(AN: I hope everyone is satisfied with my writing. Its been years since I've written anything and I'm afraid I won't be as talented as I used to be. Please review. )
Of Love, Life, and Laughter By CiCi
The man got out of his carriage that had moments ago abruptly stopped.
"Is this the place, George?" The man asked his voice dripping with disdain, looking at the building that loomed ahead out of the darkness. The building's decrepit sign signaled its age and that it probably had seen more hard times than the man had even been alive.
"Yes sir, it is." The carriage driver said to the man with boredom.
The man briefly glanced at the building and shook his head because of the buildings condition. He strode up to the door, took out his handkerchief wiped the door knob off, and casually walked inside. As he looked around the room it seemed as though time had completely stopped. The room was filled with about 45 boys who had all looked as if they were frozen in time each in various degrees of activities from playing poker to wrestling. They were all staring at him, daring him with their eyes to make a wrong move. The visitor strolled over to the sign in desk and spoke briefly to the gruff looking old man sitting behind it. The boys could hear whispers from the two men. The man behind the desk looked at the stranger gleefully.
"Do you want me to get him?" The desk man asked.
"Yes." The other said with a firm voice.
The man stood up ad walked out from behind the desk. He was very short and incredibly fat. He took a left and walked up the lone staircase. Downstairs no one was making a noise, not even a peep. Upstairs was a different story though. They all heard a yell and a girlish scream. Moments later a blonde headed girl was seen coming down the stairs. She had on only her under dress and was clutching the rest of her clothing to her body.
"Nevah again, Conlon!!!!" She called up the stairs. She stormed out of the building and slammed the door on her way out.
The boys acted like nothing had happened, as if this was a daily occurrence. Pounding on the stairs could be heard and a few of the boys looked that way to find their leader missing a shirt and one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Lipstick smudges could be seen on his face and chest. His stormy grey eyes were blazing with hatred. Any one could tell he was pissed. He spotted the man at once. The stranger was effortlessly seen through the throngs of newsboys, the tailor made suit making it that much easier to spot from across the dilapidated room. Spot ignored the man for a few minutes. He knew he needed to cool his temper down some before he talked to this guy. After a few drags on an offered cigarette from one of his boys he was calm enough to think rationally, but still mad enough to want to soak this fellow. He walked stiffly up to the man.
"Wha do ya want?" He said in a perfect Brooklyn accent.
The stranger motioned to come outside with him, and the man fumbled out the doors while Spot followed out the door of the lodging house with ease. Once the door was shut noise exploded throughout the house, much like a volcano eruption, as the boys clambered over each other to get a good look through the tiny windows that surrounded the front of the lodging house. Outside was a different story, as the odd looking pair of older gentleman and young riffraff stood awkwardly waiting for words to be exchanged. Spot gestured to the stranger impatiently.
"Well?"
"Sir. My name is Earnest Clooney. I'm the campaign manager for Christopher Gates. Perhaps you've heard of him?" Mr. Clooney asked.
"Yeah. Idn't he one a dose hoity-toity richies?"
"Ah… Um," Mr. Clooney didn't know how to respond to a question such as this "If you're implying that he is rich, then yes he is. If you read the newspaper everyday… "
Spot rolled his eyes at this comment and interrupted him. "I'm a newsie, coise I read da papes everyday. How else am I supposed ta make a livin?"
"Well yes, I guess you're right. Well as you've read you know that he is running for Mayor. We got a late start on running Mr. Gates campaign, and if we were to do anything remotely close to what the Wilkinson's campaign has done then we would be labeled as a duplicate. Wilkinson has thought of everything except what I'm about to purpose to you."
Spot narrowed his eyes looking much like a wild cat spotting his pray. He growled out,
"What exactly is it dat you're gonna purpose? And what exactly does dis have ta do wit me? I ain't doin nuttin for a hoity-toity poison like Gates."
Mr. Clooney's nerves were being pulled. He was afraid of this young violent man and was very afraid to show it.
"I'm purposing to you that you go spend the next month with Mr. Gates and his family in their home. The state of New York is commanding you. You must do this. You do have another option and that's going to the refuge, which I highly doubt you want to do that."
Mr. Clooney could practically see the wheels turning in the boys head. He knew that he was seething with anger and hatred. He hoped to God as he stood there that the boy would not act out on his anger. He knew he'd be at the receiving end of his fist.
Spot took a few deep breaths to try to control himself before he soaked this guy. How dare he say that he must do something. He hadn't taken orders from someone since before he took over Brooklyn.
"Look mistah, I ain't goin no where. If you have a problem with that, then get goin. I don't wanna see you'se back around here again."
'This was it now or never,' Mr. Clooney thought, 'I have to show him I'm not afraid of him.'
"No, you look, you are coming with me even if you don't want to. If you refuse to budge then I will be forced to call for the authorities to confine you to the House of Refuge."
Spot thought about what would happen if he was sentenced to House of Refuge. Brooklyn would be in chaos. Old enemies would be wild with the thoughts that they could over throw Brooklyn and control his borough. But if he only left for a month then chaos wouldn't last and even if someone took control he could still win it back. It wouldn't last forever. He made up his mind.
"Fine, but one month an its ovah."
"Yes, one month. I will come calling for you tomorrow. Pack all of your belongings and be ready by 7:30 tomorrow night."
Earnest Clooney took one more look at the pissed off young man and walked to his carriage. The driver opened the door and they were off in just a click of the drivers tongue.
Spot watched them drive off. Just a month. Just a month. He tried to convince himself that it was going to be just a short time. He wasn't doing a very good job though.
