I awoke the next morning to something jabbing me in the side. I rolled over
and swatted my hand at it, trying to tell it to go away, that it was still
nighttime and that I needed my beauty rest. However, it kept on,
persistently poking me wherever it found convenient to bruise my flesh. I
rolled over and opened my eyes. Looking down at me, once again, were those
haunting green eyes. I hated him. He was holding the bucket I had dropped
on his head last night, and poking me with his cane.
I rubbed my eyes and looked back up at him, he looked smug. "Lose this?" he said bitterly, dropping the bucket next to me. I stared at him, attempting to bore my eyes into his, but the fierceness of his glare made me look away. Spot Conlon. I hated him.
"You'd better get to cleaning," He said icily, it was even more cold and bitter than he had been the first night, when he called me 'garbage', "I want this place to shine like a brand new penny by the time I get back from sellin' today."
I shot a glare at him, but catching his look I added, with all the sarcasm that I could muster out of my tiny, shaking body, "Yes sir." As he walked away, I picked up the bucket and slammed it onto the ground in front of the water pump, he turned around sharply and gave me a look. I. Hated. Him.
He left without a word, and I started to work cleaning the floor again. Honestly, the work didn't really bother me much, I had done similar chores at the convent for years. But Spot wasn't doing this to get a clean clubhouse, and he certainly wasn't doing this to help Patrick. He wanted to humiliate me. He wanted to prove that he had the upper hand. So I viewed cleaning his clubhouse as a public flogging. Spot was punishing me, but for what I had absolutely no idea. All that I had done was get lost in Brooklyn, I hadn't even come to him willingly, I had been dragged. His anger towards me was completely unreasonable, and I thought about it for while. Maybe he didn't like me because I had a family, at least a brother, when he clearly didn't. Or perhaps he held some old grudge against my brother that I wasn't aware of. Whatever it was that he hated me for, I was determined to find it out, if only for the pleasure of possibly twisting the knife inside him to make him regret the things he'd done to me. Causing him an emotional pain close to the ones he had given me would give me a satisfaction like nothing else. I stopped cleaning for a moment to pray, knowing that my terrible musings were wrong. But you have to understand, Spot Conlon deserved it.
The thought of hurting Spot gave me a rush of energy, and I began to scrub the disgusting dirt away from the floor with a fury. A little less than two hours later, I was done. I sighed, and looked around the room. "Wow," I said aloud, not having to worry about anyone hearing me, "under all that scum, there was actually a floor. It even shines a bit," I said, laughing. "All it needed was a little time and effort. If only everything was that simple." I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm, and got up. I decided against throwing the bucket of dirty water out the window, and carried it down the stairs toward the bottom floor. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. None of the Brooklyn newsies were back yet, I still had the place to myself. Examining the filthy room from where I was, I laughed disbelievingly. Spot didn't really expect me to clean this place, did he? At least not in an afternoon. Just thinking about that work made me yawn. I was still tired from having gotten to sleep late and being awakened early. I was hungry, too, but didn't see any means to fix that at the time. After emptying my water bucket into the river (the Brooklyn boys BATHED in that thing?), I decided to go back upstairs and take a nap, thinking maybe I could start on the downstairs later. Curling up on my tiny mattress, I went to sleep instantly.
I'm not sure how long I slept, but when I did open my eyes groggily, the daylight was much dimmer than it had been when I decided to take a nap. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sat up on the mattress.
"Why didn't you do the downstairs?" Looking towards the doorway, I saw Spot leaning on it, standing there with that miserable smirk of his. How long had he been standing there? I had locked the door, I thought. Maybe that stupid key hanging from his neck had something to do with it.
I yawned and stretched like a sleepy cat. "'Cause I give less than a damn about you and your floor."
He didn't move, and his face stayed calm. I couldn't stand the way he did that, hinting at no emotion whatsoever. "Y'know, this would be a lot easier for both of us if you'd try and be a little more agreeable."
"Me? Why don't we start on you and your rudeness, and your always bein' bossy, and how you're just basically a pain in the ass." As I spat this back at him, I saw his mouth twitch, almost as if he were about to smile. I realized that was completely impossible, and just sighed and rubbed my eyes again. I was in need of another bath, and there was no way I was going to jump into that ice cold river, especially since I couldn't swim. The clothes I had borrowed from Patrick needed washing too, or better yet, replacing. "I'll just... I guess I'll do the downstairs tomorrow." I couldn't believe I was giving in, but I just didn't feel like fighting with him. Maybe I'd be up for it after eating.
"Fine." As soon as he said that, my stomach growled loudly. My face flushed, but I didn't understand why. Spot let out a small laugh, barely audible, but I heard it and my eyes shot up to his. I looked at him in questioning disbelief, and he returned my look mockingly. This made me laugh a bit in spite of myself. I looked up at him again, and his eyes were amused. But it didn't feel like they were laughing at me, they were laughing along with me. Then I remembered who I was laughing with, and my amused look became another icily cold stare. His face went calm again too, and he took that ridiculous cane out of his belt loop and walked over to me.
"I guess I might as well make good on my end of the deal and feed you." He reached out his hand to help me up, and I carelessly took it.
"I could use a bath, too."
As he helped me up, he said flatly, "I noticed." I glared at him, my mouth dropping open at his rude remark. But before I could snap back at him, he held up his hands as if in defeat and said, "I'm sorry." He said nothing for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Look, you're not my prisoner, so if you want, I can take all the guys away and you can go take a quick bath out there in the river later tonight after dark." I couldn't believe it. Spot Conlon had just apologized to me. Had this really just happened? Maybe it was just a trick to come at me with a bigger insult. Then I thought of his offer, and I blushed again. "What?" His voice cracked a bit, and it almost made me smile.
"I just - I - I can't swim..." I looked up at him, and his eyes were laughing again. But just like the moment before, it wasn't a cruel laugh.
Spot shook his head and started to the door. I blinked at him for a second, wondering what was wrong with him. He turned around and stared at me, his look wasn't full of hatred, but it was still icy. Something about Spot Conlon, I couldn't quite place my finger on it, made him seem as cold as a slab of ice. He raised a cool eyebrow at me, with a simple, "You comin' or not?"
I nodded and followed him down the stairs. There were a few boys in the main room, but contrary to my predictions of where we were going to eat, I followed him straight through the room out the door. I wondered where we were going, as I never noticed Spot leaving his docks or his clubhouse any time besides when he sold his papers.
We stopped half-way up a street, and he told me forcefully to wait for him outside as he meandered into some sort of loud pub. I stood out in the cold, waiting for him for almost 20 minutes, whenever someone would walk by, I would do my best to blend into the wall, as the sun hadn't yet completely set and I could hardly be seen if I pushed myself against the wall and didn't breathe for a moment. There weren't many passersby either way so I didn't have to hide much.
When he finally emerged he was carrying two small brown bags filled with some sort of food, I wasn't sure though. He pushed one into my hand and kept one for himself. I wanted to call him a selfish pig for keeping one, but a moment later I realized that he, however inhuman he could be, still had to eat.
He sat down against the wall in front of the pub. I was a bit confused, I had thought we were going to go back to the clubhouse to eat. He looked at me in that way he had of staring me down and said, "Aren't you going to eat?" I reluctantly sat down beside him, but as far away as I could without seeming rude. I opened the bag, realizing that it was some sort of mush that you were supposed to eat with your hands. I wasn't quite sure whether or not it was lady-like, but I put my hand in and started eating. A moment later I realized it was some sort of rice and seafood mix. It had a foul smell, and an even fouler taste, but beggars can't be choosers.
I looked over at him again, he perplexed me, one minute he's icy, cold, and brutal, the next he's offering to feed me, no matter how strange our dinner was, without making it seem like some kind of burden. Spot wasn't paying any attention to me, so I was free to take a good look at him for a moment. He reminded me of a book I'd read once, maybe a year before, at the convent. It was about a cruel and selfish king, whose enemies replaced him with his kinder, identical twin brother, who then ruled the kingdom justly. Maybe Spot Conlon had been replaced, perhaps he had a twin too. This thought made me smile, and he must have seen it out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to me sharply and asked coldly, "What?"
"Nothing, I was just thinkin' a bit," I turned back to my bag of whatever it was, and tried to stuff another handful into my mouth without gagging.
"Yeah, I know it's disgusting, but it's the best I can do for now, 'kay?" I must have looked ungrateful to him, because he sounded irritated.
"I'm not complaining." I gathered my strength and put a bit into my mouth, chewed it up (not much effort needed there) and swallowed it slowly. "Thank you, for y'know, getting this for me." I looked away from his gaze, which seemed to be studying and judging me.
"You know much about girls?" He suddenly asked me.
For once, it was I raising a cool eyebrow at him, "I should like to think so." He gave me a sheepish look. I didn't think that he had one of those in him.
"Yeah well, say there's this girl," He said, his hand starting to twitch again, he was nervous about asking me about this, and he looked as if he wanted a cigarette badly, "Not just like the girl of the week or anything..." I gave him a look of disgust when he used the phrase 'girl of the week', "But she's seein' someone else. And I mean.. it makes me want to pound the guy's head in, y'know? Get my hands dirty." He stuffed one of his fists into one of his hands as he said this, imitating a punch, "But you got too much respect for the guy."
I gave him a sort of half-smile, half-smirk, "You're talking about Fishface, aren't you?" I said, almost as cool as Spot Conlon always was.
He shot me a look, one of those looks that reminded me how much I hated him, "Yeah, so what if I am?" He snapped.
"Hey, if you don't want my advice..." I said, resisting temptation to give him a wicked grin.
He stopped me mid-sentence, "Sorry, sorry... Just like I was sayin', I kinda have troubles with... girls."
So the boy had a weakness, though not a very unusual one. I had to admit though, the thought of him having one at all greatly amused me.
"So, what exactly are you asking me... about girls, that is?"
His hand twitched some more. "Well, how do I get, y'know, HER to notice me?"
Inside I laughed, the great Spot Conlon coming to me for advice on how to steal someone else's girl. "I think she already does notice you, Spot."
"Well, yeah, but I mean, she just..." he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase himself, so I did it for him.
"Notices Jack first."
Spot nodded, it had been frequent among my thoughts that day of why every boy it seemed noticed Fishface. Sure, she was pretty, and she seemed to be a nice person, but there wasn't anything truly extraordinary about her, She and I were just the same, yet I had no guys pondering over how they would get me to notice them, it didn't make much sense at all
All of a sudden, some bizarre part of me wanted to comfort him, but I decided against it. I just sat there and took another bite of the slop he had brought me. Spot Conlon, no matter how many flaws he decided to share with me, was still inhuman... Okay, maybe he had a shred or two of humanity, but I still didn't pity him in the least.
He stood up stiffly, his hand still twitching at his side as he pushed up on his cane, "We'd better get back before me men think we're doing somethin' immoral or somethin'."
I rolled my eyes, thinking, 'You wish, Conlon...'
I noticed he didn't offer me a hand to help me up, so I assumed he was irritated that I hadn't been able to help him plot against Jack's relationship with Fishface. We started walking silently towards the dock again, but I just wasn't in the mood to go back there yet. I felt like taking a nice, leisurely walk, since the sunset was looking awfully pretty considering all of the buildings on the skyline it was sinking down into. But I didn't say a word, until that one moment right as the sun tipped the top of the city's skyline before it would disappear from sight. I stood there, and watched it. Spot hadn't noticed that I stopped, and he kept walking for a few more steps before he noticed that I wasn't beside him. He walked back over to where I was standing amazed and smiling softly, and asked impatiently, "What are ya doin'?"
"I'm watching the sun."
"I can see that, but WHY?"
"Because it's beautiful. Just watch." He must have thought I wouldn't go back unless he consented, and he sighed loudly and watched with me. We stood there for a few minutes, maybe ten, even after the sun had disappeared behind the rooftops and it was growing darker and darker. I smiled again, and he gave me a questioning look, raising his eyebrow. I looked back at him and said simply, "I feel sorry for anyone who's never seen something like that."
Spot shook his head disapprovingly, but there wasn't really anything he could do to keep me from watching the sunsets. He stared me down, "Just 'cause I asked you 'bout Fishface and we talked and stuff don't mean you don't have to clean the downstairs tomorrow," he suddenly said coolly, turning to walk away. His saying this, once again, reminded me why I hated him.
I watched for a few moments as he sauntered off. He was so arrogant. What made HIM leader of Brooklyn anyways? Why couldn't someone like Kerry have been leader? I shook my head and jogged after Spot, walking so close behind him that I was almost on his heels. When we returned to the clubhouse, Spot put on his usual facial expression and sauntered to his usual seat in the back of the main room, finally getting his greedy hands on a cigarette. I shook my head, he was sickly dependant on those things. Not to mention what a bastard he was. I shot him a look of pure hatred, but he just retaliated by raising that stupid eyebrow at me. I gave a huff and stomped to the back of the room. It was too loud to even bother trying to get any sleep, and I had gotten enough earlier, so I couldn't pass out from sheer exhaustion. I sat in the back of the room and watched the poker game until I felt something on my shoulder.
I turned around sharply, then smiled when I saw who it was, "Hi Kerry," I said, then I gave him a once-over. He was black and blue all over, I grimaced, "What happened?"
Kerry glanced around nervously, "Nothin' Shortstack." I wondered where he had learned my nickname, but it seemed most of the Brooklyn boys knew it already so I didn't ask.
"You're alright though?" I asked him, very concerned, I remembered when he had told Spot off the other night and then the glint of anger that had crossed through Spot's fierce green eyes, then the quaver in Kerry's voice. I hadn't seen him in the past two days either, so Spot had had plenty of time to order some of his men to beat him. My disgust for Spot Conlon suddenly had a re-birth.
"Yeah Bonnie, I'm fine," he said, taking the vacant seat next to me. I glanced over at Spot, he had joined the game of poker and was finally looking at ease with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, "Are you alright? I didn't expect you to be coming back to Brooklyn."
"Me either," I said honestly, feeling an anger in me that wouldn't quit, I wanted to beat Spot Conlon right there in front of all his men, but he'd probably just whack me with his cane or something and I'd end up knocked out for days. Besides, my stomach wasn't feeling so great after eating whatever that mush he fed me was, "I have to stay here because my brother brought me here.. made a deal with Conlon." It felt good to call him by his last name, so much less personal, "I swear, I'd just about murder Patrick for this if he wasn't the only family I had."
Kerry nodded as if he understood, but I could tell he didn't. I doubted he had ever known any of his family, he didn't seem like he had, just the way he held himself and spoke. I started talking again.
"But him and Jack Kelly and," I grimaced as I said her name, "Fishface are going to come get me as soon as Patrick has a place set up for us."
Kerry nodded, "Fishface.. that's Jack Kelly's girl, right?" I could tell that he was trying to follow my conversation desperately.
I nodded, "That's her."
"Conlon likes 'er." He said, perhaps a little bit more hushed than the rest of what he'd said. I nodded as I watched Spot Conlon for a few minutes. He looked upset, perhaps he had a bad hand. I watched him fold and take a big breath of his cigarette.
The night wound down around midnight, most of the boys had run out of money to bet on the poker game, and they were getting tired. I followed Kerry up the stairs and he talked to me as I got to bed. I hadn't gotten my much- deserved bath, but the only way I was going to get it was to associate with the likes of Spot Conlon, and in that case, it could wait. After Kerry left to go back to the Newsboys Lodging House, I fell asleep, counting to five with each of my breaths.
I rubbed my eyes and looked back up at him, he looked smug. "Lose this?" he said bitterly, dropping the bucket next to me. I stared at him, attempting to bore my eyes into his, but the fierceness of his glare made me look away. Spot Conlon. I hated him.
"You'd better get to cleaning," He said icily, it was even more cold and bitter than he had been the first night, when he called me 'garbage', "I want this place to shine like a brand new penny by the time I get back from sellin' today."
I shot a glare at him, but catching his look I added, with all the sarcasm that I could muster out of my tiny, shaking body, "Yes sir." As he walked away, I picked up the bucket and slammed it onto the ground in front of the water pump, he turned around sharply and gave me a look. I. Hated. Him.
He left without a word, and I started to work cleaning the floor again. Honestly, the work didn't really bother me much, I had done similar chores at the convent for years. But Spot wasn't doing this to get a clean clubhouse, and he certainly wasn't doing this to help Patrick. He wanted to humiliate me. He wanted to prove that he had the upper hand. So I viewed cleaning his clubhouse as a public flogging. Spot was punishing me, but for what I had absolutely no idea. All that I had done was get lost in Brooklyn, I hadn't even come to him willingly, I had been dragged. His anger towards me was completely unreasonable, and I thought about it for while. Maybe he didn't like me because I had a family, at least a brother, when he clearly didn't. Or perhaps he held some old grudge against my brother that I wasn't aware of. Whatever it was that he hated me for, I was determined to find it out, if only for the pleasure of possibly twisting the knife inside him to make him regret the things he'd done to me. Causing him an emotional pain close to the ones he had given me would give me a satisfaction like nothing else. I stopped cleaning for a moment to pray, knowing that my terrible musings were wrong. But you have to understand, Spot Conlon deserved it.
The thought of hurting Spot gave me a rush of energy, and I began to scrub the disgusting dirt away from the floor with a fury. A little less than two hours later, I was done. I sighed, and looked around the room. "Wow," I said aloud, not having to worry about anyone hearing me, "under all that scum, there was actually a floor. It even shines a bit," I said, laughing. "All it needed was a little time and effort. If only everything was that simple." I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm, and got up. I decided against throwing the bucket of dirty water out the window, and carried it down the stairs toward the bottom floor. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. None of the Brooklyn newsies were back yet, I still had the place to myself. Examining the filthy room from where I was, I laughed disbelievingly. Spot didn't really expect me to clean this place, did he? At least not in an afternoon. Just thinking about that work made me yawn. I was still tired from having gotten to sleep late and being awakened early. I was hungry, too, but didn't see any means to fix that at the time. After emptying my water bucket into the river (the Brooklyn boys BATHED in that thing?), I decided to go back upstairs and take a nap, thinking maybe I could start on the downstairs later. Curling up on my tiny mattress, I went to sleep instantly.
I'm not sure how long I slept, but when I did open my eyes groggily, the daylight was much dimmer than it had been when I decided to take a nap. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sat up on the mattress.
"Why didn't you do the downstairs?" Looking towards the doorway, I saw Spot leaning on it, standing there with that miserable smirk of his. How long had he been standing there? I had locked the door, I thought. Maybe that stupid key hanging from his neck had something to do with it.
I yawned and stretched like a sleepy cat. "'Cause I give less than a damn about you and your floor."
He didn't move, and his face stayed calm. I couldn't stand the way he did that, hinting at no emotion whatsoever. "Y'know, this would be a lot easier for both of us if you'd try and be a little more agreeable."
"Me? Why don't we start on you and your rudeness, and your always bein' bossy, and how you're just basically a pain in the ass." As I spat this back at him, I saw his mouth twitch, almost as if he were about to smile. I realized that was completely impossible, and just sighed and rubbed my eyes again. I was in need of another bath, and there was no way I was going to jump into that ice cold river, especially since I couldn't swim. The clothes I had borrowed from Patrick needed washing too, or better yet, replacing. "I'll just... I guess I'll do the downstairs tomorrow." I couldn't believe I was giving in, but I just didn't feel like fighting with him. Maybe I'd be up for it after eating.
"Fine." As soon as he said that, my stomach growled loudly. My face flushed, but I didn't understand why. Spot let out a small laugh, barely audible, but I heard it and my eyes shot up to his. I looked at him in questioning disbelief, and he returned my look mockingly. This made me laugh a bit in spite of myself. I looked up at him again, and his eyes were amused. But it didn't feel like they were laughing at me, they were laughing along with me. Then I remembered who I was laughing with, and my amused look became another icily cold stare. His face went calm again too, and he took that ridiculous cane out of his belt loop and walked over to me.
"I guess I might as well make good on my end of the deal and feed you." He reached out his hand to help me up, and I carelessly took it.
"I could use a bath, too."
As he helped me up, he said flatly, "I noticed." I glared at him, my mouth dropping open at his rude remark. But before I could snap back at him, he held up his hands as if in defeat and said, "I'm sorry." He said nothing for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Look, you're not my prisoner, so if you want, I can take all the guys away and you can go take a quick bath out there in the river later tonight after dark." I couldn't believe it. Spot Conlon had just apologized to me. Had this really just happened? Maybe it was just a trick to come at me with a bigger insult. Then I thought of his offer, and I blushed again. "What?" His voice cracked a bit, and it almost made me smile.
"I just - I - I can't swim..." I looked up at him, and his eyes were laughing again. But just like the moment before, it wasn't a cruel laugh.
Spot shook his head and started to the door. I blinked at him for a second, wondering what was wrong with him. He turned around and stared at me, his look wasn't full of hatred, but it was still icy. Something about Spot Conlon, I couldn't quite place my finger on it, made him seem as cold as a slab of ice. He raised a cool eyebrow at me, with a simple, "You comin' or not?"
I nodded and followed him down the stairs. There were a few boys in the main room, but contrary to my predictions of where we were going to eat, I followed him straight through the room out the door. I wondered where we were going, as I never noticed Spot leaving his docks or his clubhouse any time besides when he sold his papers.
We stopped half-way up a street, and he told me forcefully to wait for him outside as he meandered into some sort of loud pub. I stood out in the cold, waiting for him for almost 20 minutes, whenever someone would walk by, I would do my best to blend into the wall, as the sun hadn't yet completely set and I could hardly be seen if I pushed myself against the wall and didn't breathe for a moment. There weren't many passersby either way so I didn't have to hide much.
When he finally emerged he was carrying two small brown bags filled with some sort of food, I wasn't sure though. He pushed one into my hand and kept one for himself. I wanted to call him a selfish pig for keeping one, but a moment later I realized that he, however inhuman he could be, still had to eat.
He sat down against the wall in front of the pub. I was a bit confused, I had thought we were going to go back to the clubhouse to eat. He looked at me in that way he had of staring me down and said, "Aren't you going to eat?" I reluctantly sat down beside him, but as far away as I could without seeming rude. I opened the bag, realizing that it was some sort of mush that you were supposed to eat with your hands. I wasn't quite sure whether or not it was lady-like, but I put my hand in and started eating. A moment later I realized it was some sort of rice and seafood mix. It had a foul smell, and an even fouler taste, but beggars can't be choosers.
I looked over at him again, he perplexed me, one minute he's icy, cold, and brutal, the next he's offering to feed me, no matter how strange our dinner was, without making it seem like some kind of burden. Spot wasn't paying any attention to me, so I was free to take a good look at him for a moment. He reminded me of a book I'd read once, maybe a year before, at the convent. It was about a cruel and selfish king, whose enemies replaced him with his kinder, identical twin brother, who then ruled the kingdom justly. Maybe Spot Conlon had been replaced, perhaps he had a twin too. This thought made me smile, and he must have seen it out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to me sharply and asked coldly, "What?"
"Nothing, I was just thinkin' a bit," I turned back to my bag of whatever it was, and tried to stuff another handful into my mouth without gagging.
"Yeah, I know it's disgusting, but it's the best I can do for now, 'kay?" I must have looked ungrateful to him, because he sounded irritated.
"I'm not complaining." I gathered my strength and put a bit into my mouth, chewed it up (not much effort needed there) and swallowed it slowly. "Thank you, for y'know, getting this for me." I looked away from his gaze, which seemed to be studying and judging me.
"You know much about girls?" He suddenly asked me.
For once, it was I raising a cool eyebrow at him, "I should like to think so." He gave me a sheepish look. I didn't think that he had one of those in him.
"Yeah well, say there's this girl," He said, his hand starting to twitch again, he was nervous about asking me about this, and he looked as if he wanted a cigarette badly, "Not just like the girl of the week or anything..." I gave him a look of disgust when he used the phrase 'girl of the week', "But she's seein' someone else. And I mean.. it makes me want to pound the guy's head in, y'know? Get my hands dirty." He stuffed one of his fists into one of his hands as he said this, imitating a punch, "But you got too much respect for the guy."
I gave him a sort of half-smile, half-smirk, "You're talking about Fishface, aren't you?" I said, almost as cool as Spot Conlon always was.
He shot me a look, one of those looks that reminded me how much I hated him, "Yeah, so what if I am?" He snapped.
"Hey, if you don't want my advice..." I said, resisting temptation to give him a wicked grin.
He stopped me mid-sentence, "Sorry, sorry... Just like I was sayin', I kinda have troubles with... girls."
So the boy had a weakness, though not a very unusual one. I had to admit though, the thought of him having one at all greatly amused me.
"So, what exactly are you asking me... about girls, that is?"
His hand twitched some more. "Well, how do I get, y'know, HER to notice me?"
Inside I laughed, the great Spot Conlon coming to me for advice on how to steal someone else's girl. "I think she already does notice you, Spot."
"Well, yeah, but I mean, she just..." he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase himself, so I did it for him.
"Notices Jack first."
Spot nodded, it had been frequent among my thoughts that day of why every boy it seemed noticed Fishface. Sure, she was pretty, and she seemed to be a nice person, but there wasn't anything truly extraordinary about her, She and I were just the same, yet I had no guys pondering over how they would get me to notice them, it didn't make much sense at all
All of a sudden, some bizarre part of me wanted to comfort him, but I decided against it. I just sat there and took another bite of the slop he had brought me. Spot Conlon, no matter how many flaws he decided to share with me, was still inhuman... Okay, maybe he had a shred or two of humanity, but I still didn't pity him in the least.
He stood up stiffly, his hand still twitching at his side as he pushed up on his cane, "We'd better get back before me men think we're doing somethin' immoral or somethin'."
I rolled my eyes, thinking, 'You wish, Conlon...'
I noticed he didn't offer me a hand to help me up, so I assumed he was irritated that I hadn't been able to help him plot against Jack's relationship with Fishface. We started walking silently towards the dock again, but I just wasn't in the mood to go back there yet. I felt like taking a nice, leisurely walk, since the sunset was looking awfully pretty considering all of the buildings on the skyline it was sinking down into. But I didn't say a word, until that one moment right as the sun tipped the top of the city's skyline before it would disappear from sight. I stood there, and watched it. Spot hadn't noticed that I stopped, and he kept walking for a few more steps before he noticed that I wasn't beside him. He walked back over to where I was standing amazed and smiling softly, and asked impatiently, "What are ya doin'?"
"I'm watching the sun."
"I can see that, but WHY?"
"Because it's beautiful. Just watch." He must have thought I wouldn't go back unless he consented, and he sighed loudly and watched with me. We stood there for a few minutes, maybe ten, even after the sun had disappeared behind the rooftops and it was growing darker and darker. I smiled again, and he gave me a questioning look, raising his eyebrow. I looked back at him and said simply, "I feel sorry for anyone who's never seen something like that."
Spot shook his head disapprovingly, but there wasn't really anything he could do to keep me from watching the sunsets. He stared me down, "Just 'cause I asked you 'bout Fishface and we talked and stuff don't mean you don't have to clean the downstairs tomorrow," he suddenly said coolly, turning to walk away. His saying this, once again, reminded me why I hated him.
I watched for a few moments as he sauntered off. He was so arrogant. What made HIM leader of Brooklyn anyways? Why couldn't someone like Kerry have been leader? I shook my head and jogged after Spot, walking so close behind him that I was almost on his heels. When we returned to the clubhouse, Spot put on his usual facial expression and sauntered to his usual seat in the back of the main room, finally getting his greedy hands on a cigarette. I shook my head, he was sickly dependant on those things. Not to mention what a bastard he was. I shot him a look of pure hatred, but he just retaliated by raising that stupid eyebrow at me. I gave a huff and stomped to the back of the room. It was too loud to even bother trying to get any sleep, and I had gotten enough earlier, so I couldn't pass out from sheer exhaustion. I sat in the back of the room and watched the poker game until I felt something on my shoulder.
I turned around sharply, then smiled when I saw who it was, "Hi Kerry," I said, then I gave him a once-over. He was black and blue all over, I grimaced, "What happened?"
Kerry glanced around nervously, "Nothin' Shortstack." I wondered where he had learned my nickname, but it seemed most of the Brooklyn boys knew it already so I didn't ask.
"You're alright though?" I asked him, very concerned, I remembered when he had told Spot off the other night and then the glint of anger that had crossed through Spot's fierce green eyes, then the quaver in Kerry's voice. I hadn't seen him in the past two days either, so Spot had had plenty of time to order some of his men to beat him. My disgust for Spot Conlon suddenly had a re-birth.
"Yeah Bonnie, I'm fine," he said, taking the vacant seat next to me. I glanced over at Spot, he had joined the game of poker and was finally looking at ease with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, "Are you alright? I didn't expect you to be coming back to Brooklyn."
"Me either," I said honestly, feeling an anger in me that wouldn't quit, I wanted to beat Spot Conlon right there in front of all his men, but he'd probably just whack me with his cane or something and I'd end up knocked out for days. Besides, my stomach wasn't feeling so great after eating whatever that mush he fed me was, "I have to stay here because my brother brought me here.. made a deal with Conlon." It felt good to call him by his last name, so much less personal, "I swear, I'd just about murder Patrick for this if he wasn't the only family I had."
Kerry nodded as if he understood, but I could tell he didn't. I doubted he had ever known any of his family, he didn't seem like he had, just the way he held himself and spoke. I started talking again.
"But him and Jack Kelly and," I grimaced as I said her name, "Fishface are going to come get me as soon as Patrick has a place set up for us."
Kerry nodded, "Fishface.. that's Jack Kelly's girl, right?" I could tell that he was trying to follow my conversation desperately.
I nodded, "That's her."
"Conlon likes 'er." He said, perhaps a little bit more hushed than the rest of what he'd said. I nodded as I watched Spot Conlon for a few minutes. He looked upset, perhaps he had a bad hand. I watched him fold and take a big breath of his cigarette.
The night wound down around midnight, most of the boys had run out of money to bet on the poker game, and they were getting tired. I followed Kerry up the stairs and he talked to me as I got to bed. I hadn't gotten my much- deserved bath, but the only way I was going to get it was to associate with the likes of Spot Conlon, and in that case, it could wait. After Kerry left to go back to the Newsboys Lodging House, I fell asleep, counting to five with each of my breaths.