DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies or anything pertaining to Newsies.
Author's note: This is the first installment in the ongoing saga of The Good Booth. It is inspired by actual events and it was only after I wrote this that I decided to turn it into a series sort of thing. There will be several one-chapter stories that will take place at, in, around, near, etc. the good booth. What exactly is the good booth? Well, you must read on to answer that question. And please, leave a review.
"Runaway carriage causes destruction and wreaks havoc in the market place." Spot sold a pape, just one. The headlines had been terrible lately, nothing interesting seemed to be happening in New York lately. Spot felt as if he'd improved the truth more in the pask week than he had in his whole life. It was shaping up to be a terrible day. Not only did he still have about fifty papes left, he was late to meet Jack and Race at Tibby's. Queens had been giving them some problems lately, nothing major, though, just something that needed to be taken care of before it got serious. He made his way across the Brooklyn Bridge, leaving his 'kingdom' behind.
Spot made his way down the street to Tibby's. As he entered the little restaurant the bells on the door jingled, grabbing Jack's attention.
"Hey, Spot! Ovah heah."
"Hey, Jacky-boy, Race," Spot greeted as he pulled a chair up to the table. "Damn, I hate dese chairs. You'se two bums couldn't get da good booth?"
"Nah," answered Jack as he glanced at said booth. "Dem suits was sittin in it when we got here." He indicated the two men and the woman who were occupying the booth. They had been there for quit some time. The three boys turned their heads and gazed longingly at the beautiful booth they all wished they were seated at. It wasn't that the other tables were terrible, they were fine, but next to the booth all other options were dwarfed. The booth was beautiful; its seats were a dark, deep, crimson, smooth and surprisingly clean. The table was made of regular old wood but it had been sanded until it was as smooth as silk and had been painted black. The booth was positioned under some eaves in a dark part of the restaurant, making it more private. It was ideal and almost always unattainable; the booth was never left empty for long. Spot, Jack, and Race shook the thoughts from their minds and turned back to each other, and the matter at hand.
"So Jacky-boy, what's the update on the Queens situation," Spot queried.
"Nothin much has changed, really, just some of da boys is sellin on Manhattan's turf."
"Not only that, but they've been roughin up some a da younga boys," added Race as his eyes traveled form face to face among the other people in the restaurant. His eyes fell on some unsavory characters the newsboys of Manhattan were quite familiar with. "Deah me," he exclaimed, grabbing Spot's and Jack's, and many others' attention. "What is that unpleasant aroma? I feah da sever may have backed up during da night."
"Dat ain't the sewer," answered Jack, catching on, "Dat's just da Delancey Bruddas."
"And deir little friend too," interjected Spot, "Vermin, is it?" The three boys had a good laugh at the expense of the Delancey brothers and Mr. Weasel, who did absolutely nothing but glare. Oscar and Morris didn't want to get beaten up like they always did and Weasel was too smart to think he could take on the three who taunted him. Both parties went back to their own business, but members from each continued to shoot glares back and forth.
"Anyway," Spot began, "the solution the our liddle problem wit Queens is easy. All we gotta do is let Bull know dat we ain't gonna stand for his boys sellin on our turf, and if dey don't stop, we'll make em. Bull may be thickheaded, but he ain't dat stupid. He doesn't want a war between da burroughs, he could never win and he knows it." Spot sat back in his chair and cradled his glass in his hand.
"Alright," said Jack, "sounds good. Let's go ovah deah tomorrow an—" he cut himself short when the three suits in the booth stood up. "Hey fellas, looks lik dey're clearing out." Jack pointed and Spot and Race followed his gesture. Race smiled.
"Let's get our stuff together and get ready to grab it." Race set his silverware on his plate and clutched the plate and his glass in either hand, ready to pounce on the booth the moment the others left.
"Hold it." Spot's voice came out in a hushed but commanding whisper. Jack and Race turned to follow Spot's gaze and their eyes fell on the Delanceys and Weasel. They too had gathered their food and were staring hungrily at the good booth. "Dey're goin for it, too. But deyre not gonna get it. Not if ise got anyting to do wid it!" Spot was about to jump and beat the so-called adversaries to a pulp when Race put up a hand to hold him back. Spot turned and looked at him questioningly.
"Nevahmind Spot, da two guys sat back down, that booth ain't even open." Race sighed and gazed longingly at the booth.
"Damn youse two suits!" Spot shouted grabbing the attention of both patrons and staff alike, including Tibby, who was becoming annoyed with the antics of the newsboys. Spot lowered his voice and with a 'damn it' he sat back down. Never once did his icy blue eyes stray from the booth.
* * * * * * * *
"Well, Jonathan, Mr. Pullitzer is going to be paying a pretty penny for this."
"I concur. That bastard is so cheap; but we'll make him pay, literally. Excuse me, waiter?"
"Yes sir?" said a young boy in a cute little apron as he crossed to where Jonathan and Seikes were seated in the good booth.
"We'd like on of everything, please." Jonathan clasped his hands on the smooth table in front of him.
"Everything on the menu?!" The boy's eyes widened at the rather unusual request.
"Yes, everything on the menu."
"Well, sir, that could take some time."
"That's quite all right; we've got plenty of time, and money, to spend." The waiter then left for the kitchen. The waiter returned with the food about thirty minutes later and for the next several hours, Jonathan and Seikes feasted at Pullitzer's expense.
* * * * * * *
Spot, Jack, and Race had long since finished their food, but had stayed at their table, watching, and waiting. Sure, they could have left, but Weasel and the Delancey brothers were still there, also watching and also waiting. There was no way the guys were going to let the good booth be taken over by those assholes. The duty to protect the honor and majesty of the booth had fallen upon them, and they would fight to fulfill it.
Glares flew back and forth between the two tables. Manhattan and Brooklyn wore smug expressions on their faces. It would be easy to beat up their opponents at any time, but they liked watching them sweat. The so-called foes, though they knew they would be beaten, were too stupid to back down from a fight.
The tension was flying between the two groups and the animosity filled the space between them, becoming tangible as the seconds ticked by on the clock on the wall.
Spot's temper began to rise and he leapt to his feet and crossed to the Delancys and Weasel in what seemed to be one fluid motion. Jack and Race rose, following and coming to either side of him.
"I soitenly hope youse tree dirty rotten scabbahs don't expect ta be getting ya grimy mits on dat booth ovah deah." Spot shot daggers toward the grown man and two boys who now faced him head-on. Jack and Race smirked along with Spot, shooting out glares of their own.
Weasel and the Delanceys cowered under the fierce looks of the boys who had descended upon them so quickly. None of them responded for what seemed and eon. Then, unexpectedly, and quite foolishly, Morris Delancey rose from his chair and stared right into Spot's eyes.
"Yeah, wese are, and our mits aint grimy eider." Spot's smirk only grew and Jack and Race sniggered. The almighty power of the booth had taken over Morris' already diminished ability to make good choices. Oscar, not willing to watch his brother go down alone, rose from his seat as well and joined in the face-off. He tried to bring Weasel up with him, but Weasel was too smart to get involved in this. He stood, but he just made for the exit, running away like the little baby he was. Oscar gulped as he stared into the eyes of the boys who stood before him, cracking their knuckles. Morris' eyes, after realizing what he had done, widened in horror.
Spot threw the first punch, his fist connecting with Morris' jaw in a sickening crack. After that everything just became a big blur, fists flying and a few cries of pain. It took a mere matter of minutes for Oscar and Morris to be left in a mess on the floor of Tibby's. They quickly picked themselves up and ran for the door, their tails hanging between their legs.
Spot, Jack, and Race smirked, knowing that the victory had been easy, but enjoying beating the crap out of the Delancey brothers anyway. The three turned toward the booth, the booth they had fought to protect. It was empty; the men had left and the booth was waiting to be claimed.
They turned back to each other and shared a look of satisfaction and anticipation. They headed for the booth and just as they were within reach of it Tibby himself stepped in their path.
"You boys get OUT! Causing a disturbance in my reastaraunt and making such a mess, you scared the other customers! Now GET OUT!"
The boys' jaws dropped. They gazed at the booth, yearning for it. Just as it had fallen into their grasp it was taken away again. They turned for the door, sulking. They may have lost this chance, but another day would come when they would be able to rise again and claim the good booth.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Author's note: Well, there you go. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. I've already got my plan for the next story in this little series of mine so you can expect more relatively soon (and by soon I mean some time next week, I think, I hope). Anyway, if you have a favorite newsie you would like to see featured in a Good Booth tale, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Thank you so much for reading, and a pre-emptive thanks for reviewing.
