(AN: Another edited chapter for you. Hope you enjoy.)
Disclaimer: Runner does NOT belong to me! He along with Rascal, Aleck, Mason, Matches, Scapegoat, Digger, Runt and Two-Scoops belongs to Morning Dew! Slick belongs to Dimples. Even though I didn't ask to use him Dewey assured me that you wouldn't mind Dimples. Sorry for not asking. Newsies don't belong to me, they belong to Disney. Anything you don't recognize belongs to me.
Of Life, Love, and Laughter By CiCi
Spot opened his eyes at dawn, just like everyday. It seemed like it had always been that way, well it had always been that way since he was leader. He was always the first to get up and the last to go to sleep. As he put it once to his cousin and second in command, Runner, 'A leadah's needs come in second ta everyone else's. I make shoah everyone's okay through da day, I make shoah, everyone goes ta sleep, I make shoah they'se are awake foah dere mornin papes. Yoah obligated ta be strong foah dem, or ya wont last a day.'
The Brooklyn leader sat up in bed and stretched. He looked around his room, for anything that might be out of place. His guard was already up. It seemed like the only time he let his guard down was when he was asleep, but still he was aware of his surroundings, and knew when things weren't right. He didn't like surprise, and tried to avoid it as much as possible. That's why he had his little, "boids." As he liked to call them. He was aware of everything happening in his borough and everything that was happening else where. He had "boid's" placed among every borough. The only borough leader that knew of this though, was the leader of the Manhattan newsies, Jack Kelly a.k.a. Cowboy. They had been friends for a long time, and it seemed that Jack didn't care that a Brooklyn spy was placed among his newsies. Even though Cowboy knew there was an undercover Brooklynite among them he had no idea which newsie was Spot's. The Brooklyn leader took care in picking the "boids" trying to make them as concealed as possible. The least likely candidate to be deemed a Brooklyn "boid" would undoubtedly Spot's spy; an inconspicuous demeanor was the key.
Spot walked to his bathroom sink and splashed cold water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his golden brown locks. It was a morning routine. He claimed that it woke him up faster. He dressed quickly and headed to the bunkroom. He quietly opened the door and was greeted with the soft snores of the boys. He listened for a few minutes pondering when he would again hear those sounds. Not for a while he imagined. He shuffled over to the nearest bunk and woke up the boy in it. The woken boy grumbled and headed to the washroom. This went on for a few minutes. Each boy woken grumbling and heading to the washroom to get ready for the day. Spot only laughed. Before he left, the washroom was now a noisy racket. The Brooklyn leader headed down stairs to the linen closet to find a bag to pack his stuff in. He gathered a bag up in his toned arms and walked back to his room. Spot placed the bag down on his bed. He heard shouts coming from the stairs and walked out just in time to see the first boy head down the stairs. He was greeted with light-hearted comments. He joined them in heading out. Half way to the Distribution Center they met up with Runner who joined them on their way. Runner almost always met up with them around half way to their destination. Runner waved Spot over. Obviously he wanted to talk.
"Hey, ya haven't changed ya mind have ya?" Runner asked with his Brooklyn accent.
"Naw, I haven't." Spot replied in his usual bluntness.
"Well what's ya plan? What are ya gonna be doin today?"
"I'm gonna sell da mornin edition and pack durin da afternoon. I'm gonna tell da boys when dey get home. I want you'se ta be dere. I'm leavin about 7:30." Spot said.
Runner just sighed and walked off. He didn't know how he was going to handle this situation. Sure Spot had gotten him into tougher predicaments, but he could always count on the elder to get him out. Maybe he could go to Spot and ask if he could pick someone else to lead Brooklyn for the while. He would go to him later in the day, but he knew it would be a fruitless labor, he wouldn't get the answer he wanted, but he could still try. Besides he couldn't lead Brooklyn, he had to go home every night. Spot's leader duties was making sure they went to sleep every night and waking them up in the morning. Just that thought made Runner groan. If Spot would refuse to let someone else lead then he would be going to sleep every night at about midnight. The boys were rowdy and most stayed up late into the night. He would also have to get his butt up early to wake them, he would barley get any sleep at all. Another groan made its way to his throat.
He looked over at Spot, he was already in line for his papes. He sold about 120 every morning and 100 in the afternoon. That was a lot. There was a reason for it. Spot was never known to be charitable, but if a newsie had lost his money to gambling or didn't earn enough during the day he would give them at least enough for the night, but always expecting the full amount of payback that he loaned them. No one ever said anything about it, and never questioned it. As long as Spot was taking care of them, they never bothered. Runner couldn't sell as much as Spot and thought that that could serve as a problem. Everyone was now going to depend on him and if he couldn't be strong for them then they wouldn't be strong for him. That's just the way Brooklyn worked. They stuck together. If one was strong for them, they were strong for him no matter who it was or what it was for.
Spot sighed, it had been a long hard day so far. He had almost sold all of his papers. He had sold all except about twenty. It seemed like no one wanted to buy any today. It was already hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk and it was only 1:42. Sweat dripped down his back, proving that he was working hard, and after a few more called out headlines and a few more papers sold he headed to the Lodging House. Usually with a few headlines called out he could sell all twenty. He had the best selling spot on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. Today with those few headlines called he only sold about five.
Spot took off his hat trying to gain some control of the heat that was pilfering his bones. By the time he had made it back to the lodging house he had sold the rest of his twenty and walked up the stairs to his room. He could hear some boys in the bunkroom. Not all the boys, if they were all here there would be much more noise. Spot walked in to his bathroom. He silently turned on the water in the cracked tub. He slipped in the cool water. It felt heavenly against his heated skin. With every breath he took there was a new ripple in the water. He closed his eyes enjoying the silence for a while. Abruptly, he took a breath and dunked himself under the water. After a couple seconds under he came up for air. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around trying to find soap. When he finally completed the task he lathered it up and spread it over his toned body. He lathered it up again and washed his hair. Grease and dirt was the only thing that he could see in the water now. He got up and emptied the tub. One more rinse over his body and he was done.
Spot dressed and walked to his room to start the task at hand. It took him about 2 hours to pack all of his things. That was a surprisingly small amount of time to pack one's things, but Spot never owned much. He stood back to observe his room. It was bare, but it still hadn't changed much. The dresser was still there and the three-legged stool too. He had a trunk full of his things under the bed. He had took his time emptying it, sorting through old things of his. He found a pair of old worn shoes. They had holes in the toes. He had had them since he first joined the newsies. He found them in an old dumpster. When he first got them they were too big for him. He grew into them with time and as more time passed he grew right out of them. He found a pair of pink suspenders. He remembered those very well. They used to be red, but time had worn them down and they slowly faded into the pink they were now. He finally replaced them when one of the straps started to break. His new ones were still red, but they were starting to fade. He knew he was going to need new ones again soon.
Spot went downstairs in to the main room where everyone hung out and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. He didn't have to wait very long. Soon boys were pouring in from their selling, each one heading over to the desk to sign in and pay for the night. Some boys stayed down stairs while others went up to the bunkroom. A large crash was heard and an 'I didn't do it' came next. Spot walked up the flight of stairs to the bunkroom where he saw hundreds of colorful beads on the floor. With closer inspection he concluded that the beads were in fact marbles. With a turn of the head he found Rascal holding up an empty can and a sheepish grin on his face. Aleck was in the washroom snickering into his hand.
"I didn't mean ta, Spot but it just slipped." He said sheepishly to go with the grin on his face.
"Clean it up, foah da rest of da boys get heah. Aleck, help him."
"What? But I didn't do it!" he stressed.
"Aleck, help him." Spot answered right back.
Spot left them to do they're work. He would be back to check on them though in a little while. Knowing them, they would get into more trouble than they already were. He couldn't leave them alone more than a few minutes at a time. He walked down stairs to the linen closet, and grabbed a broom and a dust pan knowing they would probably need it. Seconds later he was surprised to find Aleck on his knees trying to retrieve a marble that seemed to have rolled under one of the bunks. Rascal was on his hands and knees picking up handfuls of marbles and placing them in the can.
"Heah, I thought ya could use dis." Spot said while handing Rascal the dust pan and broom.
The Brooklyn leader watched his step while going to a bunk to watch them do their job. In about half an hour the job was done and the bunkroom looked as if the marbles on the floor were never there. About an hour later every newsboy was done selling their papes and each one was either congregating in the bunkroom or main room. Poker games were not uncommon in the two rooms. It seemed as if Ace and Rebel had started one up. Runner was included in the group participating. Digger and Mason were the others in. After Mason winning all of the money Runner walked up to him.
"Can I talk ta ya?"
"Yeah, c'mon."
Spot lead Runner up to his now barren room. "Spot, can't you pick..." Runner started to ask.
"No." He said in a firm commanding tone.
"But..." Runner tried again.
"No." He repeated.
"No?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Look Runnah, ya may think dat you'se can't do dis, but I know ya can kid. Just set ya mind ta it and you'll do fine."
"Ok, if you think so."
"I know so."
Spot knew Runner could do it if he really wanted to. And he expected to come back to Runner doing his best leading, if he found any one else leading his borough he would give that person and Runner a good work over. Spot led his younger cousin back to the main room where Runner went straight to the twins, Mason and Matches. Other than Spot, they were his best friends. Another round of poker was going on, this time including Scapegoat, which was a surprise. Scapegoat was an outsider, not wanted in the Brooklyn boys. The other boys were roughhousing, talking, reading, smoking, doing what ever interested them. He called down the boys that were in the bunkroom and they joined in with the rest of the boys in their activities. Raising his voice above the noise of the room wasn't an easy task, but soon he had everyone's attention.
"Dis can't take long, Spot," Slick said, "I gotta meet Dimples in ten minutes." The boys catcalled and taunted him. He was used to it though so it didn't bother him.
"It wont Slick. Boys I'm leavin." He was interrupted.
"What?"
"Where ya goin."
"What do ya mean?
"You'se cant leave!"
"Hey! Don't interrupt me! I'm leavin foah about a month. Runnah's gonna be in charge. He's gonna take ovah foah me. Anyone who says uddah wise will get soaked. Undahstand?"
Different responses were heard, but all versions of yes.
"Where you goin Spot?" The five-year-old Runt asked.
"Nevah mind dat. It don't mattah."
Whispers broke out among the boys. Spot looked at the clock. It read 7:20. He had about ten minutes. The noise of the main room had grew to its normal level. He walked up to his old room to retrieve his bags. He knew someone was following him up there. In his room he turned to face his stalker. Little Two-Scoops stood there with his little face in a frown. Spot always cared for the boy even though he didn't show it.
"Spot, I'm gonna miss you!" The little one exclaimed.
"Listen heah, I ain't gonna be gone long, so don't worry."
Two-Scoops walked over and enveloped the elder in a hug. Awkwardly the elder hugged back. He glanced around making sure no one was watching. Clearing his throat he stepped back. Something wasn't right. All noise downstairs had ceased. Whispers could be heard once again. He threw Two- Scoops a look that clearly said 'get downstairs.' Two-Scoops left to face the dead silence downstairs. Spot picked up his stuff and threw the room one more glance not knowing when he'll be able to see it again. He walked downstairs to face what ever might be there. A man dressed in a business suit. He knew the man. It was the guy from yesterday. It was time.
"Okay boys, dis is it. I'll see ya in a month. Oh yeah, if any one of you causes problems wit Runnah, I'll see ta it when I get back. Cleah?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"Suah."
Not many responses were heard, but he knew everyone understood him. He walked out with the man into the darkening night. There were two carriages waiting. The man
pointed to the other carriage and told him that was his.
"That carriage is yours. It will take you to the Gates estate. Remember this family will not tolerate misbehavior. One wrong move and you end up in the Refuge." With that he turned and went off into the night in his carriage.
He stiffly walked to his carriage opened the door, threw his stuff in and proceeded to get inside. He could only have one last glance back at his home before they left. Buildings flew past at a leisurely speed. The driver hadn't said a word to him and he intended to keep it that way. Soon he was half way across Brooklyn and on the high-society streets. His face was sharp and ridged, showing no emotion as the carriage pulled up to the beautifully designed house. The carriage driver gruffly opened the door and pulled him out. He bit back a smart-mouthed remark and turned toward the mansion. He silently prepared himself for what was to come.
"Come in please." He heard as the butler opened the door.
