AN: This is my first time doing one of these... *laughs* So... anyway... Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I'm glad you liked it! *hugs*
Chapter 2:
Jack took the cane and examined it. "Think she was killed by this or somethin'? Or was it jus' somethin' nearby that got..." he paused, swallowing hard, "in th' way?"
"Dunno. But it's somethin'. That's better then nothin'... right?" Bumlets' brow knit together and he stared at the item in his friend's hand. "Why does that look so familiar?"
He studied it longer. "I dunno... But we's takin' it wit' us." He nodded firmly, gripping it tightly in his hand.
The others, too concerned for him, agreed.
They continued their meticulous search, particularly in the area the cane had been found. Fabric that had been looked through was searched again, several times. No chair or table was left literally unturned.
It was then Jack spotted them. Three dinged glass marbles, just near a chair leg he had tipped over, glinting a bit in the awkward lamplight. Upon closer observation, he noticed that these too were speckled with blood- just a spot here or there. One wouldn't have noticed it unless they were keenly searching for just that. The marbles and the cane struck a chord of familiarity within him, but he couldn't place his finger on just what the relationship the two items had. Carefully, he slipped the marbles in his pocket, knowing that it would come to him sooner or later. The final clue was a scrap of ripped satin also lightly speckled with a very, very fine spray of blood. Much time had passed during their search and they left Irving Hall in the wee hours of pre-dawn morning, tired, but having a sense of accomplishment.
"We did good, fellas," Jack murmured, slipping into the lodging house. Kloppman had been kind enough to leave the door unlocked for them. The four left their nightly lodging rate on the front desk and quietly crept up the creaky staircase. To their surprise, the other newsies were still up; the older ones, anyway.
"What's that you got, Jack?" Kid Blink inquired, gesturing to the cane in his hand.
He tossed the slender object to him. "Found that... along wit' some other things."
Race snatched it from Kid Blink and looked at it himself. "What else didja find?"
Fishing in his pockets, Jack produce the scrap of cloth and the marbles. "Whad'ya think, fellas?"
Race twirled the cane in his hands, staring hard at the tarnished gold cap. "Dunno what t' think, Jack. It'd be easier if we knew who didn't like Medda. But, I mean, who couldn't like 'er?" He took his eyes off the cane for a moment and glanced at his friend. "I dunno 'bout you, but I jus' can't shake th' fact that I know this cane!"
"Hey, ain't that Spot's cane?" Itey inquired, almost offhandedly.
Hastily, Jack snatched the cane from Race and peered closely at its cap. In tiny scratches were the initials S.C. "I knew it," he muttered to himself, thumbing the markings. "I knew it was familiar... an' th' marbles. Well... can't say those were his, but ya know... Coulda been."
"Why would Spot kill Medda?"
"He didn't kill her!" was his vehement reply. "Spot wouldn't kill her!" But he couldn't ignore the sense of doubt niggling in the pit of his stomach. 'Right?' he asked himself. 'Right?'
"Jack's right," Kid Blink replied. "Spot's one of us. He wouldn't do that... 'Sides... he coulda just been there an' left it..." Suddenly he turned to Jack. "Hey! Maybe Spot saw what happened!"
That suggestion calmed Jack. He didn't like to assume his friend was guilty of such a crime. "Yeah. Yeah! Okay, we'll talk to 'im tomorrow... He'll know what happened." He glanced around the lodging house. "Let's get t' bed. We'll be tired sellin' papes." With that command, the others drifted off to bed. But Jack couldn't sleep. It kept rolling through his head. His trusted friend was now a suspect in Medda's murder. 'Say it ain't so, Spot.'
* * *
The walk to Brooklyn was a nervous one. Jack and Bumlets crossed the Bridge, for once not taking the traditional pause to scream over the edge. They headed straight for the docks, where Spot and his boys usually were after selling newspapers. That day was no exception. Boys were leaping off the docks, climbing back on, engaging in horseplay, typical boy behavior. Spot was sprawled across a stack of boxes with his cap resting over his eyes.
"Whad'ya doin' here?" demanded Spot's right-hand man, Tony.
Jack and Bumlets both ignored him, approaching the leader. "Wha'dya say Spot," Jack greeted him.
Spot pulled his cap off his face and squinted down on the docks. When he focused on them, he nodded and jumped down. "How's it rollin' Jack, Bumlets." He exchanged a spitshake with both. "What brings ya t' Brooklyn?"
"Jus' doin' some investigatin'," was Jack's careful reply.
Spot squinted at him. "Investigatin'?"
"Yeah... See, Medda was murdered-"
"So I heard."
"Anyway-"
"Think I did it or somethin'? Is that why ya came t' Brooklyn? Well, I didn't okay?"
He stared at Spot. "No. I's jus' wonderin' if you'd been there that night or somethin'. If ya could point us in any direction, seein's how ya got boys out all over for ya findin' things out."
Jack noted how Spot visibly relaxed. "Nah, Jacky-boy. I ain't heard nothin' 'cept th' search is goin' real slow."
"Yeah, they's probably gonna give it up soon. I jus'... That can't happen? I gotta get justice for Medda."
Spot smiled. "You do that, Jacky-boy."
They fell uncomfortably silent. Off in the distance, a church bell tolled, ringing in the hour. Bumlets was the first to say anything. "Well, I guess we outta go, eh Jack? Evenin' papes to sell an' all?"
After a brief pause, he seemed to break from his trance, and he nodded. "Yeah, yeah... Well, see ya 'round Spot."
He nodded. "I'll let ya know if I find anythin' out!" he called as they walked away.
"Thanks Spot." Jack and Bumlets left silently. They were halfway across Brooklyn Bridge when Jack stopped and leaned against the railing, looking at the expanse of dirty water below.
"Spot didn't have it." Bumlets stood next to him, watching the sunset.
"Didn't have what?" He turned to his friend.
"His cane."
Jack frowned, looking back at the water, thumbing the rim of his hat. "I know." Spot never went anywhere without his cane. It was a symbol of his power... and it helped keep his butt out of too much trouble. And he had been so tense and suspicious... He shook his head. 'I can't... I can't believe it... Not Spot...' Smiling weakly at Bumlets, he began to walk again and Bumlets trotted beside him.
"What're we gonna do?"
He shrugged, taking out a cigarette and lighting up. "I dunno. I jus' don't know."
