Author's Note: Rumble rumble rumble!! Ohh, I'm so excited! :-D
Disclaimer: I own West, Tempest, Mouse, Rims, and Leya, the newsies belong to Disney, and everything else belongs to the musical "West Side Story".
.o.
East Side Story - Chapter V.
.o.
We're gonna hand 'em a surprise
Tonight.
We're gonna cut 'em down to size
Tonight.
We said, "O.K., no rumpus,
No tricks"—
But just in case they jump us,
We're ready to mix
Tonight!
We're gonna rock it tonight,
We're gonna jazz it up and have us a ball...
They're gonna get it tonight;
The more they turn it on, the harder they'll fall!
Well, they began it—
Well, they began it—
And we're the ones to stop 'em once and for all,
Tonight!
"Tonight" - West Side Story
.o.
"Sarah doesn't want me to rumble," said Jack.
Spot pulled himself onto Jack's bathroom sink and squeezed out the last of the toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "So?" he said indifferently, beginning to brush his teeth. He had a sort of fixation with oral hygiene, insisting on brushing after every meal despite the other Jets' teasing comments. He leaned over and spat a mixture of toothpaste and saliva into the sink. "What, is she worried you're gonna get killed or somethin'?"
"Yeah." Jack pulled a loose t-shirt on over his head. "She's completely paranoid. Says I should quit the gang before I get shot in the head by one o' them damn Ricans."
"Shoulda thought o' that before she dated the leader of the Jets, eh?" said Spot, laughing.
"Yeah..." said Jack again, and he avoided Spot's gaze and busied himself in rummaging around in one of his drawers.
Spot noticed the reluctant look on his friend's face, and his gray eyes softened slightly. "Of course, you're not going to get shot in the head," he said quickly. "It's no weapons, remember? Bare knuckles and all that good stuff." He stuck his toothbrush back into his mouth.
"You've got very nice teeth," Jack remarked, finally looking up. "I don't understand how you can smoke and love your teeth so much; one of 'em is gonna have to go, eh?"
Spot looked away. "You're not gonna get killed, Cowboy," he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "It's man to man. Méndez was real clear about that, yeah? Anyway, even if it was a knife-fight or somethin', those Puerto Ricans're too damn slow to do any real harm."
"Hey Spot?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you nervous?"
This caught Spot by surprise. He stopped, toothbrush in hand, and to Jack's intense surprise his beautiful face fell and his shoulders slumped slightly. But only for a minute. Before there was time for his body language to sink in, he had regained composure and rinsed off his toothbrush. "Nah, it's just a stupid rumble and we're gonna win," he said, and his cocky grin reappeared on his face. "Are you nervous?"
"No, course not," said Jack, waving a hand dismissively. "C'mon, we're gonna be late. You ready?"
"Yep." Spot pulled on his customary gray cabbie hat and dropped his toothbrush into the sink with a grin. "I'll come back for this later," he said to Jack, and he left the apartment, singing a song about dancing pineapples.
Jack paused, about to follow his friend, and a thought struck him. Glancing furtively at the front door which Spot had left swinging, he pulled open one of the dresser drawers and lifted out a small knife. "Just in case," he murmured, and he folded it up and slid it into the back pocket of his blue jeans.
"Hey, Cowboy, ya comin'?" Spot yelled from downstairs.
"Hang on, Spot," Jack called back, and he quickly closed the drawer and hurried out of the apartment, feeling considerably safer. He began to hum Spot's dancing pineapple song.
.o.
The dim area under the highway was hot and muggy, the bright gleam of the headlights of passing cars flashing on and off through the mesh wire fence on the side. Blink was to be congratulated on his choice of locations for the rumble; even if Krupke did suspect anything, it would be hours before he would think to check under the highway.
Bumlets could not remember ever being more nervous in his entire life. As he and the Sharks entered the space, he could almost see the ground splattered with blood-- American and Puerto Rican blood, too much to be spilled at such a young age. Then the premonition left him, and he found himself staring at Itey.
"It's not gonna be plain skin, is it?" Bumlets whispered.
Itey smiled sadly and ran a hand through his hair. "West brought a knife," he said. "So did Tempest, and Mouse, and I think Racetrack, too. Rims doesn't need metal to inflict pain."
"Did you?"
"What?"
"Bring a knife."
Itey touched his back pocket, where there was a significant bulge. He avoided his friend's gaze. "Well, didn't you? Look, none of us trust the Jets. We just want to make sure that if Kelly pulls out a knife, we'll have somethin' to fight back with."
Bumlets didn't say anything. It had never occurred to him to bring a knife-- West and Jack had agreed on no weapons, so he had trusted that there would be no weapons. He licked his lips and looked out across the makeshift battleground to where the Jets were now entering, looking grim but determined. He spotted Blink, and it occurred to him that the sandy-haired boy had lost his left eye in a knife fight when he was seventeen. Man-- he must be more nervous than I am.
Blink caught the other boy's eye and gave him a faint smile, which Bumlets returned. He noticed an expression on the blond's face that could mean only one thing: they had to stop the rumble.
West stepped forward, alive and full of adrenaline and a slight cockiness. "Glad you could make it," he said with a smirk.
"Right back atcha, Méndez." Jack held out his hand to the other boy so that it was gloved in the flashing light from the headlights. "Shall we begin?"
West ignored the hand. "Sure."
"Ain't you gonna shake? Rumble tradition, y'see," said Jack, annoyed. "Or are you too goddamn--"
"Really messed up country, America is," said West mildly. "I hate you more than anyone I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I know you had me just the same. Why the hell should we bother shakin' hands? I ain't gonna pretend to be well-mannered during a rumble, all right?"
Jack looked at him for a minute, eyebrows raised, then dropped his hand. "You're a real gentleman, Méndez."
"Just tryin' to keep things simple, Cowboy."
"Right." Jack's dark eyes traveled over the Shark's lean bodies, apparently sizing them up. "Well, formalities aside, let's get this thing done. My girlfriend'll be pissed if I'm out too late."
West smiled and muttered something nearly unrepeatable, at which Jack snapped back the most offensive racial slur he could think of, and the two boys lunged at each other. "Shit," Bumlets muttered as the rest of the teenagers began to cheer and shout, and he pushed his way through the crowd and forced himself between the two leaders.
"What is it, Bumlets?" said West, astonished, fist still raised.
"You've got to stop," said Bumlets, his voice shaking slightly.
There was silence for a minute, everyone staring at Bumlets. Then Jack began to laugh. "What's this all about, prettyboy? Gettin' cold feet at the last minute? Listen, if you can't fight your own fights--"
"No, it isn't like that," Bumlets cried. "I--"
A Jet made a catcall, and someone yelled, "Soak 'im, Cowboy!" A smile spread across Jack's face. "Well, Lucero, if you ain't chicken, prove it. C'mon, take a punch." He opened his arms wide, his expression confident and mocking.
"Bumlets, don't," said West immediately.
"Yeah, listen to your friend Méndez."
"I don't want to fight you," said Bumlets.
"Course you don't," said Jack, smirking.
"Get 'im, Bumlets!" Mouse shouted.
"Yeah, come get me, Bumlets," Jack chuckled. "I'll take on prettyboy as a warm-up, how's that? C'mon, prettyboy."
"You don't understand," said Bumlets, trying not to panic.
"Watcha say? Afraid, gutless?" Jack crowed. "Not so tough anymore, eh?"
"Soak 'im!" Race yelled.
"Scared?" said Jack, reaching up to pinch Bumlets' cheek.
"Leave me alone--"
"Kill 'im, Jack!" Spot yelled.
"Dontcha wanna fight, prettyboy?"
"BUMLETS," said West loudly.
"I don't want to fucking fight you," Bumlets spat.
"He's chicken!"
"Gutless!"
"Kill 'im, Jack!"
"Yeah, soak 'im!"
"C'mon, Lucero, scared?"
"I ain't scared, but I don't--"
"BUMLETS, DON'T!"
"Get 'im, Bumlets, make 'im wish he--"
"I don't wanna fight y--"
"BUMLETS, JUST--"
"C'MON, YOU YELLOW-BELLIED BAST--"
Jack never finished his sentence. West pushed Bumlets out of the way and slammed his first as hard as he could into the side of Jack's face, knocking him backwards. "You're an asshole, Kelly," he laughed, and he reached into his back pocket.
"No, West--" Bumlets choked. "Aw, goddammit, no!"
But Jack was already staggering forward, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pavement and reaching into his pocket, too. Before anyone had time to register what was happening, the two gang leaders were standing poised with gleaming knives held tight in their hands. Jack grinned. "I thought you said no weapons, Méndez," he said softly.
"I did," West answered, biting his lip-- careful, careful.
They began to slowly circle each other, knives flashing in the light from the moving cars. Bumlets glanced at Blink, who looked ready to throw up, but his eyes snapped back to the two leaders when Jack sprung forward. "Watch it!" Tempest shouted. West didn't need him; his reflexes were incredible, and he easily dodged the blade and leapt, catlike, around behind Jack.
The fight seemed to drag on for eternity. The two gangs blended together and separated and blended again, and Tempest even threw a punch at Dutchy when he made a nasty remark about West. Blink pressed himself against Bumlets' shoulder and closed his eye every so often, when all became too much for him to watch. Bumlets didn't feel so great himself.
"C'mon, Méndez, is that all ya got?" Jack was saying scornfully. "You're no better than Lucero, I'll tell ya that."
"Shut your trap, Cowboy," said West calmly, darting forward.
Jack ducked and laughed. "You Ricans should go back where you fuckin' came from," he said. "Here's no place for you lightweights."
"Don't be thick, they ain't wanted anywhere," Spot chuckled.
"Shut the fuck up, Conlon," Racetrack snapped.
"Make me."
So Racetrack decked him. Pretty son the pair of them were immersed in quite an intense fistfight, but nobody was paying them any attention. In a burst of energy, Jack had lunged forward and pinned West against the wall, knife tip against his tightened stomach.
Silence.
West looked down at the blade and then back up at Jack, mildly startled. "You got me, Kelly," he said.
"I got you, Méndez," said Jack, smiling pleasantly.
"And now you're gonna kill me."
A look of grim determination set in Jack's eyes. "And now I'm gonna kill you," he said.
"Jack, don't!" Blink yelled, eye wide.
Jack paused and looked back at Blink, his expression unreadable. His eyes traveled over the huge crowd of boys, none of them older than twenty, and then he looked back at West. "I don't want your sympathy," said the Puerto Rican darkly. "If you're gonna kill me, kill me. Just get it done, all right?"
"You ain't gettin' my sympathy," said Jack softly, his face very close to West's. "I'm gonna kill you and all your little Spic friends if it's the last thing I do, you Rican bastard."
West was not the type of person who was easily angered; he was usually very calm and laid-back, never losing control. But when it came to protected the ones he loved, he became a different person entirely. "Don't you dare talk like that, you son of a bitch," he whispered, and he wrenched Jack's hands off him and plunged his knife as far as it would go into the other boy's stomach.
Jack froze, eyes wide and mouth open in an expression of slight surprise. Then he looked slowly down at the blood beginning to pool at his feet, gushing from the wound in his lower stomach, and he began to laugh. Softly at first, and then louder, until the sound of his laughter was echoing dully throughout the silent area. "Spot!" he yelled, and he stopped laughing. "Where's Spot?"
"Right here, Cowboy." Spot looked strangely timid, his face pale and bloody from his fistfight, and the aura he gave out was a ghost of the usual confidence he radiated.
Jack began to fall, and Spot helped him down easily. "Sarah was right," Jack whispered, weakening slightly. "Tell 'er I'm sorry."
"Don't be s--"
"You lied to me, Conlon," Jack interrupted, but he didn't look upset or angry. "You said I wouldn't die."
Spot cracked the knuckles on his left hand and stared at the ground, thinking hard, eyes dull. It was a long time before he spoke again. "I didn't think you were gonna die, Cowboy," he said, his voice oddly gentle.
"I figured you didn't," Jack laughed, and he died.
Spot chuckled too, but it was a dull, lifeless sound. "Course I didn't realize you were gonna die," he said, his voice sounding odd. "Course, Cowboy. If I knew you were gonna die, I woulda fought Méndez 'stead o' you." He reached forward and jerkily straightened Jack's bandana, before standing up to face the rest of the boys. "He's dead."
"Cowboy?" Swifty choked out.
"What the hell is this?" another Jet yelled angrily.
"He ain't DEAD, he was talking to you just a few seconds ago!"
"MÉNDEZ FRICKIN' KILLED HIM??"
"No," Bumlets heard Blink whisper. The blond boy pushed his way forward to where Jack's body lay, but his eyes were on Spot's-- as though he couldn't bear to look at the figure on the ground. Several other Jets were slowly emerging from the crowd and Mush was retching against the fence, supported by Specs. "You're lying, Spot," said Blink shakily.
Spot didn't answer. He bent down and carefully slid the dagger out of Jack's stomach, ignoring the blood the soaked his hands.
"You're lying."
"I ain't lyin', Blink, he's dead." Spot stood up. "That Puerto Rican bastard stabbed him in the fuckin' stomach and killed him. Get a grip." But there was a new quality to his voice now, as though he were fighting back extreme emotions.
Blink seemed unable to accept the facts. He looked at Jack's body, still gently surging blood, and then up at Spot, and over at West. The Puerto Rican boy's face was mask-like, raised to the sky, and his arms hung limply at his sides. That boy, Blink realized, just murdered Jack Kelly.
And he threw himself at West.
"BLINK!" Spot yelled, grabbing him across the chest. "What the fuck do ya think you're doin'? Have you fucking lost your mind?"
"Have you?" Blink snapped.
"Just--"
"I don't--"
"Blink, calm--"
Blink snatched the bloody knife from Spot's loose grip, dodged the other boy's arms, and ran at West. To his surprise, the dark boy did nothing to stop him from pushing the bloodstained blade into his chest. On the contrary, he looked at Kid link with an expression of what could have been relief as the cold metal slid between his ribs.
"NO!" Tempest yelled, breaking forward.
West looked up, and his brother stopped. They stood there, staring at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, both pairs of dark eyes blank and empty. Finally, West spoke.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to end up-- no weapons, that's what we agreed," he coughed, crumpling. Unlike Spot, Blink made no efforts to help the wounded teenager down.
"Don't die," said Tempest.
West shrugged in what would have been an off-handed fashion, but the simple movement was cramped by pain. "I killed Cowboy, and now I'm doin' my part. S'only fair." He grinned and closed his eyes. "I'll see ya in hell, boys," he whispered.
That was it. The lean, dark chest stopped rising and falling, the beautiful face tilted to one side, and he was dead. Out like a light. Gone.
Blink staggered backwards, staring at his hands. Killer killer killer killer killer killer killer killer killer killer, he just killed a nineteen year old boy, he just stabbed him in the chest, killer killer killer--
Suddenly, Mouse darted forward and signaled everyone to shut the hell up, to listen. They froze.
Quiet now, but growing steadily louder, was the sound of police sirens in the distance. Krupke had thought to check the highway. Shit.
The boys scattered, shouting to their gang members, fleeing for the escape routes, but two people stayed where they were. Kid Blink sank to his knees besides West's body, hands trembling out in front of him-- killer killer killer killer killer-- and Tempest had yet to move from his standing spot about ten feet away. Neither of them took any notice of the police sirens in the background... or perhaps they simply couldn't hear it.
A figure darted out of the shadows. Bumlets. "C'mon, guys, you're gonna get caught," he hissed, pulling at Tempest's shoulder. The Puerto Rican didn't move, his eyes still fixed uncomprehendingly on the body of his older brother.
Blink, however, looked up at the sound of Bumlets' voice. The dark boy saw him kneeling there in the pool of Jack and West's blood, more of the rich, dark liquid staining his hands, and wanted nothing more than to hold him, to help him somehow. "Blink," he whispered. The police cars were almost upon them now, sirens screaming and wailing and slicing through the hot night air. "Blink, we gotta get outta here."
"BUMLETS!" Racetrack yelled from an escape route by the fence. "DON'T BOTHER WITH THE KILLER, JUST--"
"SHUT UP, RACE!" Bumlets shouted. He turned back to Blink, grabbed his upper arm, and pulled him to his feet. "It's okay," he murmured. "We just gotta get the hell outta here. TEMPEST!"
Tempest ignored him, ignored the world, and continued to look blankly at West's bloodstained body. A searchlight pierced the steamy air, and Bumlets and Blink ducked. "Shit," Bumlets muttered. "Shit shit shit." With one last fleeting glance at Tempest, he tightened his grip on Blink's arm and dragged him into the safety of the shadows.
The searchlight eventually shone on Tempest, outlining his body and throwing an elongated shadow across the ground, and two policemen climbed out of their car and walked toward him. "There's no need to run, Méndez; we see ya," said the fatter policeman, whom they all recognized to be Officer Krupke.
Tempest looked slowly up, his face impassive. Krupke took no notice of his obvious state of shock and continued briskly, "Now tell me, you lyin' Rican, was there a rumble tonight under the highway?"
Tempest looked back at West's body. "That's my brother," he said. His voice was hoarse.
"What was that, Méndez?"
"Dead."
The two policemen looked at each other, nonplussed, and then Krupke shone the flashlight down at Tempest's feet. "Holy cow-- Kelly?" he gasped, squatting down to get a better look. "Méndez?" He turned to Tempest. "You did this?"
"I as good as did it," said Tempest dully.
The other policeman stepped forward. "We'll have to take 'im, Krupke," he said. "Looks like he went on a killin' spree or somethin'. Is he still armed?"
"Hand over your weapons," said Krupke to Tempest, and Tempest did. "All right, ya hoodlum, get into the car. You've really done it this time-- killin' your own brother? Damn, I thought..."
Blink was struggling against Bumlets' arms, trying to get into the open. "It wasn't him, it was me, it ain't fair--"
Tempest stopped halfway to the car, two policemen holding his arms. "RIMS!" he shouted. Bumlets saw the great lump stir in the shadows, listening. "KILL 'IM FOR ME, ALL RIGHT, RIMS? KILL 'IM FOR WEST--" and the policemen dragged him away, apparently convinced that the boy had lost his mind.
It didn't take a genius to figure out whom he meant for Rims to kill.
"Fuck," Bumlets muttered, and he pulled Blink to his feet. "C'mon, follow me-- I'm takin' you to my place. Jesus Christ, I wouldn't be surprised if they burn down your apartment..."
"My dog," Blink whispered, but Bumlets cut him off with a hurried, "Come on, before they shoot you," and the pair of them disappeared into the shadows.
.o.
The instant they were inside, Bumlets locked the door to his apartment and kissed Blink "I killed 'im," Blink whispered shakily, crushing his face into Bumlets' neck. Bumlets wrapped his arms around him. "I killed 'im I killed 'im I--"
"Shut up," Bumlets breathed, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm sorry."
"You killed West."
"I know."
"He killed Jack."
"I loved Jack."
"Tempest's gone."
"Jack saved my life last year."
"When you lost your eye."
"I owe 'im."
"I was there."
"So I killed West."
"Don't."
Blink lifted his hands and stared at them unseeingly. "I feel like Lady MacBeth," he said hollowly. "'Out out, damn spots', y'know?"
"We'll wash the blood off," said Bumlets.
"I should turn myself in, get Tempest out."
"No."
Blink looked at him, then back at his hands. "I'll do whatever you want me to do," he said.
"Then stay with me."
"I will." And he crumpled against the wall, his shoulders shaking but his face dry. "Bumlets, I--"
There was a loud knocking sound at the door. "Dominic?" Anita cried. "Dominic, what happened? Anthony is sitting on the stairs with his face in his hands, he won't explain-- Why is your door locked?"
"Where is Mateo?" came Leya's anxious voice, and Bumlets knew she meant West.
"Dominic, are you there?"
He stood up. "Yeah, hold on, girls," he yelled. "Blink, you gotta get out of here-- The window, climb out the window or somethin'."
"I'm not scared," said Blink, eyes closed.
"Well I fucking am, now get out!"
"Dominic, who are you talking to?" Anita called.
"Nobody; hang on!" He turned to Blink. "Listen-- I love you, all right? I need you to get out of here now, because if they see you and scream or somethin', Rims'll come and kill you."
"LET US IN, GOD DAMMIT!" Leya screamed, and Maria yelped and squealed something about getting the bible.
Blink stood up and kissed Bumlets. "When can I see you again?" he whispered, as the other boy pushed him toward the window.
"Tonight, at one," Blink whispered. "Go to Paul Shanley's place, I'll meet you out back."
"I love you."
Bumlets grinned and shoved him out onto the windowsill. "I know, now get out!" He watched until the other boy was out of sight, trying to swallow the huge lump that had somehow lodged itself in his throat.
"Dominic?" The doorknob rattled. The two girls' voices were becoming high-pitched and hysterical. Bumlets only hoped they wouldn't break down and cry-- if there was anything he couldn't handle, it was a couple of crying girls.
He unlocked the door and threw it open, dashing past the girls and hurrying down the stairs. Race was curled up against the wall, rocking back and fourth, Itey was staring at him blankly, and Mouse was pacing the steps feverishly. Where was Rims?
"Racetrack," said Bumlets softly, touching his shoulder.
"I'll kill 'im," Race answered. He was trembling, his face pale and bruised from the rumble, but his hands were steady.
"Cool it, Race," said Bumlets gently.
"I'LL FUCKING KILL 'IM FOR FUCKING KILLING WES--"
"RACETRACK!" Bumlets slapped him and gripped his shoulders tightly, and Mouse stopped pacing.
Racetrack glared at Bumlets for a minute, his body tense, and then he broke down and leaned forward against the other boy's shoulder. "What the fuck happened?" he said softly, and Bumlets could feel him shudder under his arms.
"Listen to me." Bumlets closed his eyes for a second, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. "You gotta stay... cool, all right? If you show how hurt you are, you're carvin' a hole in your chest for them to stick in a red-hot umbrella and open it-- wide."
"At this point, I'd be thankful for someone to stick an umbrella in my chest," said Itey dully.
Bumlets ignored him. "That was West's trick, wasn't it? Just stay cool, don't let 'em see you're hurt, just stay cool."
"And where's West now?" Race snapped, pulling back abruptly as though he had only just realized that he had been resting in the other boy's embrace. "Where the HELL is West when we need 'im?"
"He's dead," said Mouse softly, sinking onto the steps.
"It ain't his fault," said Itey.
"IT DAMN WELL IS," Race yelled, but they knew he didn't mean it. The entire Higgins family had always dealt with pain by anger, and it came as no surprise to any of them that Racetrack was livid.
"Easy, Racetrack. Easy." Bumlets sat down gently beside him.
Race slammed his fist into the wall. "I WANNA KILL 'IM!" he yelled, and none of them could tell who he was talking about. "I WANNA GODDAM KILL 'IM FOR BEING SO GODDAMN STUPID!"
"Stay cool, Race, c'mon."
"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT STAYING COOL, YOU SON OF A--"
"DOMINIC LUCERO ORVANTES Y LEDESMA PAREDES, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON?" Anita demanded from the top of the stairs.
They were silent for a minute, Racetrack's knuckles bleeding profusely and Mouse's breathing loud and jagged. Then Bumlets looked at Itey and leaned back wearily, closing his eyes. "You explain," he said.
.o.
Boy, boy, crazy boy—
Get cool, boy!
Got a rocket in your pocket—
Keep coolly cool, boy!
Don't get hot,
'Cause, man, you got
Some high times ahead...
Take it slow and, Daddy-o,
You can live it up and die in bed!
Boy, boy, crazy boy—
Stay loose, boy!
Breeze it, buzz it, easy does it—
Turn off the juice, boy!
Go man, go,
But not like a yoyo
School boy—
Just play it cool, boy—
Real cool!
Easy, Action.
Easy.
-"Cool", West Side Story
.o.
Author's Note: See that? That's my favorite song in the whole movie. :-D
Anyway.
I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I killed off Jack and West. ((pauses)) That was fun. ;-) I apologize to all Jack fans, and any West fans-- if they do, indeed, exist. (Hey, I liked him-- but then again, I created him, too.) Thanks to singin'-newsies-goil, Glitz Kelly, Eagle Higgins-Conlon, Braids21, Sapphy, Dakki, Erin Go Bragh, and Nakai-Aiden Sun for reviewing, I love you more than life itself! Now leave a review and I'll love you even more-- only one chapter to go!
-Saturday
