From the instant Spot turned out of the alley and onto the street, he knew that he was being watched.  He knew from the way the hairs on the back of his neck were tingling, and from the way that he saw boys staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  When I'm back in power, the first thing I'm going to do is teach them to be more subtle.  In response to the eyes upon him, he kept his head high and his face calm.  He would never have told anyone that he felt naked without the comforting weight of the cane at his side or in his hand. 

He frowned.  This certainly wasn't the best time to think about Race's words, but they wouldn't stop replaying themselves in his head.  Race had given him the cane, had been his only friend, had even made him think that it was possible for him to live a life away from his controlling father.  Patrick had been grateful, and had looked up to Race.  But now, Spot couldn't stop thinking, what was it Race had wanted all along? Had he had some ulterior motive in mind when giving him the cane? Am I ever going to be able to look him in the eye again? Despite Spot's bold words earlier, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of Race liking him.  Dammit, Race, why'd you have to go and do a thing like be queer? Spot cursed inwardly.  And why'd you have to go and be brave about it? Because I respect that.  You were honest, and I can't repay that with cowardice.  I have to pretend that it never happened.  I owe you that.  A grim smile played around Spot's lips.  Anyhow, it might not be a problem after all... I might never see you again.

Now he was being followed.  Looking as casual as they could, several boys had detached themselves from buildings they had been leaning against, and were now cautiously following him.  Spot turned into a small, empty side street, and the Brooklyn boys followed quietly, still apparently thinking that he hadn't noticed them.

He took a deep, silent breath.  It was time to begin the games.  With a cocky grin on his face, he spun around and stared straight at the six boys who had tailed him.

"Well, if it ain't my good ol' boys," he said mockingly.  "Followin' their leader like an army."

Startled at his sudden about-face, five out of the six boys jumped and hands grabbed for their slingshots and rusty knives.  The sixth boy, who had been keeping towards the back, stepped forward with a grin to match Spot's own.

"We knew you'd be comin' back sometime, so we wanted to give you a proper welcome, jus' like Blue ordered." 

"Like Blue ordered, eh, Crumbs?" Spot raised an eyebrow.  "Then you'd better get to it, huh?"

Crumbs' hands, which till then had remained relaxed at his side, dropped to his club.  "Understand that it ain't personal, eh, Spot? Blue beat ya and we got to do what he says, don't we?"

Spot tilted his head to the side.  "Course," he replied as he stared at the tall, blond newsie.  "Ain't personal at all."

With a shrug, Crumbs moved forward until he was standing directly in front of his former leader.  He raised the club over his head, preparing to strike.  Spot's eyes never left his.  He never even flinched.

For one tense moment, there was silence.  The five boys who were hanging back watched the proceedings with gaping mouths and clenched fists.  Crumbs and Spot might have been statues, standing there since time began.

Then, suddenly, Crumbs' club whistled towards Spot's head.

The five boys involuntarily winced, not wanting to see the splatter of blood or hear the crunching of bone.

But there was silence.

When they dared to look again, a strange sight met their eyes.  Spot still hadn't moved or even attempted to defend himself.  Crumbs' club hovered mere inches from Spot's head, but it was motionless and Crumbs was looking down at Spot with a rueful smile on his face.

Ever so slowly, Spot stuck out his hand, his face intense.  Crumbs immediately lowered his club and grabbed Spot's hand.  They shook heartily.

Crumbs shook his head.  "You'se a real piece of work, Spot.  How'd you know that I couldn't hit you?"

Spot grinned, a small corner of his mouth tilting up.  "I didn't, Crumbs.  I thought you was gonna."

"So did I."

Though Spot suppressed his reaction, inside he swallowed nervously.  "Oh? You was gonna smash my head, then?"

"Yeah.  Orders is orders, right?"

Spot snorted.  "Orders ain't orders if they'se comin' from Blue."

Shrugging, Crumbs replied, "If Blue can almost kill Spot Conlon, there ain't no tellin' what he could do to the rest of us."

"So why'd you stop?" Spot crossed his arms.

"'Cause you was right, Spot.  You was better to us than Blue is.  You'se still my leader."

Spot nodded, satisfied.  "Thanks, Crumbs.  If we survive this, though, remind me to soak ya for showin' weakness in the face of orders."

Crumbs just laughed.  After a moment, though, his face grew serious again.  "So what now, boss?"

Spot, equally serious, said, "Two of us against the rest of Brooklyn."

"Are you outta your mind?" Crumbs asked, his eyes widening.

"I walked into Brooklyn without a weapon and let ya almost beat my brains out... I don't really gotta answer that question."

"Two of us... 'gainst all of them?" Crumbs mused.  Slowly, he turned around and regarded the other five, who had been standing stock-still, watching them in surprise.  "We could always start with 'em."

A feral smile spread over Spot's face.  He and Crumbs understood each other quite well.  "I may not have my cane, but I reckon that between the two of us, we could beat 'em easily."

"Unless, of course," Crumbs replied, "they'se on our side."  He slapped his cane against the flat of his palm, looking quite eager to start swinging it around.

They didn't make it more than three or four slow, stalking steps forward before the five boys were throwing down their weapons and welcoming Spot back with wide grins.  They started to introduce themselves, but Spot interrupted them.

"You'se Peghead, you'se Claw, you'se Bowtie, and you two... Bat an' Rat, right?"

"Yeah," Bat replied, his arm around his twin's shoulders.  "Ya always did have a memory for names, Spot."

Spot shrugged.  "It's what ya do when you'se got boys to look after.  So tell me, boys, is all of Brooklyn gonna be as happy to see me as you all is?"

Claw shook his dark, shaggy head.  "Ain't that simple, Spot."

"Never is, is it?"

"There's enough of those who's happy to see Blue that those who ain't are too scared to open their mouths.  It's easy for us right now 'cause we'se all alone and we ain't got Blue or his spies lookin' over our shoulders, but once we leave this alley..."

Spot nodded.  "I thought my boys was tougher than that."

"Ain't that we ain't tough, Spot," Crumbs interjected.  "We'se not as tough as you, maybe, and most of us ain't willing to walk into a battle with no allies."

Crossing his arms, Spot replied, "Well, I'se gonna get Brooklyn back, Crumbs.  Either that, or I'se gonna die.  And once we leave this alley, you'se all gonna pretend like ya never seen me and we ain't never had this talk.  But," he added, "once the fightin' starts, I'se gonna expect you all to fight at my side."

"I'll be there," Crumbs said.

"Us too," Rat said, indicating himself and Bat.

Peghead, so named because of his vaguely square-shaped head now shook that head with an amazed smile.  "I think that you'se guys are crazy, but I'd rather have Spot than Blue.  Count me in."

"And me," Claw said, sheathing his knife.

Bowtie looked the least happy of the five.  He was smaller than the others and quite a bit younger.  It was clear that he wanted to agree to help, but he was frightened.

Noticing, Spot said, "Bowtie, you'se got a different and harder job than these bums.  When Blue sees me, he's gonna want to send a message to the rest of the Brooklyn boys to come and fight me.  I want you to be the boy he sends.  So you'se got to get close to 'im and act like you'se eager to take me down.  And when he does send ya, the message you'se gonna carry is gonna be that I've been spotted on the south end of Brooklyn, and that he wants them all to spread out down south and find me.  Can ya do that?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Bowtie replied, a gap-toothed smile on his mouth.  "But what if he don't send me? What if he sends someone else?"

"That's easy."  Spot looked the smaller boy in the eye.  "You follow 'em, hit 'em in the back of the head with somethin', and spread the message I gave you all the same.  Once you'se done, I want you to go to Manhattan."

"Manhattan?" Bowtie replied incredulously.  "And what do I do there?"

"You wait for it to be all over.  If I lose, I want all of my boys who's able to go to Manhattan and stay there.  Better they leaves Brooklyn than stay and live under Blue," Spot spat.

"Leave Brooklyn?" Bat asked.  "But...Brooklyn's our home."

"Mine too," Spot said, his chin set, "but it's only home 'cause of the boys who lives here and is our family.  If it stays here under Blue, it's gonna die.  Make your own Brooklyn in Manhattan if ya gotta."  

Though their faces were rebellious and Spot clenched his fists, for the first time wondering if he'd gone too far, Crumbs again saved him.

"I always thought that Manhattan was a little too calm, but we could liven it up, eh, boys?"

Identical smiles spread across Bat and Rat's faces.  "Sounds like fun," Rat said.  "Them Manhattan boys... They'se nice enough, but they ain't got no sense of humor.  They needs some boys who know how to be wild."

Claw smiled too, black eyes keen in his angular face.  "I bet they ain't got no one over there that could beat me in gamblin'.  I could get rich."

"They got someone, Claw," Spot said quietly.  "He's a good gambler and he's got one hell of a poker face, but this ain't the time to think about that.  We gotta get started.  You boys had better get outta here.  I'll see you all at the warehouse."

He shook their hands, and with conspiratorial grins, they scattered in different directions, except for Crumbs.  Crumbs stayed standing right next to Spot, who leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"So, Crumbs," Spot said, "you wasn't really gonna hit me, was you?"

Crumbs laughed.  "'Course I wasn't.  Me, hit Spot Conlon? I may be crazy enough to stand with ya against the rest of Brooklyn, but I ain't dumb enough to try to hurt ya."

"Atta boy."  Spot snorted, amused.  "Almost had me believin' you."

"I figured that them boys needed a little demonstration.  Besides...more fun this way, ain't it?"

Spot clapped Crumbs on the shoulder.  "Always.  Now, scram.  I'll be seein' you soon."

Crumbs tipped his hat, shouldered his club, and sidled out of the alley, leaving Spot alone once again.

********************************************************

"Race!" Dutchy yelled as the carriage hit another bump in the road, sending him bouncing around the seat.  "We'se outta Brooklyn! You can slow down now!"

"Says who?" Race countered grimly, one hand holding his hat on his head, the other urging even more speed from the horses.

"Says me!" He groaned, feeling slightly ill from the speed and the bumps that sent him hurtling into the air.  "We did what Spot said, didn't we? We got him into Brooklyn and we got out again.  So you can slow down the horses before I get sick over the side!"

"Yeah, we did what Spot said," Race called back to Dutchy, "but that don't mean that I gotta listen to everything he says."

"What're you talkin' about?" Dutchy clutched a hand to his turbulent stomach.  "We'se goin' back to the Lodging House, and I'se gonna take these clothes off and sleep for three days.  Right?"

"Wrong."

"Wrong..." Dutchy groaned again, lying down on his side.  "Of course, wrong.  Sometimes I really hate ya, Race."

"That idiot's gonna get himself killed!"

"It ain't our fight.  He told us to leave and not come back."

"What's that, Dutchy?" Race said, a hint of amusement coloring his voice.  "Don't tell me you'se afraid of Spot."

"'Course I am! He's Spot Conlon! The whole time he was here by my feet, I was afraid he was goin' to chop them off or somethin'."

"Well, I ain't afraid of him."  Race turned his head briefly and glanced down at Dutchy, whose skin was turning a pasty color.  "He brought Brooklyn to our rescue durin' the strike.  We couldn't have done it without him, and it's Manhattan's turn to help him."

"What?"

"Just lie there and keep your mouth shut," Race snapped.  "We'se gonna be back at the Lodging House soon, and you can go sleep while the rest of us go to Brooklyn."

Despite his roiling stomach, Dutchy managed to sit up slightly, his chin firming.  He wasn't the proudest boy in the world, but he wasn't going to just sit there while Race insulted his honor.  "So what's the plan?"

"Plan? I figured that we could all storm Brooklyn and help Spot fight."

Dutchy grunted.  "Great plan, Race," he said sarcastically, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the lurching landscape.  "Listen, if you really want to do somethin' stupid, this is what we should do..."  His voice lowered to barely more than a whisper.

By the time Race pulled the horses to a halt in front of the Lodging House, Dutchy's stomach had been utterly forgotten.