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Brooklyn: One Rainy Day

A Newsies fic by Keza: Queen of Procrastination

(Chapter Five)

AN: I'll try to update sooner, I'll try! And don't worry Sophie, I have plenty of plans for your character… BWAH HAH HAH. Dhyanabahd to all reviewers! You all deserve… Um… Something good.

Reminder: All characters featured in this story do have heavy New York accents. The problem is, I'm horrible at remembering to write in them. So keep that in mind.

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Sling sighed and combed his hair flat again, watching with dismay as is refused to obey and bounced right back up. He glared into the dirty mirror, daring his reflection to mock him again. Instead he saw Spot mock him from behind. He didn't turn around, but continued attacking his hair and made eye contact with the Brooklyn leader through the mirror. Spot remained silent and amused.

"It's not going to work," he observed. "And you'd better hurry up if you want to meet her in time. It's getting late. And cloudy. And some boys might be coming down for a little game of poker…" but Sling was already out the door. Spot smirked. The threat never failed. Sling was infamously horrible at poker, yet he always managed to get himself lured into games, therefore losing large sums of money. Spot wandered into the main bunkroom and collapsed onto a random bunk, skillfully shuffling a deck of cards. A few minutes later Watch clomped up into the room, followed by several newsies from around Brooklyn and Manhattan.

"Where's Racetrack?" Spot asked, halfway concerned. The short Italian was never one to miss a card game. A tall newsie by the name of Pie-eater took the liberty of answering this.

"He says he's sworn off betting," he explained with a twisted smile. "Maybe you should talk to Wood about it."

+ + +

Sloan rolled a marble around in his fingers, studying the nail intently. Completely motionless save his hands, he fit the marble securely into the elastic of his sling and considered his target again. To his left, someone coughed quietly, and another scuffled his foot impatiently. Both were quickly shushed. Sloan whirled the crude piece of wood around once, caught hold of the marble, drew back, sighted, and released in the next two or so seconds. The marble hit and ricocheted off the nail with a sound cling! Sloan's formally stoic features erupted into a huge grin as the boys gathered recovered from their amazement and began cheering. His competitor, a boy three years older, closed his eyes in dismay but spit shook with Sloan anyway.

"Wow," he said, leaning close to Sloan to be heard over the din. "I'd accuse you of cheating if it was possible!" Sloan winked good-naturedly and the older boy laughed.

"You owe me," Sloan pointed out.

"I knew there was a catch…" other bets were being paid off as the crowd slowly dispersed. Many kids were making vows about ever voting against Sloan again. In the few months the thirteen-year-old boy had been in Brooklyn, he had competed in nine such contests. He hadn't lost any. One bold boy ventured an opinion that he could even beat Spot Conlon, a boy with the most reputed shot in Brooklyn. Sloan had never met Spot, but he had heard enough about him. He knew Spot was a newsie – a kid who sold newspapers to the public, and he knew that many people thought Spot would gain control of Brooklyn before long. At the moment a kid by the name of Lens reigned, but most doubted he would last.

Sloan didn't work as a newsie; rather, he survived off of the money he won from slinging competitions and begging. It was hardly a way to live, but Sloan felt it was certainly better than living with his father, which he had done until he ran away to Brooklyn.

A hushed silence fell over the remaining crowd, causing Sloan to freeze in place. Debt, his aptly named competitor, froze as well, staring at something over Sloan's shoulder.

"Finished selling early today, Debt?" An arrogant voice rang out. Sloan shivered involuntarily. Debt licked his lips nervously.

"I didn't take too many, Spot," he said quickly.

"Apparently not. And it looks like whatever you did make is already gone."

"Well…" Debt had nothing to say to this. It was true – his selling money was now in Sloan's hands. Spot strode over and tapped Sloan on the shoulder with his cane.

"I don't know how you got it kid, but give it back," Debt looked relieved. Sloan groaned inwardly. There goes my dinner, he thought. "Kid. Look at me. Hey, who is this? He isn't a newsie, is he?" Sloan looked up and shook his head silently. "Eh. Just a street rat," Sloan bristled at this last comment, despite it being true. Not that Spot was much better, of course. "So how'd you lose your money today, Debt?" Spot smirked at the unfortunate newsie.

"He, uh… Beat me with a sling…"

"What? This can't be a good sign. One of me best slingin' boys beat by…" he motioned distastefully to Sloan. "Kid, you know we don't like cheaters around here…"

"I didn't cheat!" Sloan growled. Spot looked startled.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't cheat!" Sloan stood up now, fully pissed. "A I won that money fairly. I should be allowed to keep it." Murmurs swept through the crowd at the kid's boldness. Sloan was surprised himself. What was he doing??? But Spot just looked amused.

"So, kid, you think you're good?" Sloan shivered again, and then before he knew what he was doing, nodded.

"Hah!" Spot's smirk grew. "Well then, why don't we have a little contest, just you and I?"

"Alright," Sloan agreed, a bit surprised he could talk. Debt gaped. Many others followed his example.

"Debt," Spot ordered. "Find a target. Something good." Debt hurried off. Sloan fished around in his pockets for the black marble – his perfect shooter, the one he had found on the docks and saved for weeks. Debt returned a few minutes later, carrying two more nails with small heads. He and another boy nailed them halfway into a post, one a couple inches above the other.

Spot sighted on the top nail, stretching the elastic back to its farthest point and squinting at the target. Sloan watched silently. Spot released his hold. The marble hit the edge of the nail's head so hard, a small spark was seen. The gathered boys cheered valiantly. Spot turned with a triumphant smirk to watch Sloan. Sloan studied his shooter for a moment more, and then sighted his own slingshot on the bottom nail. A second later he fired. The marble hit the nail dead center with a thud, then dropped straight to the ground. The nail was driven a half an inch more into the wood. Nobody breathed. Spot stared, then lost his composure and punched Sloan in the face. Sloan staggered back, holding his nose in an attempt to stop the blood and swung out his other fist in a mad rage. Spot caught hold of his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, kneeing him in the stomach at the same time. Sloan collapsed backwards and curled up into a ball on the ground. But no more hits came. Instead, Spot began to laugh quietly. He offered his hand to Sloan, who took it cautiously.

"I just wanted to make sure slinging was the only thing you could beat me at," Spot explained. Sloan rubbed his stomach and failed to see the joke, but smiled weakly all the same. Spot grabbed his hand and raised it up, turning back to the crowd. "Well? What are you waiting for? He's the winner, let's hear it!" The crowd instantly obeyed. Sloan grinned. "Hey, what's your name, kid?" Spot asked.

"Sloan."

"No it isn't."

"Uhm… Yeah, it-"

"Your name is Sling now. And you're gonna be great for me."

"Am I gonna be a newsie?"

"Why not? It's better than begging." Sloan smiled again.

"Alright."

+ + +

Sling wrung the water from his cap and then pulled the sodden garment back onto his head, cursing the weather. He hoped Katie would show up. The last thing he needed that day was to be stood up. He fingered the assortment of coins in his pocket, money he had saved up to be able to buy dinner for his date. Sling took a turn into the next alley and hunched his shoulders forward, walking at a faster pace now. His right hand automatically reached down to rest on his slingshot, but even this wordless reassurance did nothing to help the growing unease he felt.

A stone's throw from the main road he froze, hearing someone drop to the ground behind him. The rain did nothing to muffle the sound of two more figures approaching him. All three wore some sort of mask, and so did the three that joined them. Sling swallowed and backed against the nearest wall, his slingshot out – although that would do nothing at such close range. More figures came into view, quickly surrounding him. Sling gritted his teeth and forced words out.

"Who… Who are you?" Nothing but a mocking laugh answered him.

"See how powerful Spot's newsies is when we gets them alone," another sneered. A few chuckles agreed to this comment. Fear rose up in Sling's throat. The Bronx… It had to be them. Mouse had been reporting threats and suspicions from the Bronx for a few weeks. What is Lion trying to accomplish? Sling asked himself feverently, but didn't dare say anything out loud. He caught sight of one of the boys shaking rain off of a short knife and closed his eyes.

"So this is what it comes down to," he mumbled under his breath. "Murdered in an alley, twenty yards from salvation, by someone you never even knew," Sling reached in his pocket for a marble. One of the figures growled.

"Don't even think about it, kid. We know who you are."

"The same goes for you," a new voice interrupted.

+

Wrote most of this on the way back from UVM. At the moment it's 6:48 and I'm typing this in the car. Yup. Stole my mummy's laptop this time. Hehe. ErK. Hope this chapter didn't suck too much. Most of the stuff happening – in ALL the chapters – will come together in the very end, so just be patient. Oh, and review. Please. I'd be on my knees begging you to review, but I'm kind of strapped to my seat at the moment. Buckle up! J