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Part 3: Place Your Bets
The Newsgirl's Lodging House had carpeting. It wasn't nice or new carpeting by far, but still, how fair was this? Race was pondering this when he saw Spot wave him over. They had been there for hours with no word. He sifted through the crowd. Every newsie from the Bronx was there, as well as delegations from Manhattan and Brooklyn. The other territories weren't invited, their loyalty being uncertain as of yet. Race was a bit miffed that he was here. It was the unspoken rule that he was second in command to Jack, but Blink had been left in charge back in Manhattan.
Spot was laying on the floor, taking obvious advantage of the carpeting. "It's so sad to see such an uncultured newsie. Spot, do we have to go over what furniture is for again?" Race couldn't resist. He knew full well that all the furniture was taken. Spot could have easily gotten someone out of their seat, but he seemed more comfortable lying down. Spot did nothing more than throw the makeshift ball he'd been tossing around at Race, who easily caught it. He sat down on the floor next to Spot, who sat up groaning. "Shaddup. I got something to ask ya."
"Like why I'm here and not in Manhattan? Why I have been striped of my rank and pride? Why the hell I let myself beat Jack last night in poker, if this is the punishment for it?"
Spot looked at him as if he'd grown another head. "Hell no. Why would I care about that? No, I wanted to ask what you thought about Rummy?"
Race, a little miffed at his rant being ended, responded, "Oh, Madman? He seemed ok. Not the friendliest guy I've ever met, but when he said he didn't fight, I knew he was the one to try my tricks out on. Unfortunately, he knew most of them. Good gambler. Seemed smart. Why?"
Spot shook his head. "I dunno. I guess that I'm a little nervous. What with everything going on, it's kinda hard for me to trust him."
Race said, mock shocked, "Hard for Spot Conlon to trust somebody? Get out. That's a headline even too shocking for me to have made up."
Spot gave him a smart-ass look right back. Not seriously, he retorted, "Ya wanna mess with me, Higgins?" He laughed when Race made the sign of the cross in a fake plea for mercy, then added, standing up, "Don't take being here as an insult, Race. Jacky needed ya here. It's a compliment."
Race seemed about to make another of his infamous remarks, but instead offered, "Thanks, Brooklyn. Really. Ya got some class, after all!" For Race, that was a restrained, sincere comment, but before the fuzzy little moment could continue for him, a sweaty, panting Boots ran into the room. Gasping, it took him a moment to get his breath. In the meantime, a huge crown had gathered around him, all watching with tense faces. Finally, when Boots could speak, Jack asked, "What is it, Boots?! Its is Manhattan? We gotta go, now!"
Jack started pushing for the door, but Boots' voice stopped him. "No! No, Jack, it ain't Manhattan. Manhattan's fine, for now."
"Well, it can't be the Bronx, were all here!" Twig broke in nervously, looking terrified that she had somehow forgotten something and now her territory and newsies were sunk. Both Jack and Spot could relate, for there was nothing worse than the feeling that you had let your newsies down.
Boots was still impatient to get the truth out. "Listen to me everyone! It ain't Manhattan, it ain't the Bronx, but someplace was hit tonight. It was." Boots paused, slowly looking over at Spot. All eyes turned towards Spot, and he felt his body go numb, followed by his face becoming flaming and anger boiling in him.
Boots looked terrified. No doubt this had been one mission none of the newsies had wanted to take. "It-It-It, It was, It was Brooklyn, Spot. They was hit real bad. I talked to the one that came over to Manhattan to tell us, and he said they had no idea it was coming. But they think it's over now Spot. Spot?" Long before Boots had finished Spot had run out the door, no doubt back to Brooklyn. The other three Brooklyn newsies tore after him. Boots looked near tears, his fear of being the killed messenger replaced now with the brevity of the news. Twig pulled him compassionately into a quick embrace, before sending some of her best newsies to follow Spot. It wasn't as if she didn't want to go herself, but she still had to worry about the Bronx. Once that was secure, that no other attack would happen, she would go over.
Jack understood that. He should be getting back to Manhattan. Now that Brooklyn was hit, no doubt fears and anxieties would be running high, and as the leader he was responsible for calming everyone down and thinking of a new line of attack. But it was Brooklyn. In both senses of the word. Jack wasn't sure Spot would do it for him, hell, he wasn't sure any leader would, if Twig wouldn't. But he had to. Turning to Race, he began to speak, when Race said, "I'm on it. I'll be back in Manhattan with Boots in no time."
Jack nodded his thanks, and with the rest of the Manhattan newsies who had come to the Bronx, and some of Twig's men, took off after Spot.
Part 3: Place Your Bets
The Newsgirl's Lodging House had carpeting. It wasn't nice or new carpeting by far, but still, how fair was this? Race was pondering this when he saw Spot wave him over. They had been there for hours with no word. He sifted through the crowd. Every newsie from the Bronx was there, as well as delegations from Manhattan and Brooklyn. The other territories weren't invited, their loyalty being uncertain as of yet. Race was a bit miffed that he was here. It was the unspoken rule that he was second in command to Jack, but Blink had been left in charge back in Manhattan.
Spot was laying on the floor, taking obvious advantage of the carpeting. "It's so sad to see such an uncultured newsie. Spot, do we have to go over what furniture is for again?" Race couldn't resist. He knew full well that all the furniture was taken. Spot could have easily gotten someone out of their seat, but he seemed more comfortable lying down. Spot did nothing more than throw the makeshift ball he'd been tossing around at Race, who easily caught it. He sat down on the floor next to Spot, who sat up groaning. "Shaddup. I got something to ask ya."
"Like why I'm here and not in Manhattan? Why I have been striped of my rank and pride? Why the hell I let myself beat Jack last night in poker, if this is the punishment for it?"
Spot looked at him as if he'd grown another head. "Hell no. Why would I care about that? No, I wanted to ask what you thought about Rummy?"
Race, a little miffed at his rant being ended, responded, "Oh, Madman? He seemed ok. Not the friendliest guy I've ever met, but when he said he didn't fight, I knew he was the one to try my tricks out on. Unfortunately, he knew most of them. Good gambler. Seemed smart. Why?"
Spot shook his head. "I dunno. I guess that I'm a little nervous. What with everything going on, it's kinda hard for me to trust him."
Race said, mock shocked, "Hard for Spot Conlon to trust somebody? Get out. That's a headline even too shocking for me to have made up."
Spot gave him a smart-ass look right back. Not seriously, he retorted, "Ya wanna mess with me, Higgins?" He laughed when Race made the sign of the cross in a fake plea for mercy, then added, standing up, "Don't take being here as an insult, Race. Jacky needed ya here. It's a compliment."
Race seemed about to make another of his infamous remarks, but instead offered, "Thanks, Brooklyn. Really. Ya got some class, after all!" For Race, that was a restrained, sincere comment, but before the fuzzy little moment could continue for him, a sweaty, panting Boots ran into the room. Gasping, it took him a moment to get his breath. In the meantime, a huge crown had gathered around him, all watching with tense faces. Finally, when Boots could speak, Jack asked, "What is it, Boots?! Its is Manhattan? We gotta go, now!"
Jack started pushing for the door, but Boots' voice stopped him. "No! No, Jack, it ain't Manhattan. Manhattan's fine, for now."
"Well, it can't be the Bronx, were all here!" Twig broke in nervously, looking terrified that she had somehow forgotten something and now her territory and newsies were sunk. Both Jack and Spot could relate, for there was nothing worse than the feeling that you had let your newsies down.
Boots was still impatient to get the truth out. "Listen to me everyone! It ain't Manhattan, it ain't the Bronx, but someplace was hit tonight. It was." Boots paused, slowly looking over at Spot. All eyes turned towards Spot, and he felt his body go numb, followed by his face becoming flaming and anger boiling in him.
Boots looked terrified. No doubt this had been one mission none of the newsies had wanted to take. "It-It-It, It was, It was Brooklyn, Spot. They was hit real bad. I talked to the one that came over to Manhattan to tell us, and he said they had no idea it was coming. But they think it's over now Spot. Spot?" Long before Boots had finished Spot had run out the door, no doubt back to Brooklyn. The other three Brooklyn newsies tore after him. Boots looked near tears, his fear of being the killed messenger replaced now with the brevity of the news. Twig pulled him compassionately into a quick embrace, before sending some of her best newsies to follow Spot. It wasn't as if she didn't want to go herself, but she still had to worry about the Bronx. Once that was secure, that no other attack would happen, she would go over.
Jack understood that. He should be getting back to Manhattan. Now that Brooklyn was hit, no doubt fears and anxieties would be running high, and as the leader he was responsible for calming everyone down and thinking of a new line of attack. But it was Brooklyn. In both senses of the word. Jack wasn't sure Spot would do it for him, hell, he wasn't sure any leader would, if Twig wouldn't. But he had to. Turning to Race, he began to speak, when Race said, "I'm on it. I'll be back in Manhattan with Boots in no time."
Jack nodded his thanks, and with the rest of the Manhattan newsies who had come to the Bronx, and some of Twig's men, took off after Spot.
