya mean Rummy?"

Jack nodded. "Admit it Spot, he ain't like a newsie. And it's kinda weird he just showed up now, and-"

"Yeah, I got ya Jacky boy. My gut tells me he's ok, but that's what I got a head for, to not listen to my gut. He doesn't act like a newsie because he's new to the streets, I think. I'm gonna give him a chance. But don't worry, I'll keep my eye out. I don't trust nobody fully."

Jack nodded. Spot knew he didn't agree with the no-trust policy. Jack had a few newsies, plus a girl, that he completely trusted. But, they were his friends and girlfriend. So far Jack hadn't found this to be a problem, but then, he didn't live in Brooklyn. And here, Spot wouldn't befriend or fully trust anyone. He trusted his newsies to beat up anyone who soaked him, or to lie to keep him from the scabs and bulls, but not to choose his own possible well being over theirs. Only the leader took that unspoken oath in Brooklyn, and Spot did so because he cared about his position, and about his newsies. That was just how it was done in Brooklyn.

It was late when Jack and Spot left the restaurant. All the other newsies had left, including Rummy. Spot had liked him once he had seen how smart and pragmatic the kid was. He could be useful to have on his side, but now Jack had given him something new to worry about. Something he was kicking himself for not having thought of. But still, quick thinking newsies like Rummy were always in demand in Brooklyn, kinda the way big tough ones were in Manhattan. Two of the smart, select few in Brooklyn Spot had thrown out after they betrayed Brooklyn to Count. So hopefully-

Spot was thinking so deep that he didn't notice a cat dart out from the shadows between his legs until it was too late. Trying futilely, he twisted awkwardly before crashing into the river. A sharp pain hit him in his ankle, followed by the pain of freezing water. Cursing himself, he heard Jack laughing and called out, "Hey, some help would be appreciated here!"

"Spot Conlon asking for help? I must not have heard right. Say that again?" Jack was leaning over, and jumped back, grinning, as Spot tried to splash him.

"Stuff it, Cowgirl, I think I hurt my ankle." Jack finally got serious, and pulled Spot out. Spot sat for a moment on the docks, feeling his throbbing left ankle. Jack stood over him, asking, "Spotty, ya ok?"

Through gritted teeth, Spot stood up and answered, "Ya, of course, when am I not? I just sprained the damn thing. Nothing's broken." Like I'm a doctor and can tell he said silently to himself. Jack shrugged. "K, if ya say so. Anyway, I gotta be getting back to Manhattan. But I'll see ya real soon, Spot. Im gonna talk to Twig from the Bronx tomorrow afternoon, then we'll meet up later."

Jack tipped his hat back and sprinted down the alley before Spot could say bye. Feeling the beginning drops of rain, he couldn't say he blamed Jack. He shivered in his short-sleeved striped shirt, but realized it was futile to look for shelter when he was already this wet. He tested his ankle. It hurt like hell, but it would support him. Walking at an incredibly slow pace, Spot limped through the streets of Brooklyn, the long walk to the boarding house never seeming longer.

It as pouring when he got there twenty minutes later, but Spot thought to himself, ha, its no good rain, its so cold out my body has lost all feeling and I can't even feel your damn rain anymore! So there, now who's the loser? Such random insane thoughts came to him at the most inappropriate times, and of course he never shared with others what amused him. They happened frequently enough so that the other newsies, upon seeing their leader wet, limping, and laughing, were not ready to declare him mentally unfit.

Crackhead, one of the younger Brooklyn newsies so named because he had a large scar on his head from it being cracked open, looked up from playing cards to ask, "Heya Spot, you ok?" Crackhead was one of the nicer newsies Spot knew. He smiled a lot. Spot often thought of him as Blink reincarnated. He could be annoying, since he seemed to worship Spot and tried to emulate him, but he was a good kid.

Spot smiled his small smile at him. "Yeah, I just initiated myself, thanks to a fricking cat tripping me." At that, all the newsies who had heard him sniggered. It was ok to laugh at Spot when he made fun of himself. Briefly. Spot turned and limped up the stairs. Upstairs was the large bunk room and washroom. Not wanting to get his bed wet, he settled himself down on the floor next to his single bed-the only single in the room, all the other newsies had to share doubles. Spot began gingerly pulling off his left shoe. Crackhead flopped stomach down across the bed next to Spot, watching him. The few other newsies in the room also looked up, but Spot didn't pay enough attention to care.

It was a fight. The swollen ankle didn't want to give up the shoe that easy, and Spot breathed hard, forcing no sound to come out in pain as he yanked it off. Tossing it aside, he pulled off his sock to examine more closely. It was swollen and bruising already. Spot gingerly moved it around, and finding that he could, sighed in relief. He had only used crutches once before, when his ankle was broken, and it had been an experience he did not care to repeat. Satisfied with his original diagnosis, he pushed himself to the washroom to change. Coming out, he saw Crackhead still eyeing him. Tired and in pain, he tried to quell his temper by asking, "So where's Rummy?"

"The new guy? You mean Madman!" Crackhead sat up in his bunk. Spot sank down into his, questioning, "Madman? Who came up with that?"

"Uh, it was either Race or Blink, but they said that was his new name." Crackhead frowned. "Can them Manhattan newsies name one of ours?"

"Course, Crack, it ain't illegal." Spot was still freezing. He hadn't felt that well for a few days, one of the reasons he might of gone a little easy on Rummy. That bout in the rain certainly wasn't going to help.

Crackhead was still chattering. "Well, it oughta be! Anyway, Race took him to some gambling thing, they should be back soon. Just what we need around here, another gambler, right? Hey, Spot, what's up?"

"Nothing Crack. I was just realizing there are three walking mouths out there in New York." His hand was pressed over his temples, and he'd drawn the covers over himself. Feeling Crack looking at him, he glanced and snapped, "What?"

Crack jumped up. "Nothing, Spot. Sorry. Feel better. Can I get you anything?" Damn him. The kid was too nice for this life. Most of the newsies Spot knew didn't earn his sympathy. They didn't need it, they were too concerned about themselves. Spot was that way, but Crack wasn't. And he never would be-two years on the streets hadn't done it yet. Guilty, Spot once again wondered what the hell Crack looked up to him for when Rummy walked into the room.

Spot pushed himself upright and threw off the blanket. He summoned Rummy over, and motioned him to take the empty bunk vacated by Crack. Rummy did so and looked back at him, eyes of stone. Respectful, but without a hint of concern for how awful Spot knew he looked. But that was the Brooklyn newsies. They would become concerned when Spot's health affected them, and until then would mind their own business, wrapped up in their own lives.

"So, how was your first day as a newsie?"

Rummy shrugged. "Pretty good. I don't know if I'll be staying here, at the lodge. I would earn more if I slept on the streets."

Spot nodded. "This is true, but I don't think it's worth it. Brooklyn can be pretty nasty at night, without the other newsies. But it's your decision. You went with Race?"

Yeah, to some poker thing. It was ok, nothing too steep. He's nice. All of Manhattan seems.nice." Upon hearing that, Spot laughed.

"Yeah, they are a regular happy little touchy feel-y family. Kinda sickening, but they're good guys. Madman," Spot said, trying out the new nickname. Rummy looked up, and out of the blue asked, "What's your real name, Spot?"

Spot was taken aback. "What's it to ya?"

Rummy shrugged. "I don't know. Do you like having a nickname?"

Spot shrugged. "Spot's been my name for so long, it ain't a nickname anymore. It is my name."

"Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Rummy is a nickname too, that stuck and became mine."

"Yeah, but that was from your old life. Ya can't hang on to that."

"Yah, that's true. Good rule. Ok, Madman it is."

By this time Spot had laid back down and looked sleepy. He forced his eyelids open and said, "It don't have to be Madman. Crack's right, Manhattan gave ya that one. Some guys have more than one. Jacky's also Cowboy, and some of the boys outside of here call me Brooklyn. It's all good." At that he yawned, apparently ending the conversation. But Rummy hadn't been watching him, and added, "So what would it be? I don't get it, it should have something to do about my personality or a physical characteristic, right?"

Spot groaned into his pillow. "Christ, it ain't that important! Ya got time to think of one."

"Maybe Bookman, I heard someone say that when they saw me bringing up all my novels. But still, I don't know. Spot?" Rummy turned and found Spot asleep, his head buried under his pillow. Rummy smiled and said quietly, "You must have been tired, you didn't even soak me in the mouth again to shut up." He then rose and headed to an empty bunk. He and the rest of the newsies undressed and went to bed, grateful that they were undercover, since they all knew what it felt like not to be.

Spot was actually buried under the pillow for other reasons than to keep out Rummy's yapping. He felt his chest itch, and as hard as he tried to stop the urge to cough, it was a losing battle. Not wanting to keep all the others up all night, he resigned himself to almost suffocation. After awhile he couldn't take it, and he didn't hear the rain outside anymore, so he crept out onto the roof. There he could hack to his heart's content, which he did till he heard signs of life stirring in the bunk room. Morning had come much to soon, seen as he hadn't slept at all, and also seemed never to come, since the roof itself was still wet and he had been trembling in the cold.

Swinging inside, he landed one footed on the right side and clambered for the washroom. He ran hot water over his hands and face for five minutes, trying to ignore the usual loud banter from the boys next to him. He saw a towel being held in front of his face by Badger. After Jack, Badger was the closest thing Spot had to a friend. Meaning, he occasionally expressed concern for Spot's well being without idolizing him. Badger was unofficially Spot's second in command. Smart like Rummy but a great fighter as well, Badger was a true Brooklyn newsie. He took care of the others and listened to Spot, occasionally giving his opinion when asked but otherwise knowing it was Spot's show. Badger could have been a threat to Spot had he had it in him to be back-stabbing, but he hadn't. In the three years Spot had control, and the five years Spot had known him before that, Badger never did anything to raise Spot's suspicions. There was mutual respect on both sides, as well as the fact that they got along fairly well. Acknowledging the benefits of their being allies, they power chain was smooth.

So it was not uncommon for Badger, aware of the troubled times, to raise concern about his leader. "Ya ok there, Spotty?" Only those newsies who had known Spot from before he had become the leader dared call him Spotty.

Spot answered honestly, "If ok means feeling like death revived, then yeah. I sprained my ankle last night and fell into the river, and I think I got the flu or a bad cold now."

Badger nodded, sympathetically. "Bad timing. You sure you can sell papes?"

Flaring, Spot replied, "Do I have a choice? Wouldn't that look good to get around to Count, the leader of Brooklyn tied to a sickbed."

In his irritatingly calm, monotonous voice, Badger said, "I think everyone knows you're sick, Spot. It wasn't exactly a secret, we could hear you last night, and look at you this morning."

Spot threw the towel down and limped to his bed, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt. "I know that's not a mystery, but they don't know how sick, and it would look worse if I just stayed here."

Badger shrugged. "Can't argue with that." Spot looked at him, furious, and Badger said calmly, "You want me to lie? It would look bad if you didn't sell. That doesn't mean ya have too, I'm just agreeing with you- "

"Shut up!" Spot stomped past him. "I swear, what is it with you talking mouths all of a sudden?!" Badger hurried after him, not understanding the insult but knowing it was time to avoid Conlon and his famous temper. The Brooklyn Lodging House was much more worn than the Manhattan one, but it had character, the Brooklyn newsies boasted. The ornamentation was hand made, like the carvings of pictures, quotes, and names that ran down the wall by the staircase. Every newsie for god knows how long had something on that wall. The only rule was you had to be a Brooklyn newsie, and most of what was up there were inside jokes that visitors, even other newsies outside Brooklyn, didn't understand. Against another wall was drawn on targets for slingshot practice, and in the middle of the floor was a mock- chalk outline of a dead body. They had nicknamed the outline Mat. Simmons who ran the lodging house couldn't care less about the place or the boys in it, so long as they paid the fee. It wasn't cozy to any, but it was home to the Brooklyn newsies, one of the few possessions they shared with pride.

Exiting through the door that held the sign Newsboys Lodgings with visitors welcome if female scrawled underneath, Spot and Badger made the short trek to get their papes. Spot paused before reluctantly asking for his usual, one hundred. He didn't know if he could sell them all, but everyone was standing around, and he couldn't very well ask for less. He was Spot Conlon. Badger also took a hundred, and Spot noticed that Rummy had as well. He smiled. Rummy was sorely mistaken if he thought he was going to be able to sell so close to him again today. He wasn't running a charity help organization!

"Ok boys, everyone get to your corners. Rummy, go around and find a place that ain't within looking distance of another newsie. If it's good, claim it. Don't steal someone's spot or they'll soak ya, no matter how much you talk." Rummy looked slightly embarrassed, but nodded quickly. Spot felt bad about having singled him out in public, but he didn't have the energy for tact. Making his way to his spot, the best in Brooklyn, hence his name, he attempted to sell. It hadn't been the best spot when he had started as a newsie. In fact, the corner was overlooked by most, because it had been near Bridge's, the previous Brooklyn leader. Nobody could outsell Bridge, and anyone who had stood at that spot lost customers to Bridge. Spot always loved a challenge, and had made the spot successful, boasting that wherever he was became THE spot to sell. Bridge had laughed, tossed Spot into the river, and daily they had had selling competitions to see who could sell more the quickest. Whenever Spot won Bridge would throw him into the river. They never associated with each other except during those times, but he must have impressed Bridge, because when he lay dying he named Spot the new leader.

Well, you woulda won today, Bridge, Spot thought to himself as he finished selling only half. Normally by now he was close to being finished, and he still had fifty. He felt dizzy, and figured a break was needed. Being near the pier, he headed down and lay on a set of caskets near the water. Closing his eyes and listening to the water, he was thinking of just throwing the rest of the papes into the river when he heard Jack and Twig.

"Hey, ya bum. I swear, that's how them Brooklyn newsies get so intimidating. All they do is lounge around thinking of ways to terrorize others." Twig, the leader of the Bronx, smiled at Spot. "Seriously, Cowboy, ya ever seen one of them actually selling a pape?" Smaller than Spot, she was still tall for a girl, giving her the name Twig. A year older than Spot, she was the perfect image of a girl newsie. Tough and street smart, she was a good leader, maybe a bit too compassionate for Spot's taste, but still, he hadn't heard any real complaints from the Bronx about her. Nothing delicate or frail about her, she demanded to be treated as any other newsie, and since a lot were intimidated by her, that wasn't a problem. Spot had never met her boyfriend, but he bet she had him whipped as well.

With difficulty, Spot sat up, his back to the sun, hoping the shadows would prevent them from seeing his sick face. "Hey Twig, Jacky boy. I hear the Bronx is doing well, considering. Congrats to ya."

Twig seemed pleased to be receiving praise for her territory, but it was quickly overshadowed by the events that had led them to Brooklyn. "Actually Brooklyn, its gotten worse. A lot." She cast a worried glance at Jack, imploring him to finish for her.

Jack sighed. "The Bronx is gonna get hit tonight." Spot stared at him, and asked, "How do ya know that?"

"Well, Count ain't the only one with insiders. Snicky's got a buddy down there in Harlem, and it sounds pretty definite."

"Well, not to be the bad guy, but it could be a set-up." Spot couldn't believe that they were getting that riled up over a suspicion.

"It's more than that, Spot. We snuck in, actually heard them making these plans. They didn't see us, otherwise the would have soaked us-thirty to two, they might of won."

Spot tried to get his brain to think. "Ya sure they didn't want you to hear this?"

Twig stepped in. "I don't think so. Look, I think we might be giving this Count too much credit. Why would he make this up? To get us all to the Bronx, so he would have an even tougher time beating us? To get to Manhattan? We know he's been fishing around Manhattan and my territory, so if that's it, we've got that covered too. We'll have runners stationed between the Bronx and Manhattan, so if any trouble happens in either place, we can hear about it and get there."

Spot thought it over. "Yeah, ok, the worst is that we waste an evening. But what if he tries for Brooklyn?"

Jack said, "I get your concern, but he hasn't been scouting Brooklyn, he's made his focus on mine and Twig's space. Not to inflate your ego, but Brooklyn will probably be the toughest for him to get, without going through Manhattan first."

Spot nodded slowly. "Ok. I'll come with ya, and maybe take some of my boys to help. But first I'm gonna tell Badger what's up, have him post some lookout boys around here, just in case. I gotta look after my newsies too." Twig and Jack nodded, understanding completely. They agreed to meet in the Bronx in three hours. Spot headed back to his corner, not feeling any better but knowing that he needed to sell these since it was obvious he wasn't going to be there for the evening edition. After a little over an hour, he managed to sell them. Exhausted and aching, he sat down right there on the curb, only looking up when Rummy walked over to him. "Hey Spot, I ain't intruding on your territory if I don't have any papes to sell, am I?" He stopped joking and sat down next to Spot when he saw Spot's face. A bit of actual concern in his voice, he asked, "You ok?"

Spot couldn't deny it. "I ain't feeling too good. Too much time on my feet, I guess." Rummy nodded and then asked, "Maybe going to get some food at the diner would make you feel better? I'm supposed to meet Badger there now."

The mere thought of food made Spot so nauseous he thought he was going to throw up, even though he had had nothing to eat all day. "No, I don't think my stomach could take any deliveries right now. But, you said you was going to meet Badger?" That gave Spot an idea. He wasn't sure it was worth the risk, but he was thinking of sending Rummy to relay his message about Count, the Bronx, and security to Badger. Besides the fact that he was running late to get to the Bronx, knowing he would have to take it slow, he also had no desire to be walking any further than absolutely necessary. If he was going to fight later that night, he needed to conserve any strength he had. And this would be an excellent way to test Rummy's reliability. Granted, it could be dangerous-if Rummy turned out to be a scab and Count really was after Brooklyn, it could hurt the boys Spot was entrusted to take care of. But he couldn't help trusting Rummy, and anyway, the chances of things going wrong were slim.

So Spot relayed the information and orders to Rummy, who listened intently and then hurried off. His demeanor gave no sign of anything incriminating, but still, Spot couldn't shake the uneasy feeling inside of him that it was a mistake. That he had just endangered all the Brooklyn newsies lives, lives that he had sworn to protect over anything else. But situations came up, didn't they? Spot sighed, trudging to the Bronx. Such was the life of a leader.