A/N: *sends an SO to all reviewers again because she's too lazy/rushed to
write them all out for you*
So yeah, these next few chapters are pretty long and exciting. The excitement will probably drop off a bit after them for some explaining and character/plot development. =D
Disclaimer: Don't own the movie Newsies. I do own Reflex, Tipper, Wick, Wheat from previous chapters, Lead, and Spin.
VI
Dave's saving Jack was well-received by the guys. They congratulated Pie Eater as well, though he wanted nothing to do with the contention. Having done his civic and loyal duty to Manhattan, he withdrew himself from further involvement.
Dave walked into Tibby's and moved to the table in the back corner the newsies had pretty much claimed. "Dey're a t'reat ta us," Race was saying. Skittery was there, listening intently as the other guys talked. Dave pushed in the booth across from him.
"What's going on?" Dave asked, having missed most of the conversation.
"Well, Spot's guys wanna meet wit one of our guys. We'se gonna send someone," Specs answered plainly. He glanced over at Race, who seemed somewhat annoyed.
"But we gotta take out Reflex an' 'is lacky. Dey'se too dangerous," Race insisted.
"Reflex is a step down from Spot. We kill 'im, we hindah Brooklyn," Specs added. "Race is right on dis one." By this time Specs had given up his leadership role to make way for Race. He was headstrong and assertive. Specs settled for trying to steer him away from violence, however difficult it may be.
"So who should we send?"
Race sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dutchy would do it."
"I dunno. . . I ain't so shoah Dutchy wants ta be involved, er if I'm even gonna let 'im be," Specs said hesitantly.
"I'll go," Dave's voice broke in suddenly for the first time. Everyone at the table was suddenly silent and looked at him. "I can go to Brooklyn. I'll do it."
"Uh. . . Dave," Specs began hesitantly. "Dis one'll be tough. Deah's two guys. Ya can't jist walk in wit a gun an' kill 'em. Dey'll check ya. It ain't gonna be easy."
Dave thought for a moment. "Specs, if you find a way to plant a revolver there somehow, I'll do it. Just tell me what to do. The last thing they'll expect is me killing them. Spot knows me. He knows I'm not a very threatening person. We should just go for it."
Specs and Race glanced at each other and shrugged. "It could work," Race said. "Blink an' Snoddy can show 'im how it's done."
* * * * *
"Awlright, Blink, ya make shoah dat gun's in a good spot. I don' want dist a go wrawng fer Davey," Race said as he pulled Blink aside by the sleeve. "Make shoah he knows what ta do."
Blink nodded and hit Race in the chest with the back of his hand. "'E ain't gonna have a problem."
Dave approached the two of them and put his hands in his pockets. "Hey Davey," Race said, eyeing him carefully. "So, ya woikedout a place ta stay when ya leave heah?"
"Yeah," Dave nodded. "I'm going to live with my aunt in Connecticut. She lives near a factory in Hartford. I told my family I'm going to work there to get some extra money while my father gets back on his feet."
"Right, well, ya bettah get started," Race patted them both on the back and started to walk out. He gave Blink one last look of warning before exiting the room.
"Okay, kid. Let's do dis," Blink said and clapped his hands together once.
* * * * *
Dave paused outside the entrance to the Brooklyn café and peered in the window. Because of the hour of the meeting, the room was empty. All he saw were two guys sitting at one of the tables. Spot was nowhere to be seen, as was expected. One was eating a meal. He had short, curly, light brown hair. He looked over a bit to see who he assumed to be Reflex. He was large and built with black, thick, short hair. The look on his face made Dave's blood run cold. With a deep breath, he pulled open the door and entered the room.
The two guys stood as David entered. "You must be Davey," the black- haired guy said. He shook David's hand. "I'se Reflex, and dis is Tippah. He's moah er less jist a witness heah. Have a seat." Tipper sat and continued eating his meal. "I guess yer wonderin' why yer heah."
"I think. . . I may have an idea," Dave replied. He glanced to the side to see Tipper still watching carefully. A bit of a smirk wiped across his face.
"Y'know, deah's moah ta makin' peace dan jist makin' peace."
"I'm aware of that."
"Help yerself ta some food, kid."
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."
"I insist."
"It's alright; I'm not hungry," Dave insisted again as the rapid fire comments desisted. "What do you want with me, Reflex?"
"I wanna cut a deal heah."
"And what sort of deal are we looking at?" Dave's face was unreadable as he spoke.
"Y'know people're hot an' heavy ta get revenge. If we awlf figah somethin' out fer uddah compensation, like peace, it would be great."
"So what's the problem?"
"Queens ain't fer it."
"So. . . what are you getting at?"
Reflex sat back in his chair again. He opened a cigar box. "Cigar?"
"No, thanks," Dave answered, not taking his eyes off of Reflex. "Tell me, Reflex. Why do you want peace if you conspired with Queens against us?"
"Are you sure you don't want any food?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Dave said, somewhat exasperated. "Actually, do you have a rest room?"
"Yeah. It's down da hawl ta da left."
"Thanks," Dave said as he left the table. He stopped in the doorway, searching through his memory. He entered the second stall and found the small wooden box on the wall. He reached his hand up into it and felt around. After a moment, he found the pistol and stuck in his vest pocket. He took a quick, deep breath and moved out to the room again.
"So whaddaya say, as spokespoyson fer Manhattan? Ya wanna go against Queens wit us?" Reflex persisted. He continued to speak, but Dave heard nothing of it. He drew in another silent breath. In one quick motion, he stood and pulled out the gun. He shot Reflex twice in the forehead and turned to do the same to Tipper, who choked on his food. He fell into the table, flipping it over. He walked out at a controlled speed, looking in front of him, and dropped the gun as Blink had told him to do.
So yeah, these next few chapters are pretty long and exciting. The excitement will probably drop off a bit after them for some explaining and character/plot development. =D
Disclaimer: Don't own the movie Newsies. I do own Reflex, Tipper, Wick, Wheat from previous chapters, Lead, and Spin.
VI
Dave's saving Jack was well-received by the guys. They congratulated Pie Eater as well, though he wanted nothing to do with the contention. Having done his civic and loyal duty to Manhattan, he withdrew himself from further involvement.
Dave walked into Tibby's and moved to the table in the back corner the newsies had pretty much claimed. "Dey're a t'reat ta us," Race was saying. Skittery was there, listening intently as the other guys talked. Dave pushed in the booth across from him.
"What's going on?" Dave asked, having missed most of the conversation.
"Well, Spot's guys wanna meet wit one of our guys. We'se gonna send someone," Specs answered plainly. He glanced over at Race, who seemed somewhat annoyed.
"But we gotta take out Reflex an' 'is lacky. Dey'se too dangerous," Race insisted.
"Reflex is a step down from Spot. We kill 'im, we hindah Brooklyn," Specs added. "Race is right on dis one." By this time Specs had given up his leadership role to make way for Race. He was headstrong and assertive. Specs settled for trying to steer him away from violence, however difficult it may be.
"So who should we send?"
Race sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dutchy would do it."
"I dunno. . . I ain't so shoah Dutchy wants ta be involved, er if I'm even gonna let 'im be," Specs said hesitantly.
"I'll go," Dave's voice broke in suddenly for the first time. Everyone at the table was suddenly silent and looked at him. "I can go to Brooklyn. I'll do it."
"Uh. . . Dave," Specs began hesitantly. "Dis one'll be tough. Deah's two guys. Ya can't jist walk in wit a gun an' kill 'em. Dey'll check ya. It ain't gonna be easy."
Dave thought for a moment. "Specs, if you find a way to plant a revolver there somehow, I'll do it. Just tell me what to do. The last thing they'll expect is me killing them. Spot knows me. He knows I'm not a very threatening person. We should just go for it."
Specs and Race glanced at each other and shrugged. "It could work," Race said. "Blink an' Snoddy can show 'im how it's done."
* * * * *
"Awlright, Blink, ya make shoah dat gun's in a good spot. I don' want dist a go wrawng fer Davey," Race said as he pulled Blink aside by the sleeve. "Make shoah he knows what ta do."
Blink nodded and hit Race in the chest with the back of his hand. "'E ain't gonna have a problem."
Dave approached the two of them and put his hands in his pockets. "Hey Davey," Race said, eyeing him carefully. "So, ya woikedout a place ta stay when ya leave heah?"
"Yeah," Dave nodded. "I'm going to live with my aunt in Connecticut. She lives near a factory in Hartford. I told my family I'm going to work there to get some extra money while my father gets back on his feet."
"Right, well, ya bettah get started," Race patted them both on the back and started to walk out. He gave Blink one last look of warning before exiting the room.
"Okay, kid. Let's do dis," Blink said and clapped his hands together once.
* * * * *
Dave paused outside the entrance to the Brooklyn café and peered in the window. Because of the hour of the meeting, the room was empty. All he saw were two guys sitting at one of the tables. Spot was nowhere to be seen, as was expected. One was eating a meal. He had short, curly, light brown hair. He looked over a bit to see who he assumed to be Reflex. He was large and built with black, thick, short hair. The look on his face made Dave's blood run cold. With a deep breath, he pulled open the door and entered the room.
The two guys stood as David entered. "You must be Davey," the black- haired guy said. He shook David's hand. "I'se Reflex, and dis is Tippah. He's moah er less jist a witness heah. Have a seat." Tipper sat and continued eating his meal. "I guess yer wonderin' why yer heah."
"I think. . . I may have an idea," Dave replied. He glanced to the side to see Tipper still watching carefully. A bit of a smirk wiped across his face.
"Y'know, deah's moah ta makin' peace dan jist makin' peace."
"I'm aware of that."
"Help yerself ta some food, kid."
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."
"I insist."
"It's alright; I'm not hungry," Dave insisted again as the rapid fire comments desisted. "What do you want with me, Reflex?"
"I wanna cut a deal heah."
"And what sort of deal are we looking at?" Dave's face was unreadable as he spoke.
"Y'know people're hot an' heavy ta get revenge. If we awlf figah somethin' out fer uddah compensation, like peace, it would be great."
"So what's the problem?"
"Queens ain't fer it."
"So. . . what are you getting at?"
Reflex sat back in his chair again. He opened a cigar box. "Cigar?"
"No, thanks," Dave answered, not taking his eyes off of Reflex. "Tell me, Reflex. Why do you want peace if you conspired with Queens against us?"
"Are you sure you don't want any food?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Dave said, somewhat exasperated. "Actually, do you have a rest room?"
"Yeah. It's down da hawl ta da left."
"Thanks," Dave said as he left the table. He stopped in the doorway, searching through his memory. He entered the second stall and found the small wooden box on the wall. He reached his hand up into it and felt around. After a moment, he found the pistol and stuck in his vest pocket. He took a quick, deep breath and moved out to the room again.
"So whaddaya say, as spokespoyson fer Manhattan? Ya wanna go against Queens wit us?" Reflex persisted. He continued to speak, but Dave heard nothing of it. He drew in another silent breath. In one quick motion, he stood and pulled out the gun. He shot Reflex twice in the forehead and turned to do the same to Tipper, who choked on his food. He fell into the table, flipping it over. He walked out at a controlled speed, looking in front of him, and dropped the gun as Blink had told him to do.