Keeping it Safe
Chapter Eight: Bleak Seasons
"Only once did I doubt your lies."
A whole week passed before anymore trouble started. We all went on with our usual routines, I'd get up before Bumlets would have a chance to physically push me out of bed, clean up in a half awake stupor, go out and sell… most likely by myself. Eat a stolen lunch or something cheap from a vendor if it had been a good day. Another afternoon alone selling, then head back in to the Lodging House on the early side, to make sure I still had a bed. We had gotten a few new additions, all young and shy, but still a threat to us older ones.
The mood in the Lodging House was different than I ever remembered it being. Tense, cautious. Everyone was careful of what they said and who they said it to. It was fairly quiet there, even when everyone had gotten in for the night. When it got real dark Bumlets would come up and take Snitch's place as watchdog, counting to make sure that the number of heads matched the amount of money he had taken in. His count had only been unbalanced on one night. He had glared around the room, looking for any boy to use as an example. Five minutes later, Jake was crying and bleeding on the street outside. We all had gone to bed early that night.
Swifty stopped staying at the 'House after that one night when he had taken the board away from Skittery. No one knew where he went. Myself, I never asked and I tried not to care. As long as he was gone I could feel a little more comfortable at night, even with Snitch breathing down my neck trying to get me to start something. But I wouldn't be the one to start any trouble… another had that job.
-
Jack didn't have a drop of alcohol in him when he approached Bumlets on the seventh night. He was clean, sober, and angry as hell. Race and I stopped our idle chatter as soon as we saw him get to his feet. Even Skittery looked a little worried.
"Ah, Jacky-boy?" Jack ignored him. "Hey! Jack! What're you doing!?"
Race and I exchanged glances.
"Madman," Skittery mumbled, and dropped his face into his hands. "I'm not saving him this time."
"What's he gonna do?" Race asked.
"Ol' Jacky's feeling righteous. Just watch." Skittery said. I looked to the door, where Jack and Snitch were arguing. Bumlets opened the door from the stairs a moment later and looked surprised to see Jack there, an inch or two from his face.
"What do you want?" His voice easily carried across the room.
Jack smiled and stepped back. He motioned around the room. "This," he said, still with that weird little smile. "Yeah, that's right. A challenge." He paused to take off his cowboy hat. "Me an' you, little boy. Once and for all, whaddya say?"
Bumlets laughed hollowly. "A challenge? A formal challenge from you? Is this some sort of joke?"
Jack's smile faded. "Oh, it's no joke," he said. "Of course, you can decline. But then I'd have to leave. And take some of my friends with me."
Bumlets looked past Jack to where all of us were sitting, Jack's younger admirers hovering around. I could picture the math he was doing in his head. If we all went, he would lose a lot of money.
"Alright, I'll play this game," Bumlets said, to Jack now. "I've been challenged. The place will be Midtown East, near Crazy Joe's shop. You know the place."
"Alley, the space behind?"
A nod.
"Yeah, I know it. And the time will be tomorrow, after lunch. Two o'clock."
We were all listening intently now. The last time I remembered something like this happening had been years ago, I was probably eight or nine. It was an exciting thing for everyone, and the World would find a lot of faces missing in the line for the afternoon edition the next day.
"No guns," Bumlets said.
"No knives either," Jack added. He was best with his fists, but Bumlets looked annoyed.
"Fine," he said. "Anything else?"
"Everything else," said Jack with a gleam in his eye.
I sat back in my chair as they spit shook on it. I could feel a headache coming on.
-
The calm before the storm. That was what Itey had so wisely observed as we stood around in line the next morning. I glanced around at all the anxious looking faces and had to agree. Neither Jack nor Snitch had shown up to sell. Skittery, too, was absent. I ended up selling with a tired Race, both of us unconsciously working our way toward Midtown East as we scrambled to get rid of our papers. We paused for a sparse lunch around one thirty and then continued on until we found Crazy Joe's place. We were among some of the last to arrive, but pushed to the front of the group. A circle of kids from all over Manhattan and its neighboring boroughs had gathered, making sure to leave a large, empty space in the middle of them. There was more than enough room for a good fight - and with the closeness of the assembled boys, running away would be impossible.
The scrape and sudden flare of a match brought my head around and I saw Swifty, who had appeared beside me like a ghost. He cupped his hand around a fresh cigarette and lit it, then tossed the still-flaming match into the cleared ground. After a long drag he turned, met my eyes and winked. I squared my shoulders and turned back to Race, trying to start up a conversation and look preoccupied. Race hadn't noticed the addition of our 'friend.'
"Well, what do you think?" I asked. Race squinted as if weighing the opponents in his mind. He shrugged.
"I really don't know. Jack has the fists to back up his words, but Bumlets…he's a sly one. Tricky."
"Yeah," I murmured, distracted. "Making any bets?"
"I… no. I don't think so. I have a bad feeling about this one, Snoddy." Race shifted feet. "I don't know. Call it a gambler's sixth sense."
I couldn't help but snigger at his last comment. "Yeah, too bad it hasn't come in handy until now."
Race didn't crack a smile. He turned back to studying Jack, who was talking with Skittery and Kid Blink.
"Bumlets will pull it off," Swifty's smooth voice said from my right. "Yeah?"
I continued to ignore him. I heard him chuckle at my lack of response, but he said no more.
From across the circle the crowd parted and a familiar face swaggered through, one I wasn' surprised to see. Spot Conlon took to the middle of the cleared ground and tapped his metal tipped cane on the dirt, the sharp sound quieting the boys instantly. It didn't matter who you were -- you listened to Spot Conlon. Even Swifty had a grudging respect for the kid. We all did… and he knew it.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Spot said with a pleased glance around the crowd. "Welcome. From what I hear, Jack Kelly has challenged Bumlets Mercado for leadership of the Manhattan Newsboys' Lodging House." He fell silent and let his words sink in. Most of the boys there already knew what was happening, but that was Spot for you - eager for attention and prepared with dramatic words. Still, I had to admit his words and way was effective. The uneasy silence that had settled over the crowd stayed in place, and Spot continued.
"I have been elected-"
"-self elected," Race cracked quietly.
"To act as judge to the fight." He stopped again and turned a searching gaze to each of the contenders in turn. "Be fair, boys," he said, then laughed loudly. I took an involuntary step back, and into the person in back of me. They grumble but made room.
"Spot's not a big fan of Bumlets, is he?" Race said.
"No love lost between him and Jack neither," Swifty murmured from my other side. Race heard this and leaned in front of me.
"Oh. Hey, Swifty," he said casually, but snapped quickly back into place. I shook my head. Someone let loose a piercing whistle, and Jack and Bumlets went at each other.
-
I've seen fights that are all about brain and fights that are all about strength. In this fight Jack held the strength but Bumlets kept his head as his best weapon, and so each were forced to compromise silently. This wasn't going to be the bar brawl that Jack would be best at, but it wouldn't be a complete game of wits either. And so after the initial charge, Bumlets not bothering to dodge as Jack crashed into his chest, both stumbled and backed away a few steps away and studied each other, still in a ready stance.
The silence of before had lost its grip and cheers, yells, and taunts rang out through those gathered. Yeah, this was their idea of a good time. But it was making me sick. I massaged my temples and looked again to the middle, but neither boy had moved much. Smoke from Swifty's cigarette caught a breeze and filled my face, I gritted my teeth.
Without warning Bumlets lunged forward with quick steps and went for a fake to Jack's right. Jack didn't fall for it, instead he moved so the fake actually caught his shoulder, a weak throw, and used the following half second of stillness to take hold of Bumlets' shoulders. He brought his head down on Bumlets' with a loud crack, then took advantage of the other boy's dizziness and threw him to the ground. Another second and he himself dropped, his knees landing squarely on Bumlets' chest and knocking out his breath. Jack's punches hit him squarely in the face at each turn, I could see Jack's mouth moving but with the noise it was impossible to tell what he was saying. Nothing complimentary, I'm sure.
Bumlets' searching hands ran over the ground, his fingers found something heavy and closed around a rock. Two of Jack's teeth were knocked out, and the 'cowboy' jumped off with a strangled yell. Bumlets stood, still holding the rock, and threw it at Jack, who was too distracted to do anything but raise an arm in defense. The rock hit his left wrist and Jack staggering back, staring at what looked like a now useless hand. I could see Spot, talking and laughing with one of his cronies. Yeah. A real judge.
Bumlets knew he'd be in trouble if he were trapped on the ground again, so he stayed his distance, only jumping in to throw a punch or two before slinking carefully back. And then he slipped.
I didn't even see it happen, but the next thing I knew Jack was again pinning Bumlets down, beating him unmercifully while Bumlets writhed in the dust, completely trapped. Only his left arm was free, clawing for a hold at Jack's face that he couldn't reach. It looked like it was over. But Swifty remained calm next to me, smoking thoughtfully and snickering to himself. I took another look and saw that Bumlets had given up trying to get Jack with his left hand, and was instead inching it towards a pocket in his shirt, which Jack's knee was right below. He finally found something - a knife. Small, pocket sized, but it was a blade. And it wasn't allowed. Spot was on the other side of the fray, he couldn't see Bumlets' left hand and so couldn't see the weapon. Jack didn't see it either, he was intent on closing up Bumlets' eye right eye when the steel bit deep into his chin.
Jack cried out a garbled 'foul!' as he fell backwards, and Spot leapt to attention looking confused. Bumlets spun the knife away on the ground and climbed up, face bloody, shirt bloody, only his left eye fully functional. Jack caught a few of the drops of blood falling from his chin and the look of rage on his face was one I never want to see again. He charged, catching Bumlets and his momentum bringing them both to the ground once more. And it would just be that once more. Bumlets' earlier afflictions added onto the force at which his head hit the ground knocked him unconscious. Jack continued punching at him, his knuckles now bloody and his voice now hoarse, and the silence fell over the crowd again. Spot and another pulled Jack off Bumlets' body and forced him to the other side.
"Calm down, Jack!" Spot yelled. "You won, you bastard! Jesus!"
Jack stood shaking, and didn't acknowledge any words. Swifty's cigarette fell from his fingers, and his boot ground it into the dust. I turned my head, but he was simply facing forward, his eyes glinting maliciously. Race was also watching. He took my elbow and I started, spinning in almost fear.
"Come on," Race said with a worried frown. "Let's go." He indicated Swifty with a jerk of his head. "Someone's not happy." He tilted his head towards the circle, still empty, amazingly no other boys had gone in. "And I don't like the looks of this."
I nodded and followed him out, it was easy to weave our way around the throngs of startled faces. I had a queasy feeling in my stomach… Race was right. There was no use in hanging around. Nothing good was going to come from any of it.
I looked back once as we walked away. Skittery was talking fervently to Jack. Bumlets hadn't budged. And Swifty had disappeared.
+
"I don't know if I want to go back," Race sighed. We were walking along a quiet street, taking one of the longer routes back to the Lodging House. It was dusk, the air and shadows gloomy and gray, and a warm breeze was blowing into our faces.
"Back where?"
"Home, Snoddy. The Lodging House."
I was quiet. Home. It didn't feel like home anymore.
"Yeah," I said. "…yeah."
No more words passed between us that night.
-
Author's Note: Oh, just wait. Juuuuust wait.
Reviewers are like good music: they never get old! I LOVE YOU ALL!
Llama: If only the mood of this story allowed Pie to come back in a humorous, prank-pulling ghost character. Sigh. As I've probably mentioned before, I'm very glad you're enjoying it, and I'm glad the twists and things are working out! Gotta keep you kids on your toes, you know.
Midnight Flare: Hurrah! Can't have a reviewer die on me, that's no good. And rambling is good. Very good. I'm all for rambling. It's quite, uhm, healthy. -shifty eyes- Or so JP (SpottedOne) tells me.
Tabbers: -snug- Yes! INSANITY IS GOOD! You should know that, or master of psycho Pie!
ershey: Tell me about it, I still can't believe I forgot Skittery. As I was writing in the beginning I was like "SOMEthing's missing," but I had no idea until awhile through. Whoops! Hope the action in here was adequate. And, good, the convo last chapter did its job then, at least for you. Whew!
rumor: (I'm STILL trying to think of a good nickname for you that isn't a disease.) -innocent look- Motive behind nice!Race? Me? What are you talking about!? -slinks away-
Gothitica: Hurrah for Race! LOVE!
Cello: Hello, my name is Molly, and I love you as well. You are not first in this one, but you're FIRST IN MY HEART! -long pause- ewwww…. I'm going to go into a corner and hate myself now.
Falco: I have only one thing to say to you, Puerto Rican fiend: You owe me waffles.
Mondie: Aw, gee. -grin- YES! ITEY AND HIS BREAD! MY FAVORITE PART OF THE WHOLE STORY! Haha! Really, though, sadly enough I'm not kidding. I'll have to add more about Itey and bread. Or something. Uhm… yes. Woo, Valentines! I'm very excited to get yours. And I hope my little piece JUST FOR YOU (which I KNOW you recognized) helped replace a little more faith. Woo.
Thistle: Hahaha out to be good. "He's a badass gambler. He's an intelligent wuss. Can they make it together in the city? Racetrack and Snoddy in: Out to be Good!" Uhm… yes. Anyway. ARE things tying up? Maybe. Maybe not.