The four small Brooklyn newsies in the water by the docks panted until they finally reached the finishing point at the floating crate. One by one they put their hand out to clarify the end of the race. About six or seven older newsies waited anxiously as they watched with hopes that their swimmer had won.

"All right, all right, who had Roller?" Bolt shouted over everyone. "Roller's the winna! Pay up, pay up!"

Nobody seemed to have a look of relief or happiness as they dug out their change.

"No one had money on da little guy?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Tsk. Tsk. Looks like it's my lucky day, boys!" Bolt held his hand out and everyone gave him their losing penny.

The ten-year old swimmers climbed up onto the docks, shivering and wrapping their arms around themselves for warmth. Their teeth chattered and knees wobbled as they stood there for a few moments catching their breath. Bolt walked over to Roller, the smallest one in the race.

"Ya did good, kid," he said as he patted him on his shaking shoulder. "You'se just bought me lunch! Heah's a penny." He tossed the coin up in the air as it flipped high and back down again. Roller watched it going up and reached out to catch it, but slipped from his hand and through the board cracks into the water. Bolt shook his head and walked away.

The sun wasn't as harsh as it had been the past few weeks as the trees were changing colors and the temperature was beginning to drop into fall. It was a little more windy than usual, making it a bad day to go swimming in the river. But the news was still bad, and gambling was a risky but good way to make some money. However, gambling against Bolt was a big mistake since he had been so experienced at it. He strolled along the streets, whistling slightly and checking out the occasional female beauty. Knowing his bad luck, he didn't even bother hitting on them or even giving them his best line. Besides, they seemed to be under a Spot Conlon spell. The mighty leader made his way toward Bolt with a confident step.

"Mistah Conlon, what is that ya do ta make a goil swoon?" Bolt asked jokingly in a high-pitched feminine voice.

"You'se are pathetic," replied Spot as they stopped at a street corner. "I ain't seen Ginger since last night. You seen her?"

Bolt shook his head.

"Well, I hope she knows we'se are over."

"I'm sure she don't know," Bolt begged to differ. "She was all over you last night before we left. Don't think she got da message."

Spot rolled his neck around stressfully. "She was buggin' me last night."

"What d'you mean 'buggin' you? You guys practically did it at da table. Why d'you think I kept leavin'?"

Spot shrugged carelessly.

Bolt stuck his hand in his pocket and felt that it was heavy with change from selling papers and the swimming bets. "Wanna go get lunch? I'm payin'."

He nodded and they started their way to Sonny's. Today it was actually open and a little bit crowded with people of all ages. They recognized some newsies sitting in the corner booth in the back and made their way to them. Spot tipped his hit to the table as he sat down on the end. Cards were spread out on the surface as they wrapped up a round of poker. Empty glasses and half-eaten sandwiches indicated that they had been playing for a long time.

"You in, fellas?" a short, brown-haired 15-year old named Thompson asked as he dealt new cards to everyone.

"Good luck," Bolt joked as he gathered his cards.

The four other guys laughed at his sarcasm.

Spot squinted at his hand: three jacks and a pair of eights. He always got lucky when it came to this game. Trying his best not to let it show, he smirked to himself and leaned back against the cushions.

"Spot, a few boys from Queens have been sellin' neah my post," Thompson presented his problem. "Been happenin' all week." He tossed one of his cards into a pile and grabbed another.

"Yeah, I'm noticin' da same thing," another put in.

A few more of them agreed with "yeah" and head nods.

"We'se had a problem wit them for a while now..." Spot started as he took his hat off and scratched his head. "Lemme know if it happens again. We'll go talk ta them. But it's not like it's been a major problem."

Everyone breathed a little easier knowing that the territory issue had been put out there without it being spit upon.

They tossed their coins to the center of the table for the bet.

"Call," Spot said.

Each boy laid down their hand and Spot smiled to himself has he put his cards down. "Thanks, boys," he started as he went to gather his winnings.

Suddenly three kings and two tens appeared on top of the money.

"Thanks, boys," Bolt said mockingly at Spot.

The boys snickered quietly as Bolt collected what was his and pulled it toward him. Spot crossed his arms in defeat and sat back. Blonde curls came into view at his side as he blinked a few times to get them out of his eyes.

"Hey, Spottie!" Ginger said in a squeaky voice and sat down on his knee. She lifted Spot's chin and gave him a kiss on the lips. A kiss that was given but not shared.

Spot pulled away and looked into her empty eyes that now looked scared. "Ginger, we gotta talk."

She jumped back to her feet with a look of complete dread on her face. "Are ya serious?"

"What?" Spot asked. The table was silent now and they watched the scene play out on the edge of their seats.

"No, you'se aren't serious, are ya?" Ginger repeated.

Spot got to his feet and stood a few feet from her. "It's just not-"

"You're seriously dumpin' me?" she questioned quietly as her lip quivered.

"Ginger, don't be like dat," Spot told her emptily. "I just don't see dis goin' anywheres. It's bettah dis way."

"How is it better?!" she screamed, her voice suddenly going up on octave. With a sniffle and a tear running down her cheek she sprinted to the door.

Shrugging, Spot sat back down without a care in the world.

"Definitely not one of your best break-ups, I'se gotta say," Bolt pointed out.

The lodging house was uneventful that evening around 8 o'clock. Bolt and Spot sat outside its door smoking some cigarettes and watching the sun sink down into the water. Younger newsies gradually trotted home to get some sleep and a couple of older ones were just heading out for the night.

"So, what are ya gonna do about da Queens boys?" Bolt asked as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

"Well, so far it's not dat big a deal. I mean, are my boys gonna run ta me ovah everything? Thought we'se were tougher dan dat. From what I hoid they'se just been havin' arguments. Nothin' big." Spot took out the black, gold-tipped cane that was in his belt loop; the cane that was passed down to him from Spits when Spot took over as the Brooklyn leader. He twirled it around, as if asking its former possessor what to do.

"Yeah. It's a little annoying how they'se been doin' that lately," agreed Bolt. "Nothin's happened in so long for them ta keep them tough. You'se are just keepin' us all too safe!"

"I'm not sure if dats such a good thing." Spot blew out his final puff of smoke and stamped out the cigarette on the ground.

A small boy trudged his way to the entrance of the lodging house. His shirt sleeves were ripped and a black eye was forming on the left side of his face. Bolt stood up.

"What happened, Roller?" he asked.

Roller looked up and revealed a swollen lip and red cheek. "Couple of guys tried ta steal my sellin' money dis afternoon."

Spot walked up to him and took a look at him. It reminded him of when he was that young and didn't know how to fight back either. "Ya might wanna put wata on dat. Looks like it hoits."

"It does. Tha guys was pretty big, too."

Bolt cocked his head to the side. "Dey from Queens?"

"No, I woulda know if they was Queens."

"Not Manhattan or other Brooklyn boys?"

"No. Dey had 'B' tattoo things on their arms."