Disclaimer:  The newsies are, sadly, still not under my ownership.  Check back with me again later but my pay just does not cover Disney's charges…

A/N: Ok, the deal with this story is that Shortie started an NJL contest, which took summaries from potentially marysueish stories, and we had to write a story from whatever summary she gave us.  I got some positive feedback for this and I like it so I am posting it.  I don't know who the writer of the original story is but ummm thanks

Trust

Hotshot

The following story was written by a summary given to the author.  The summary is as follows:

A war of alliances is brewing between one boy from Jersey and all of New York.  The remaining newsies join up, but they are missing one of the key elements in being a successful team.  Trust.

They all began filing back into the lodging house and out of the rain around dark.  A short, dark, Italian boy was the first to actually approach the desk to pay his fee and sign in.  He dropped to pennies onto the desk and picked up the pen.  His hand froze mere inches form the page, his eyes wide and frozen.

"Jack!" he shouted

"Hold on a second!" came a loud reply from the other end of the room.  He was still in the doorway in midst of a conversation in a small group.

"Now Asshole!"

Now these were teenage boys for the most part, and as most teenage boys go their cursing was fairly normal.  However, this wasn't in joking.  It was serious.

At his friend's outburst Jack Kelly put an automatic hold on his conversation and moved across the room. "What is it, Race?" he asked.  There was no response so he put a hand on the boy's shoulder.  "Race?"

He jumped back as though he had been burnt.  The pen dropped form his fingers and bounced off the floor.  "Look."

Jack looked past him and his eyes grazed over the logbook.  "Shit."

He hastily read the message scrawled messily in pen.

Trouble in Brooklyn.  It's not going to stop.  Manhattan's next.

He read it aloud.

"Brooklyn hasn't been in trouble in years," Specs commented, "Not since Spot's been in charge at least.  What the hell is going on?"

"Swifty," Jack scanned the group for the Asian boy.  When he picked him out he stepped closer to him, "Spot's got a boy to run news from Manhattan to Brooklyn.  If he's in Manhattan he'll be at the lodging house over on 38th street."

Swifty was gone before any command was uttered.

They sat in silence, even though it was well past curfew.  It took only a few minutes before Swifty burst back through the doors, a short but brawny boy just behind him.  His wide brown eyes searched the room and fell on Jack.

"You need to go to Brooklyn now," he said in his rough Brooklyn dialect, "Bring some other guys if you want but you need to get there as soon as possible."

Jack nodded toward the stairs, "Go get some rest."  Then he turned to his own boys.  Race, Mush, Blink and Specs, you're coming with me.  Swifty rest for a bit and then meet us over there.  The rest of you stay here.  We'll send Swifty back with news as soon as we get it.

When they reached the vicinity of the Brooklyn lodging house there were crowds of people already there.  The other leaders, Jack realized as his group got close enough to see them.  It was the other leaders and their trusted advisors, much like the group he'd put together.

"Is everyone here?" he asked quietly.

"Harlem isn't," Specs said, his eyes scanning the gathering, "I don't see Mayhem yet."

Jack nodded, "Mingle and see what you can find out."  As they split up he strode off in a different direction. 

"Hey," he yelled as he neared another solitary figure, "What's going on?"

The leader of the district known as the Battery stopped and turned to face him.  "No one knows."  He replied, "That big Brooklyn kid is at the door.  Bastard won't let any of us in or tell us what the hell's going on."

"So I guess your boys got that letter in your logbook too."

"Yeah, so did Midtown, and the others from what I've heard.  All of them saying that the district they're in is next."

It was about then that the Midtown leader came over to them, averting his gaze as he passed everyone else.  It wasn't hard to do with reddish hair falling into dark eyes.

"What'd you find out?" the Battery leader asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," the other boy told his friends before turning to Jack, "Hey Kelly."

"Tell us what you heard." Jack pressed.

"Fine, well they're saying there's been this kid from Jersey hanging around Brooklyn lately.  Saying he worked over a few of Spot's kids in the past month.  Gave Pickpocket a few black eyes, maybe even roughed up Roman."

"Who is this kid?"

"He goes by Jersey too."  The dark haired boy said, "Anyway, they said that he and Spot got into a bit of an argument when Spot confronted him today.  Rumor has it there was a fight…"

The Battery leader rolled his large blue eyes, "Well, is the kid dead or just in the hospital?"

Midtown shook his head, "No… that ain't it.  The thing is, rumor has it Spot lost.  Someone said he's laid up inside right now."

Not many things shocked Jack Kelly.  He'd lived in New York his entire life so he was used to the surprises and twists in fate that came with the territory.  Not many things shocked Jack Kelly, but that news, the news that said Spot had gotten beat, Jack's heart must have stopped beating for a moment when he heard that.

Without a word he turned away form his friends and strode purposefully toward the door.  Roman was blocking his way when he got there.  He didn't say anything, but only moved as Jack tried to pass him.  Roman was most definitely the tallest and overall brawniest of the Brooklyn newsboys.  Getting past him would be no easy task.

"Let me go in and talk to him, Roman," Jack said.

"No one's allowed in Jack," he argued back, "No one except Brooklyn."

"Roman, you owe me, let me go talk to Spot, find out if the rumors are true."

"No." Roman said, motioning for Jack to get off the stairs and go back to his friends. 

Jack glared for a moment but swallowed his pride and retreated.  As he passed Racetrack he grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him toward the side of the lodging house.  Roman watched them go and smirked, at least one of the leaders had the sense to remember that most buildings in New York had fire escapes.

All Jack remembered was that Spot's room was on the top floor, and the fire escape led straight to his window.  He and Race stumbled up the wet wire structure and stopped outside the partially opened window.  They heard what sounded like the end of an argument inside, followed by a door slamming shut.  If anyone was still in the room it was Spot.  The two of them shoved the window open from the outside and climbed into the room. 

Spot was lying on his bed, bloody and bruised.  His left eye was swelled almost completely shut.  His arm was in a sling and a long scratch across his chest was bloody.  From what could be seen his shirt was stained with blood leading Jack to be sure he had even more scratches. 

Spot turned his head to look at them as they came in and groaned. "Don't say a fucking word, Kelly," he ordered.

"Jesus Spot you look like shit.  What happened?" Race asked.

Spot didn't even seem to have the energy to glare at him.  "Don't ask."

"Jersey, right?"

"How'd you know," he asked Jack.

"Everyone's been hearing rumors," Jack provided.  "They're all outside, Spot."

"So what," he snapped, "Ain't no one gonna see me like this.  You two shouldn't even be in here."

"So what are you going to do, make them sit out there in the rain all night."

"Jack," Spot's hand went to his head as if he had another hangover, "I'm not in the mood to argue with you right now."

"Then just let them in for tonight and we'll talk in the morning."

"Fine," the Brooklyn leader snapped, "Just stop talking and get the hell out of my room."

The next morning the Brooklyn boys left to sell as usual. Only a select few stayed behind.  They and the boys from Manhattan and other boroughs sat in an empty room on the first floor.  Spot came down around noon.  He looked better than he had the previous night, but still horrible.  He limped a little when he walked, and his jaw was set so he wouldn't wince.

"There's this kid in Jersey," he started, "He's been hanging around here for a few weeks now. I don't like the looks of him.  He's been roughing over my boys, and causing trouble.  I don't know if he's going solo or has an army behind him back in Jersey.  We got in a fight, I don't think he's going away."

"What are we going to do about it?" Night Matthews asked, "Spot, I don't want to pull Queens into another territory war so soon."

"It's not going to be a territory war," Spot guaranteed, "It's going to be the people in this room right now, and maybe Brooklyn.  He's a threat."

"Even here in Brooklyn?" someone asked calmly.

"Yes," Spot gritted his teeth, "Even Brooklyn."

They made a pact that day, all of them to stay in Brooklyn until the issues were resolved and this Jersey was taken care of.  They spent the next few weeks selling in Brooklyn as Spot healed up.  Nothing happened, not a single incident.  Some of them were starting to doubt that this kid from Jersey even existed.  He hadn't come back.

It had been nearly two weeks since the incident that had brought them all to Brooklyn and Jack was sick of being there.  He boredly walked up and down the street, passing off papers to prospective customers.  He'd promised his boys he'd let them go home at the end of the week if nothing happened, and honestly, he was feeling a pull to go with them.  Maybe this Jersey thing was all a big hoax.

He nearly collided with Blink and Race as he rounded the corner of the street.  They grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

"That Jersey kid's back," Race gasped, out of breath, "Some kid saw him heading toward the lodging house.  Spot went sprinting toward there when he heard."

Jack looked past his friends to see several boys that he recognized running in the same direction Blink and Race had been going in.

"Come on," he started to chase the others.

They reached the lodging house to find a fight had already started.  The other boy was small, taller than Spot but nowhere near as big and bulky as some of the Brooklyn boys.  He was fast, and he seemed stronger then Spot.  Then again he already had a bloody nose and Spot looked pissed off.  The Manhattan clan shoved their way through the throngs of boys chanting 'Fight. Fight' over and over again. 

It wasn't until they got close that Jack caught sight of the other boy's face.  He was tanned and his features were sharp.  A shaggy mop of blonde hair hung into his face.  His eyes, and Spot's were trained on each other.

Spot was getting fed up, anyone could tell that.  He swung his cane at Jersey but the other boy was well prepared and jumped to the side.  He lashed out with a leg and caught Spot in the stomach.  The Brooklyn leader stumbled backward with a grunt.

"Come on, Conlon," Jersey taunted, "Is that all you've got?"

"Not by a long shot."  Spot swung his fist hard into the other boy's face.  In this case it took the full impact of Spot's fist, a black eye.

Jersey shoved Spot away and started circling him.  He dodged Spot's punches and threw his own.  Sadly his choice in attacks seemed to be more effective than Spot's.  He landed more punches and reopened some of Spot's old injuries.

Spot was slowing down, Jack noticed, he was getting tired and losing his focus.  Jack knew some of Spot's old injuries weren't quite healed up yet.  This wouldn't be good.

In Spot's frustration he threw himself at Jersey knocking both of them to the ground.  But Jersey rolled them so that he was sitting on Spot's chest.  He let loose several punches into Spot's face before jumping up and kicking the Brooklyn leader once hard in the stomach.  Spot curled into himself with a yell and didn't move again.

Jersey spat on him.  "Is that it?  Is that all the infamous Spot Conlon has?  To think people used to look up to you."  He shook his head and turned away from Spot.  He looked over the crowd of boys that dared not approach him. "Is this really who you want for a leader; some kid who can talk like he's a big man but can't fight?  By the end of the month he'll be out.  Me and my boys will be back and next time we'll finish it.  You can join me now or then, but I will not lose.  What's it going to be, boys?  Me or Spotty here?" He kicked at the ball of cloth and flesh that was still on the ground.

Someone brushed past Jack.  He watched as Blink walked out of the group and strode toward Jersey.

"Blink!" he yelled.

His friend turned and looked at him for a moment.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"He can beat Spot, Jack," Blink said, "No one beats Spot, remember, as long as anyone can remember he's been undefeated.  And look at how easily he lost.  Twice in a row, Jack.  If this kid can beat up Spot and make it look so easy, imagine what would happen to the rest of us, especially if he has backup."

"What about your friends, Blink?"

"I'm not going to be on the losing side, Jack." Blink spoke through gritted teeth, "I am not going to be weak."  He got up in Jack's face, "Do you remember what happened in the last territory war in New York, one of ours ended up dead afterward 'cause he was on the losing side.  You remember Harper, Jack."

"'Course I do." Jack snapped, shoving him, "but that ain't no reason for you to be ditching us like this."

"You're weak, just like Harper, and just like Spot.  I'm done with it."  He turned and strode over to Jersey.

That started it.  Several other boys began pushing through the crowd and joining blink and Jersey.  Jack was too stunned to speak, but the other leaders cried out as their boys changed ranks.  But there was nothing to be done.  Jersey smirked as his number increased by twenty and led his new boys away from the group of stunned newsboys.  No one followed.

Three of Spot's boys rushed over to him after the other group disappeared.  Jack was too busy counting his boys to make sure Blink was the only deserter to see if Spot was okay until he spoke.

"Back to the lodging house."

He turned and gave Spot a quick one over.  His face was covered in blood and he was holding his arm protectively against his chest.  He hadn't even recovered fully from his previous fight.  The injury was just adding to tension and stress no one needed.

Over the next week things started getting worse.  Only about half the boroughs had lost one or two of theirs to Jersey's ever-growing gang.  There hadn't been much trust between them to begin with but now things had gotten worse.  As Blink had been the first to desert Manhattan got the brunt of the abuse.

"What about you, Mush, huh?" someone asked, "Wasn't Blink your best friend?"

"So what if he was," Mush muttered trying to ignore the taunts.

"So how do we know you're not going to up and leave say today or tomorrow to help him?  How do we know Manhattan isn't already sided with Jersey?"

"Because we ain't."  Jack shoved the boy back toward his friends.  "What about you, your district lost two."

"Only because of Blink's little speech-"

"Both of you just fucking drop it."  Race pushed his way between them.  "You go find your goddamned leader and complain to him about who you don't like, and Jack just shut your mouth for once.  I'm gonna go find Spot." 

"Spot!" Race pounded on the door to Spot's room, "Spot, we need to talk, now!"

Just as he was reaching for the doorknob Spot pulled the door opened and dragged him inside. 

"What the hell are you going on about?  For Christ's sake, stop your yelling."

"How's your arm?" Race asked.

"It's doing better," Spot said, giving Race a calculative look, "Why?"

"That's awful quick for your arm to have healed."

"I heal fast," Spot shrugged.  His expression was serious, "What are you getting at?"

"I know what your doing, Spot."

"I'm not doing anything."

"We both know you are.  Stop joking around, Spot, or someone's going to end up getting hurt.  You can't do this to people.  It ain't fair for you to jerk them around in a game like this.  It ain't safe.  They're all out their accusing each other of some kind of conspiracy and you're in here laughing about it.  Someone's going to get in a fight or end up dead sooner or later, Spot.  They don't trust each other."

"Are you accusing me of something, Racetrack?"

"You know me well enough to know when I am.  You think I didn't recognize him last week.  I've seen you fight Spot.  You're stronger than you acted.  The others might not remember him Spot, but I was in Brooklyn for a long time.  I'm not so stupid as them.  Now I'll tell you again; I know what you're doing?"

"Okay Race, I'll tell you what.  There is something other than what I'm telling them going on here.  Do me a favor.  Run something over to Harlem for me, and I'll tell you what it is."

"Spot if this is some kind of stupid joke I swe-"

"It isn't.  I promise."  He handed Race a small package, "Here.  You remember where to bring it right?"

"I ain't new."

"Thanks Race, I owe you one."

"Hey Kelly, wake up."

Jack tried to roll away from the arm that nudged him the next morning.  However, the person trying to wake him was insistent.

"Jack!"

"What?"  He opened his eyes to find the lodging house still dark.  The Bronx leader was standing next to his bed.

"You need to get up."

"It ain't even dawn yet."

The boy shook his head, "Something happened.  Hurry up."

Jack forced himself out of bed grumbling about the Bronx and how they were too awake in the morning.  He noticed with shock that every bed in the room was empty.  He urgently pulled on pants and a shirt and all but flew down the stairs.  "What happened?"

"I'm not sure."

Jack, the Bronx leader and several other boys who had woken up late followed one of Spot's messengers in the direction of Harlem.  Unfortunately Harlem wasn't so close to Brooklyn.  There was already a crowd there when they arrived.  Jack could barely pick out and follow one conversation in the yelling.  As the Bronx leader shoved him through the crowd he was able to hear a string of rapid Chinese among the rest of they yelling. 

"Swifty?" he yelled.

The boy darted in front of him from nowhere and took hold of his arm before pulling him quickly through the oddly quiet crowd.  Boys started to move and they made it to the front of the crowd. 

Jack stopped.  There was nothing he could say.  He was to shocked to even think.  Even mush running into him, and nearly bowling him over had no effect.  He simply wrapped an arm around Mush's shoulders.         

Racetrack Higgins was lying dead on the ground in a pool of blood.

"Shit," Jack finally managed.  He sank to his knees on the street.

"It ain't your fault Jack." Spot said from behind him.  "Race must've gone out on his own.  It's too dangerous around now for anyone to be going out after dark, especially alone."

"What do you mean too dangerous?"

"I got a letter from Jersey yesterday through one of the traitors while you guys were out selling.  He said he wanted blood."

"Then why the hell didn't you pass the warning on to us?" Specs snapped.

"Because a point needed to be proven.  None of you have trusted each other since the fight.  People switched sides so suddenly this borough or that district isn't to be trusted.  Look where thinking like that got all of you.  Everyone knew Race.  So think of his death as a lesson, the rest of us need to trust each other and get rid of this Jersey guy."  He sighed, "I really wish it hadn't been Race though."  With another glance at Race's mutilated body he turned and walked slowly back in the direction of Brooklyn.

One by one the other boys crowded around began to follow. 

The boy who had insulted Jack the previous day stopped next to the four boys from Manhattan.  "I'm sorry," he said, "About the other day, and this."

Jack nodded, "Don't worry about it.  Go sell your papes."

After the crowd had dwindled to the four of them and Race's body Jack took charge.  "Swifty, go back to Manhattan and get a few of the older boys to come get his body.  You can catch them before they go to sell."  He shifted his gaze, "Specs, go with him.  Can you, umm… can you tell them?"

Specs nodded and he and Swifty started off. 

Jack and Mush took seats on the sidewalk and sat silently for several minutes.  Jack was the first to speak. "Mush are you going to follow Blink?  I mean you and him were best friends and… I dunno, I just have to ask."

Mush gave Jack a long, calculating look.  "I'm not a traitor.  Blink can do whatever he likes.  Me and him ain't been getting along so well lately.  I don't care what he does.  You think he was the one that did this?"

Jack shook his head.  "Blink couldn't kill anyone, not even under orders.  Even if he would he wouldn't lay a hand on Race."

They were all more careful over the next few days.  No one sold alone, and no one went anywhere after dark.  Jack left before the Manhattan boys came back to get Race's body.  He didn't want to have to face them, and he avoided Mush, Specs, and Swifty for the next few days.  He sold with Spot or one of the other Brooklyn boys instead. 

It was almost suspicious that the next week or so was as quiet as it was.  No one even saw Jersey or any of the traitors.  Nothing was heard about them, and Spot didn't seem the least bit concerned.  He seemed very much aware of everything going on and not the least bit worried.

"Spot, why aren't you the least bit concerned with this kid?"  Jack asked, "I mean no offense or anything, but he beat you twice.  What makes you think he can't do it again?"

"I'm ready for him this time."  Spot said.

"Like you were ready last time."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then shut up and drop it.  I can handle him.  I know how he fights and I know how to beat him."

"What about Race?  What if that happens to someone el-"

"Here."  Spot shoved a piece of paper into Jack's hand.  "Some kid delivered it last night after everyone was sleeping."

"Obviously not everyone," Jack replied, scanning the sheet.  It was a note from Jersey to Spot.  It asked for one fight to end all of it.  Meaning, if Spot lost he just walked away from Brooklyn.  It was set for that afternoon.  Jack looked up from the paper.

"I accepted in case you're wondering."

"Does anyone else know about this?" Jack asked.

"I've only told Brooklyn, so I'm sure everyone will know by noon."

No one was actually there when the fight started.  It had been earlier than the letter claimed.  Jersey was alone in fighting Spot.  His gang came at the same time as the newsies and all of them intermingled trying to get a good look at the fight.

Spot's cane was still in his belt so they couldn't have been fighting for long.  They were circling each other and throwing punches. 

People were quiet for a while waiting to see if this fight would be like the others, with Jersey easily gaining an advantage over Spot.  Someone in the back of the crowd yelled encouragement to Spot and it spread like wildfire.  Spot threw the first punch to connect, across Jersey's jaw.

The tall boy stumbled back.  He brought a hand to his jaw as though he were surprised that Spot had actually hit him, or that Spot had hit him that hard.  But he quickly regained his composure and threw a wild punch at Spot.  The Brooklyn leader easily sidestepped it and threw another one of his own, cracking across Jersey's face. 

They began to circle each other again.  Spot had one hand ready on his cane.  Jersey had one on his face, wiping away the blood that was flowing from his nose. 

"Bastard," Jersey jeered.

Spot swung his cane heavily but missed.  Jersey landed several punches to Spot's face and one to his stomach that knocked him over.  But Spot wasn't injured that day.  He quickly pushed himself back up and swung again with his cane.  He caught Jersey across the stomach and on the second swing across the back.

He swung at Spot in an awful attempt and missed.  Spot hit him across the face again and knocked him to the ground.

Spot advanced on the fallen figure and Jersey backed away from him, a scared look in his eyes.  "You promised."

"I lied," Spot growled.  He raised his can and struck the boy with it, over and over.  When he finally stopped the body lay in an expanding pool of blood, the face beaten beyond recognition.  Spot stood up and spat on the mutilated body. 

"What about the rest of you?  Anyone else want to try?"

Jack noticed that all the boys who had switched sides had quickly disappeared after Jersey had gone down.  Without their leader they were nothing but traitors and feared what their old friends would do.

Someone started clapping and applause swept through the group for a moment before everything calmed down and the Brooklyn boys headed back toward the lodging house.

"I guess the rest of us can go home then," someone said.

Spot shrugged, "Guess so."

"What about the rest of them, the traitors.  What should we do if they come back, Spot?"

"Run them out of town." Spot said. "This is over, why don't you all get out of here then."

They followed his order, each expressing their gratitude to Spot as they passed him.  He accepted it humbly and quietly.  He called after Jack as Manhattan started to leave.

"I am sorry about Race, you know that right."

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "So am I."

"He was one of my best friends.  Card games will be boring without him."

Jack laughed at that, "Well, you'll sure win a lot more.  I'll see you around Spot."

There was no celebrating back at the Brooklyn lodging house.  Everything was over and no one had to be on their toes about everything any longer.  Spot was sitting on the steps smoking cigarette when Blink approached him.

"What d'you want Ballatt?" Spot asked.

"What are we supposed to do now, Spot?  It's over.  We can just go home right?"

Spot shook his head; "They might kill you if you do.  No one else knows you and the rest of them were spies for me, and I don't plan on telling them.  As much as I'm grateful you all respected my command you're still traitors.  Manhattan will run you out and the same will happen to everyone else.  And there's no way in hell I'll let traitors stay here.  Wherever you go, good luck.  Oh yeah and by the way, Manhattan might actually kill you."

"Why?"

"Race is dead."

"Dead?  Who killed him?"

"Why Jersey of course."  Spot smirked.

Blink was white as a ghost as he walked away.

Spot was approached by one of his boys later the same night.  Roman sat next to him o the stairs.

"What exactly did that accomplish?"

"The rest of New York didn't respect me as much as they used to.  Jack and Mayhem and some of the other leaders were getting too cocky for their own good.  I had to put them back in their place.  So I made sure they didn't trust each other, but they all trusted me.  An then," he sighed, "I saved the day."

"What did you promise that kid?"

"That I wouldn't kill him.  But you understand.  I couldn't let him go spilling my plan to everyone."

They were silent for a moment.

"What about Race?"

"He figured it out Roman.  He's been in New York a long time.  He remembered the kid from his days in Brooklyn.  He figured out what I was doing.  I couldn't let him go tell Jack and let that cocky bastard show me up.  I am the most powerful person in New York, and that's not going to change, especially not on the account of him."

"So you killed him."

"Yeah."

"Spot, you can't do things like this to people.  It isn't a ga-"

"You talk too much Roman." Spot said, puffing away on his cigarette.  "Maybe you should talk a little less.  Your mouth might get you in trouble one of these days."

Long after Roman had retreated inside Spot sat on the cold stone steps polluting his lungs with nicotine and god-knows what else.  He sat their smoking and planning his next move.

Leader of Brooklyn.  No, leader of New York sounded much better.

A/N: Like I said, this was posted as part of a contest and now that it's over I'm posting it here.  None of the replies to the contest really told me what about it people liked so I'd appreciate it very much if everyone would take some time and click on that cool purple button down to your left.  He's feeling neglected.

Thanks much,

Hotshot