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Part 5: Show Your Hands
Rummy found Spot in a dark corner of the lodge, leaning against the wall. Spot's large eyes appeared larger due to his sunken face, and deeper since they had lost the spark that defined them. He didn't appear to acknowledge that he was no longer alone even when Rummy was standing right in front of him. He didn't cry, of course. Rummy was sure that relieving capability had been knocked out of him by life. But his retreating into himself was just as bad. Wondering if he should risk a slap to his face to shake Spot out of his trance, Rummy suddenly thought of an even more shocking bit to share.
Squatting down painfully in front of Spot, Rummy looked into his blank, empty eyes and said, "You were right." Not receiving any response, he added, "About not trusting me completely. I haven't been totally honest with you."
Finally Spot's eyes, which had been staring at his, flickered with interest. A guarded interest that Rummy had seen before, implying that he still would be able to kill him if what he said next required it. "I'm a thief," he finished lamely. Spot didn't react for a few moments, then quietly said, "Why do you think I'd care to know about this now?"
Rummy shrugged. "I always like being right about things. Good for self- confidence. But anyway, when we first met, you thought I stole your slingshot, so that didn't seem like the best time to share my occupation. I don't share it with many people anyway. The thing is, I can fool a lot of people. Maybe not as a newsie, but most people believe whatever story I tell them, be it I'm a gambler, or a street sweeper, or whatever. But you didn't."
Spot did not look consoled. "It wasn't just me. I trusted ya. It was Jacky too that questioned ya."
"Well, that makes sense. He's a leader too, which means that he has good insight, good feel for people and how to handle them, like you." Rummy was used to soothing egos, but doing it for someone he actually believed in was a new experience.
At the mention of the word leader Spot looked crushed. "I ain't a good leader, I got my boys killed!" Rummy felt a small wrench of anger inside himself, but he hoped it didn't come out in his voice, "I did tell Badger. You were right to think something weird was up with me, but I could be trusted. How could anyone know what was going to happen to Badger?"
Rummy guessed he hadn't succeeded in his anger management so well when he saw the surprised look in Spot's eyes. But he shot back, "It was my responsibility, to know. It was a perfect setup! Count looks like he's moving after Manhattan and the Bronx, meanwhile he has some of my scabbing newsies to tell him everything he needs to know about Brooklyn. Then he gets me and Jack outta the way..I should have known!"
His fist pounding the wall for emphasis, Spot looked ready to start beating himself up when Rummy's next words must have shocked him. Rummy said quietly, "You're right again. It was a perfect setup. It was perfect. It was too good."
Spot looked ready to kill him for such blasphemy as praising Count, but Rummy continued, "We never expected a massacre. That isn't the way things are done here, from what I've learned. What he did was unthinkable to us. To premeditate killing Badger,-they must have known you would tell him before leaving, since they specifically went after him- that has no honor. Even a thief like me knows a little about an honor code-I don't steal from children and I don't go around planning murder. Count has no morals, no honor code, is absolutely vicious. So now we know. It was a horrible way to find this out about him, but now we know what to expect from him. And we can start working out how to retaliate."
When he finished, Spot merely looked coldly at him and said snidely, "We?" If he didn't look so pathetic at that moment, and if Rummy could actually throw a punch, he would have hit Spot. Instead, he rose stiffly to his feet and said, "Be petty with me all you want, Conlon. It's only hurting your newsies out there, who need their leader right now. I may be a thief and not a newsie, but I sure as hell am not going to sit out here taking your insults instead of helping out the people who saved my ass!" Rummy turned and was ready to stomp off when he heard Spot's voice. It was quiet and low, but not weak.
"You sounded like you were going to help a lot longer than that. Why?" It made him stop. It was a fair question. After all, he never planned on being a newsie for that long. And he sure as hell hadn't planned on joining in on a life-endangering revenge plan. This wasn't his scene, and the people hit weren't his. It went against every self-preservation rule of the street there was, and Spot knew that. He had just found out that Rummy's allegiance to the Brooklyn newsies was a sham, a ploy, so he deserved to know where Rummy's newfound loyalty came from.
Rummy turned, and honestly said, "I don't know. Wait, maybe I do. Well, I may be a lot of things, but a killer I'm not. I can stand people thinking a lot of false things about me, but the idea that you thought I'd killed Badger, I couldn't stand that. I guess because I respect you, and Badger. And the fact that I should of gone down with Badger, since I'm sure if Harlem knew that you had told me first they would have done me in too, I can't stand that either. I feel guilty too, for not telling the other newsies once I discovered that Badger hadn't by seven. Finally, the guys in there saved my ass at their own expense. I never thought anyone would do that, especially here."
At that, Spot gave a small smile of pride. "I didn't, either. I think I might have misjudged some of my newsies."
Rummy nodded. "I think I did too. They aren't the nicest guys, but when it really comes down to taking care of Brooklyn and each other, they're there when the chips are down. I owe them whatever I can do. To make up my mistake to them, because I owe it to them, and because I respect the hell out of them. I'm doing it for much the same reasons that you are. Have I talked enough, given enough good reasons now? My jaw is killing me."
Spot smirked quirkily, his usual display of amusement. He stood up slowly, hand on the wall to steady himself. Before taking a hesitant step, he glanced toward the bunk room's door, and half-whispered, "I don't know if I deserve to be the leader anymore." He looked at Rummy, and then straightened himself up, forcing a confident look on his face. "But I do owe it to them, if they want me. And I owe Badger revenge. I guess I can only do that by going in there and leading, if they'll let me."
"Of course they'll let you. You are Brooklyn, to them." Spot didn't give any acknowledgment that he heard Rummy, except that he pushed himself off the wall and strongly walked to the bunk room.
The scene inside was much the same as it had been before, only a bit more crowded as injured newsies were brought in and left on beds for treatment. Several more reinforcements from Manhattan and the Bronx had arrived, along with extra linen, bandages, alcohol, water and food. Jack had been kneeling down on the floor, where some of the patients had to be placed since the beds were all taken, giving out water when Rummy and Spot reentered. Immediately Jack stood up and headed over. Spot's expression upon seeing the situation before him was so horrified that Rummy was worried he would run out again. But his street and leadership skills took over, and by the time Jack arrived by them he looked emotionally impenetrable.
"You ok, Spot?" Jack asked. Spot nodded slowly. His voice cracked a bit, but he managed, "Loaded question. I think so. I gotta be, don't I?" Jack nodded back. "Yea, you do." With that, he and Spot went off, Spot stopping at every bedside to talk to the person there. Jack and several others stood at his side, relaying information on the newsies in the hospital, reinforcements, and damages. Somehow Spot took it all in calmly, reassuring everyone and directing any idle hands to jobs like distributing food, laying out linens to make makeshift beds on the floor, going on patrol and to the hospital, and patient care. Only a few times did he waver or get a distant look in his eyes, and Jack was there to put his hand on Spot's shoulder, gently directing him back to the problem but letting Spot lead. Shaking his head in amazement at both leaders, Rummy went back to the only thing he could offer at the moment, mediocre medical care and encouragement to the newsie patients.
Thirteen had died so far, and another ten didn't have good prognoses. At least fifty were injured. Twenty-six still in the hospital. In the first moment Spot was able to think alone since the hit, he couldn't get the bleak details out of his mind. All of his strongest newsies were in the worst conditions. Count had known who to go after. It would take weeks to regroup and recuperate, far too long a delay. Spot expected Count and Harlem to reappear any second, or for word to come that they had attacked someplace else. Spot was amazed and grateful that Jack was still in Brooklyn, helping, rather than waiting for a possible ambush in Manhattan.
The night was over. Spot, sitting down on a small free space on the floor in the bunk room, his aching back to the wall, realized this was the first time he had done so all night. He'd never felt so exhausted. He tried to focus on what else he could be doing at the moment. He hadn't even realized that his eyes had closed until he felt a soft shake on his shoulder, and heard Jack ask quietly, "Spot, you awake?"
It was too hard to open his eyes, but he nodded and said hoarsely, "Yeah, Jack, I'm awake. What's up?"
Spot heard Jack sit down next to him. His voice sounded strained. "I heard Carver didn't make it." Spot again felt a wrench in his gut, even though he had already heard. He simply forced his eyes open, and staring ahead said blankly, "I know." He looked over at Jack, and saw unabashed sympathy in his face. Jack never wanted any sympathy for himself, but he was always more than willing to give it out. But for some reason it didn't irritate Spot this time. He simply gave him a weak smile. "I'm ok, Jack. Really."
Jack nodded. "We'll get them." Spot began to agree, but then couldn't hold back. "How, Jack? I lost all my best fighters! And the rest, they won't be ready to do that kind of soaking for a while. I don't even think I could do that much damage to anyone right now." Spot raised one of his hands, which trembled uncontrollably from sickness and exhaustion, for emphasis.
"I know that. But we can't wait, either, Spot. Ya know that." Damn it, didn't Jack think he knew that? Slowly letting his breath out, he said, "I know that, Jack. You know I know that. If you have any suggestions, I'd be open to them." At that, Jack seemed just as lost.
"I don't know. But I do know we gotta move fast. You think you'll be all right for a while? I want to go check on my newsies. And I'll talk to Twig and the others. Maybe get an idea." Jack looked anxiously at Spot. Spot didn't really want to be alone, but Jack had donated more than enough of his time. Spot forced a positive tone. "Course, Jack. I'll be fine. Thanks for everything. I'll see you tonight. We'll think of something by then." Jack agreed, with the same amount of false confidence, and they spit shook, and then he left.
Trying to forget the wave of nerves that came over him, Spot observed the bunk room. New newsies had been called on watch, taking care of the injured. Others were sleeping in the halls. The only one still on medical detail was Rummy. Spot stared at him, not really feeling guilt over what he had done to him. He didn't have enough guilt left in him. Rummy looked almost as bad as he did. His nose was clearly broken, and hadn't been taped yet. Neither had any of his cuts, and his dislocated shoulder still hung uselessly. Rummy, like Spot and some of the other non-critically injured, had forgone using any of the supplies on themselves, suffering so there would be plenty for the seriously wounded. Maybe he felt a little guilt.
Spot pushed himself into a standing position and called Rummy over. Rummy looked surprised, but did so. It looked as if the immediate panic was subsiding in everyone, giving everyone some breathing time. When Rummy stopped in front of Spot, Spot gave his crooked grin and said, "You look terrible. What did you do, get into a fight with a Brooklyn newsie?"
Rummy, tired but willing, played along. "Yeah, for once I kept my trap shut and it turned out that it wasn't the best idea. Some Brooklyn freak knocked that awareness into me. How about you? I could say the same thing, looking at you."
"No, I had it worse. I had to be the one to knock some awareness into some thieving freak." They both smiled, and then remembering where they were, turned somber. Spot shifted, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, Rummy.let me take care of that nose and shoulder for you." Rummy looked surprised, figuring that was not what Spot was going to say, but agreed. The both sat on the floor, Spot instructing. "Bit down on the collar of your shirt. I'm going to try to pop the shoulder joint back in first, and that way you won't bite off your tongue or crack a tooth. It hurts the worst when it's being put back, but try to stay relaxed and don't move. It should feel better soon after."
Calmly following Spot's instructions, Rummy held up well, only jerking and grunting a bit as Spot swiftly pulled the arm back and upward, rolling the joint back in. He panted for a few moments afterward, but held up well. Spot was impressed. He'd seen some guys shriek when they had it done to them. He told Rummy so, and then set about taping up Rummy's nose and making a makeshift sling for his arm. As he was doing so, Rummy asked, "Where'd you learn to do that?"
Spot shrugged. "On the streets, I guess. I've had it a few times myself. I've never broken my nose before, though. When something is this good looking, you don't want to mess up the masterpiece." Rummy gave a small laugh. When Spot was done, Rummy felt his bandages and said, "You did a good job. Ever think of being a nurse?"
Spot threw the leftover bandages at him. "Shuddap." Then he grew serious. "Look, Rummy.thanks for what you did last night. I don't say thanks that often, but I mean it. You're a good newsie." Rummy grinned, taking that as the apology it was meant to be.
Spot then sighed, looking at the rest of the newsies. Troubled, he said, "We aren't going to be ready to fight them. Physically, we won't be ready for a real fight in time." Looking around, Rummy had to agree. Trying to make Spot feel better, he joked lamely, "Well, I couldn't do the physical fighting thing, and I turned out all right." Suddenly, as soon as he'd finished speaking, Spot whirled around to stare at him. Rummy looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. A slow smile crossed his face to match Spot's quirky smirk. Rummy's grin widened fuller than it had in weeks. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Part 5: Show Your Hands
Rummy found Spot in a dark corner of the lodge, leaning against the wall. Spot's large eyes appeared larger due to his sunken face, and deeper since they had lost the spark that defined them. He didn't appear to acknowledge that he was no longer alone even when Rummy was standing right in front of him. He didn't cry, of course. Rummy was sure that relieving capability had been knocked out of him by life. But his retreating into himself was just as bad. Wondering if he should risk a slap to his face to shake Spot out of his trance, Rummy suddenly thought of an even more shocking bit to share.
Squatting down painfully in front of Spot, Rummy looked into his blank, empty eyes and said, "You were right." Not receiving any response, he added, "About not trusting me completely. I haven't been totally honest with you."
Finally Spot's eyes, which had been staring at his, flickered with interest. A guarded interest that Rummy had seen before, implying that he still would be able to kill him if what he said next required it. "I'm a thief," he finished lamely. Spot didn't react for a few moments, then quietly said, "Why do you think I'd care to know about this now?"
Rummy shrugged. "I always like being right about things. Good for self- confidence. But anyway, when we first met, you thought I stole your slingshot, so that didn't seem like the best time to share my occupation. I don't share it with many people anyway. The thing is, I can fool a lot of people. Maybe not as a newsie, but most people believe whatever story I tell them, be it I'm a gambler, or a street sweeper, or whatever. But you didn't."
Spot did not look consoled. "It wasn't just me. I trusted ya. It was Jacky too that questioned ya."
"Well, that makes sense. He's a leader too, which means that he has good insight, good feel for people and how to handle them, like you." Rummy was used to soothing egos, but doing it for someone he actually believed in was a new experience.
At the mention of the word leader Spot looked crushed. "I ain't a good leader, I got my boys killed!" Rummy felt a small wrench of anger inside himself, but he hoped it didn't come out in his voice, "I did tell Badger. You were right to think something weird was up with me, but I could be trusted. How could anyone know what was going to happen to Badger?"
Rummy guessed he hadn't succeeded in his anger management so well when he saw the surprised look in Spot's eyes. But he shot back, "It was my responsibility, to know. It was a perfect setup! Count looks like he's moving after Manhattan and the Bronx, meanwhile he has some of my scabbing newsies to tell him everything he needs to know about Brooklyn. Then he gets me and Jack outta the way..I should have known!"
His fist pounding the wall for emphasis, Spot looked ready to start beating himself up when Rummy's next words must have shocked him. Rummy said quietly, "You're right again. It was a perfect setup. It was perfect. It was too good."
Spot looked ready to kill him for such blasphemy as praising Count, but Rummy continued, "We never expected a massacre. That isn't the way things are done here, from what I've learned. What he did was unthinkable to us. To premeditate killing Badger,-they must have known you would tell him before leaving, since they specifically went after him- that has no honor. Even a thief like me knows a little about an honor code-I don't steal from children and I don't go around planning murder. Count has no morals, no honor code, is absolutely vicious. So now we know. It was a horrible way to find this out about him, but now we know what to expect from him. And we can start working out how to retaliate."
When he finished, Spot merely looked coldly at him and said snidely, "We?" If he didn't look so pathetic at that moment, and if Rummy could actually throw a punch, he would have hit Spot. Instead, he rose stiffly to his feet and said, "Be petty with me all you want, Conlon. It's only hurting your newsies out there, who need their leader right now. I may be a thief and not a newsie, but I sure as hell am not going to sit out here taking your insults instead of helping out the people who saved my ass!" Rummy turned and was ready to stomp off when he heard Spot's voice. It was quiet and low, but not weak.
"You sounded like you were going to help a lot longer than that. Why?" It made him stop. It was a fair question. After all, he never planned on being a newsie for that long. And he sure as hell hadn't planned on joining in on a life-endangering revenge plan. This wasn't his scene, and the people hit weren't his. It went against every self-preservation rule of the street there was, and Spot knew that. He had just found out that Rummy's allegiance to the Brooklyn newsies was a sham, a ploy, so he deserved to know where Rummy's newfound loyalty came from.
Rummy turned, and honestly said, "I don't know. Wait, maybe I do. Well, I may be a lot of things, but a killer I'm not. I can stand people thinking a lot of false things about me, but the idea that you thought I'd killed Badger, I couldn't stand that. I guess because I respect you, and Badger. And the fact that I should of gone down with Badger, since I'm sure if Harlem knew that you had told me first they would have done me in too, I can't stand that either. I feel guilty too, for not telling the other newsies once I discovered that Badger hadn't by seven. Finally, the guys in there saved my ass at their own expense. I never thought anyone would do that, especially here."
At that, Spot gave a small smile of pride. "I didn't, either. I think I might have misjudged some of my newsies."
Rummy nodded. "I think I did too. They aren't the nicest guys, but when it really comes down to taking care of Brooklyn and each other, they're there when the chips are down. I owe them whatever I can do. To make up my mistake to them, because I owe it to them, and because I respect the hell out of them. I'm doing it for much the same reasons that you are. Have I talked enough, given enough good reasons now? My jaw is killing me."
Spot smirked quirkily, his usual display of amusement. He stood up slowly, hand on the wall to steady himself. Before taking a hesitant step, he glanced toward the bunk room's door, and half-whispered, "I don't know if I deserve to be the leader anymore." He looked at Rummy, and then straightened himself up, forcing a confident look on his face. "But I do owe it to them, if they want me. And I owe Badger revenge. I guess I can only do that by going in there and leading, if they'll let me."
"Of course they'll let you. You are Brooklyn, to them." Spot didn't give any acknowledgment that he heard Rummy, except that he pushed himself off the wall and strongly walked to the bunk room.
The scene inside was much the same as it had been before, only a bit more crowded as injured newsies were brought in and left on beds for treatment. Several more reinforcements from Manhattan and the Bronx had arrived, along with extra linen, bandages, alcohol, water and food. Jack had been kneeling down on the floor, where some of the patients had to be placed since the beds were all taken, giving out water when Rummy and Spot reentered. Immediately Jack stood up and headed over. Spot's expression upon seeing the situation before him was so horrified that Rummy was worried he would run out again. But his street and leadership skills took over, and by the time Jack arrived by them he looked emotionally impenetrable.
"You ok, Spot?" Jack asked. Spot nodded slowly. His voice cracked a bit, but he managed, "Loaded question. I think so. I gotta be, don't I?" Jack nodded back. "Yea, you do." With that, he and Spot went off, Spot stopping at every bedside to talk to the person there. Jack and several others stood at his side, relaying information on the newsies in the hospital, reinforcements, and damages. Somehow Spot took it all in calmly, reassuring everyone and directing any idle hands to jobs like distributing food, laying out linens to make makeshift beds on the floor, going on patrol and to the hospital, and patient care. Only a few times did he waver or get a distant look in his eyes, and Jack was there to put his hand on Spot's shoulder, gently directing him back to the problem but letting Spot lead. Shaking his head in amazement at both leaders, Rummy went back to the only thing he could offer at the moment, mediocre medical care and encouragement to the newsie patients.
Thirteen had died so far, and another ten didn't have good prognoses. At least fifty were injured. Twenty-six still in the hospital. In the first moment Spot was able to think alone since the hit, he couldn't get the bleak details out of his mind. All of his strongest newsies were in the worst conditions. Count had known who to go after. It would take weeks to regroup and recuperate, far too long a delay. Spot expected Count and Harlem to reappear any second, or for word to come that they had attacked someplace else. Spot was amazed and grateful that Jack was still in Brooklyn, helping, rather than waiting for a possible ambush in Manhattan.
The night was over. Spot, sitting down on a small free space on the floor in the bunk room, his aching back to the wall, realized this was the first time he had done so all night. He'd never felt so exhausted. He tried to focus on what else he could be doing at the moment. He hadn't even realized that his eyes had closed until he felt a soft shake on his shoulder, and heard Jack ask quietly, "Spot, you awake?"
It was too hard to open his eyes, but he nodded and said hoarsely, "Yeah, Jack, I'm awake. What's up?"
Spot heard Jack sit down next to him. His voice sounded strained. "I heard Carver didn't make it." Spot again felt a wrench in his gut, even though he had already heard. He simply forced his eyes open, and staring ahead said blankly, "I know." He looked over at Jack, and saw unabashed sympathy in his face. Jack never wanted any sympathy for himself, but he was always more than willing to give it out. But for some reason it didn't irritate Spot this time. He simply gave him a weak smile. "I'm ok, Jack. Really."
Jack nodded. "We'll get them." Spot began to agree, but then couldn't hold back. "How, Jack? I lost all my best fighters! And the rest, they won't be ready to do that kind of soaking for a while. I don't even think I could do that much damage to anyone right now." Spot raised one of his hands, which trembled uncontrollably from sickness and exhaustion, for emphasis.
"I know that. But we can't wait, either, Spot. Ya know that." Damn it, didn't Jack think he knew that? Slowly letting his breath out, he said, "I know that, Jack. You know I know that. If you have any suggestions, I'd be open to them." At that, Jack seemed just as lost.
"I don't know. But I do know we gotta move fast. You think you'll be all right for a while? I want to go check on my newsies. And I'll talk to Twig and the others. Maybe get an idea." Jack looked anxiously at Spot. Spot didn't really want to be alone, but Jack had donated more than enough of his time. Spot forced a positive tone. "Course, Jack. I'll be fine. Thanks for everything. I'll see you tonight. We'll think of something by then." Jack agreed, with the same amount of false confidence, and they spit shook, and then he left.
Trying to forget the wave of nerves that came over him, Spot observed the bunk room. New newsies had been called on watch, taking care of the injured. Others were sleeping in the halls. The only one still on medical detail was Rummy. Spot stared at him, not really feeling guilt over what he had done to him. He didn't have enough guilt left in him. Rummy looked almost as bad as he did. His nose was clearly broken, and hadn't been taped yet. Neither had any of his cuts, and his dislocated shoulder still hung uselessly. Rummy, like Spot and some of the other non-critically injured, had forgone using any of the supplies on themselves, suffering so there would be plenty for the seriously wounded. Maybe he felt a little guilt.
Spot pushed himself into a standing position and called Rummy over. Rummy looked surprised, but did so. It looked as if the immediate panic was subsiding in everyone, giving everyone some breathing time. When Rummy stopped in front of Spot, Spot gave his crooked grin and said, "You look terrible. What did you do, get into a fight with a Brooklyn newsie?"
Rummy, tired but willing, played along. "Yeah, for once I kept my trap shut and it turned out that it wasn't the best idea. Some Brooklyn freak knocked that awareness into me. How about you? I could say the same thing, looking at you."
"No, I had it worse. I had to be the one to knock some awareness into some thieving freak." They both smiled, and then remembering where they were, turned somber. Spot shifted, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, Rummy.let me take care of that nose and shoulder for you." Rummy looked surprised, figuring that was not what Spot was going to say, but agreed. The both sat on the floor, Spot instructing. "Bit down on the collar of your shirt. I'm going to try to pop the shoulder joint back in first, and that way you won't bite off your tongue or crack a tooth. It hurts the worst when it's being put back, but try to stay relaxed and don't move. It should feel better soon after."
Calmly following Spot's instructions, Rummy held up well, only jerking and grunting a bit as Spot swiftly pulled the arm back and upward, rolling the joint back in. He panted for a few moments afterward, but held up well. Spot was impressed. He'd seen some guys shriek when they had it done to them. He told Rummy so, and then set about taping up Rummy's nose and making a makeshift sling for his arm. As he was doing so, Rummy asked, "Where'd you learn to do that?"
Spot shrugged. "On the streets, I guess. I've had it a few times myself. I've never broken my nose before, though. When something is this good looking, you don't want to mess up the masterpiece." Rummy gave a small laugh. When Spot was done, Rummy felt his bandages and said, "You did a good job. Ever think of being a nurse?"
Spot threw the leftover bandages at him. "Shuddap." Then he grew serious. "Look, Rummy.thanks for what you did last night. I don't say thanks that often, but I mean it. You're a good newsie." Rummy grinned, taking that as the apology it was meant to be.
Spot then sighed, looking at the rest of the newsies. Troubled, he said, "We aren't going to be ready to fight them. Physically, we won't be ready for a real fight in time." Looking around, Rummy had to agree. Trying to make Spot feel better, he joked lamely, "Well, I couldn't do the physical fighting thing, and I turned out all right." Suddenly, as soon as he'd finished speaking, Spot whirled around to stare at him. Rummy looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. A slow smile crossed his face to match Spot's quirky smirk. Rummy's grin widened fuller than it had in weeks. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
