Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. I should hope that we all know that, but I'll say it anyway. Maybe one day I can look back at this and say that it is a lie. Hey, I can always dream, can't I?
Chapter 1:
The Bronx was attacking and Brooklyn was alienated; Manhattan was on the verge of destruction.
Dawn had brought the note into view. Jack Kelly could not remember who had brought it to him. The message had driven all else from his mind.
It was not unexpected. The threat of war from the Bronx had been imminent for nearly a month. Jack had not dealt with it for various reasons. The most prominent of which had been his uncertainty. The truth was that Jack had not known what to do. The situation utterly stumped the boy normally full of brilliant, if not odd, ideas. He was at a loss for which action to take. There was no wild, elaborate plan pushing into his thoughts. The Manhattan newsies were not strong enough for an outright battle against the Bronx. There was only one thing to do: nothing. Jack had done nothing.
One could not stop Javier with nothing. Even with considerable resistance, the odds of stopping him were nearly nonexistent. The Bronx leader's latest fancy was to expand his territory. Unfortunately for Jack, he had his eye on Manhattan. Javier would use whatever forces and measures available to him in order to fulfill his desires. These forces were much too strong for Jack to oppose.
Under normal circumstances, Jack would have run to Brooklyn and begged for Spot's help. Jack would not admit to its being begging, but he did not need to. It was obvious enough.
Jack could not request the aid of the Brooklyn newsies in this matter, however. He had said too much.
It had been at the very table at which Jack now sat that he had killed Manhattan and any chances they might have had against the Bronx. It was the very spot that he had lost Brooklyn. It was the location at which Jack had insulted Spot Conlon.
It had begun with a friendly game of poker. Spot had stopped by to catch up on Manhattan news. It had been nearly two months since his last visit. Racetrack, seeing an opportunity for a poker game, immediately challenged the Brooklyn leader. An eager gleam appeared in his large, blue eyes as he accepted.
The game began after Racetrack had recruited a few other boys. However, Spot and Jack were the ones to face off in the end.
The group sat still, all eyes upon the two leaders. For a moment, no one moved. The silence was constricting, not even allowing the observers to breathe. Jack broke the peace; he adjusted his hat so that it shaded his eyes.
Spot smirked amusedly, cocking an eyebrow at his opponent's action as he leaned back in his chair. He made a small motion with his right hand, gesturing for Jack to lay out his cards. The condescending movement made Jack's blood boil with rage, but he remained calm as he carelessly threw his cards onto the table. He had a flush.
Spot took no immediate action, which gave Jack a premature cockiness. He reached for the money with a grin. Jack was so focused on the winnings that he did not see Spot move. Suddenly, the gold-tipped cane smacked his knuckles lightly.
Jack tipped his face upwards to meet Spot's eyes. A frown of confusion crossed the features of the lower boy. Spot was smirking.
"Sit down, Jackie-boy," he shook his head slightly, his smirk still in place. Jack resumed his seat, perplexed by Spot's actions, but deciding that it would be best to go along with them. Spot watched him and waited patiently until he was fully seated.
A single card fell slowly onto the table. It was the King of Hearts. Spot threw a smirk in Jack's direction. The other boy could only watch as Spot continued. The second card found itself carefully placed next to the first. It was the King of Diamonds. Spot glanced up at Jack, seeming to expect something. He did not react, and Spot resumed his task. The next card was the King of Spades; it landed with equal care, perfectly in line with the preceding two. Jack's eyes had widened a bit when Spot had finished with this card. A small laugh was heard from Spot, he had been waiting for that. A fourth card lowered to the table. This revealed itself the Six of Diamonds. Jack's jaw clenched. There was only one card left. Jack anxiously watched it, much to Spot's amusement. The Brooklyn boy carefully removed all traces of excitement from his features when Jack flicked his eyes upward. The two sat in a silent contest, neither blinking nor moving. Without breaking the gaze, Spot placed the final card on the table. Jack could not bring himself to look for a moment. There was a command in Spot's eyes, which remained locked onto Jack's, that ordered him to look down. Sitting in line with the other four cards, was the Six of Hearts.
"Full house, Jack. Now, keep your dirty hands off me money before I remove 'em permanently," Spot spoke to Jack, but his fellow newsie was in shock. Upon realizing that Jack was not responding, Spot grinned. "Eh, Jack, it's only a card game."
The prolonged pause was broken. Spot began to gather his money as the rest of the table congratulated his win. The positive words descended upon him, though they affected the listener more than the recipient. Spot expected them; Jack noticed them. These were supposed to be his newsies. Upon his victory over their leader, the foreign leader should not earn praise. They should be arguing for him.
"Dirty, cheating bastard," Jack muttered darkly under his breath. His scowl fell away to an expression of terror as Spot once again used the cane against him. It pointed directly at his face, barely an inch from contact with his nose. Through wide eyes, Jack could see a furious Spot Conlon just beyond the tip.
The blue eyes burned with an intense passion that Jack had never before seen. They seemed to radiate heat as he glared unblinkingly at Jack, his jaw clenched tightly shut in rage. The eyes narrowed a bit as Spot shook his head slightly.
"You wanna say that again, Jack?" his tone was cold and dangerous, with an underlying hint of warning. It was suddenly apparent to Jack that Spot would connect that cane with his head and never think twice.
"No, it was nuttin'," Jack stammered. Spot smoothly retracted and returned the cane to his belt loop. His face relaxed into a satisfied smirk as he nodded in Jack's direction and sat back down. Jack breathed a small sigh of relief.
However, Jack had not learned. As he slowly regained confidence and participated in the conversation, he made a deadly error. He insulted Spot again. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he froze. Spot glared, a deadly glare; everyone knew that Jack had gone too far.
"Jack, I've had just about enough of your lip for one day," Spot told him through clenched teeth, a finger in the air. The moment Spot began to speak, a hush fell over the room. No one dared speak up for his leader. "Just give me a reason and I'll-"
"You'll what?" Jack retorted, cutting off the Brooklyn leader with his comment. It was too much to resist. Jack was nothing if not brave. With his own newsies not defending him, he had no choice but to defend himself.
"That's it, Jack," he stood, smacking the table with his cane to emphasize his point. Spot paused for a moment debating whether to begin a fight or not. He was in Manhattan, so they would pull him off quickly, though there was no doubt that he could cause considerable damage in that time. However, such measures were not necessary. "Nah, you ain't worth it."
"Get out, Spot," Jack growled, also standing.
"Nobody orders Spot Conlon around," was the furious and infuriating answer. "I leave when I choose to leave. And I choose to leave 'cause this place ain't worth my time."
With that, Spot turned on his heel and left Manhattan behind. The door banged shut behind him, causing the eruption of admonishments from the newsies.
Jack had caused a larger problem than he had known at the time. He only realized the full consequences of his actions now, as he sat facing war with the Bronx.
Single-handedly, he had destroyed his newsies. Jack, their leader, the one they trusted to keep them safe, had opened his mouth and estranged their last ally. He had taken the knife, sharpened it, and drove it into each of their hearts. He had killed them.
With Brooklyn, Manhattan might have stood a chance. The Brooklyn boys were exactly what Jack needed. They were sly, strong, and fearsome. However, their one most prominent quality was their loyalty to Spot Conlon. They would not help one who insulted their leader, not under penalty of death.
What was he to do? Jack could only think of one thing. He could not convince himself to take this action, though. It involved too much groveling and humiliation. He would not do it.
"But what else is there?" Jack asked himself, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair. It was all so confusing. This is why he had tried to maintain peace with the other territories. His was not strong enough for a war. He had done so well with it so far. At least he could comfort himself with that. He had not provoked war, but Javier had not needed provocation.
There was no need to think of the past, Jack reminded himself. Even if he found something that he should have done, it would not help him now. He needed to focus on the present and future. He could not change the past.
Could he fix the past, though? Time could erase his argument with Spot. It would only take an apology. To Jack, though, an apology was no small feat. To apologize was to admit that he was wrong. To admit that he was wrong was humiliating. Therefore, to apologize would be humiliating. Jack did not humiliate himself.
What had his arguments left to do? He would have to wait and see what Javier had planned. Yes, that would work, Jack decided, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the chair. He would sit and wait.
Suddenly, Mush plopped down in the chair next to Jack's seat. He looked at Jack with a mixture of confusion and question, apparently waiting for Jack to tell him something.
Jack frowned, sitting up in his chair. He could not think of what Mush could be waiting for. Had he promised him something? The expectant look did not fade as Jack puzzled over the reason behind it.
"So, Jack, what'd you decide?" Mush, innocently unaware of the other's confusion, questioned. Suddenly, Jack remembered. Mush had brought the note to him. Jack must have promised to tell him his plan of action after he had worked it out. He was waiting for Jack to explain. A proud grin formed as Jack congratulated himself on solving the mystery.
"Oh, we're gonna wait and see what Javiah does. Then we'll know what we should do," Jack told him, the plan suddenly seeming unsatisfactory. It was so short, so simple. Mush obviously felt the same, for he frowned.
"That's it?" he appeared confused and disappointed with the outcome. "How can that be it? No offense or nuttin', but I don't think it's gonna work."
"Hey, it's a great plan. It'll work," Jack responded, with much more confidence in his tone than in his heart. The doubt he felt caused him to answer Mush more harshly than he normally would have, surprising the other boy. The words did not hit Mush, for he was feeling too much hurt at the tone they were uttered in. Jack never spoke to him that way. Was he mad?
"Alright, Jack, sorry," he mumbled, moving to stand. Jack had forgotten he was there, having slipped back into thought about the situation.
"What are you talking about, Mush? You didn't do nuttin'. Maybe you're right."
"Thanks, Jack," he brightened up considerably at this. With a smile, he walked away.
"Right, right," Jack absentmindedly waved his hand. The issue of his actions was prominent again. He could not do nothing. If Mush, who was not one of the more violent newsies, felt his plan was wrong, the others would surely reject it. He was beginning to see its many faults. For example, what if Javier attacked them outright? Manhattan would certainly lose. They could not lose. That was a fact. If the Bronx gained territory in Manhattan, who would be the next to fall? There was also the matter of what the other territories would think of Manhattan. Jack knew they already felt that they were below them, one of the weaker boroughs. He did not want to add to that reputation.
Here was the choice. Jack could try to do it alone, knowing the full effects of the almost certain loss. He would risk his newsies well-being and lives, their jobs, and their reputations. He would also add to Javier's power and influence. However, the other option was no more appealing. He could apologize to Spot, thereby gaining Brooklyn's support.
Doubt flashed into his mind. What if Brooklyn still did not help? Then, he would have embarrassed himself to no purpose. Manhattan would still lose.
Now was not the time to doubt. Jack knew which action he had to take. The only obstacle left was convincing himself to go through with it. He decided to take advantage of this resolution and being the process, preventing his backing out later on.
Jack rose, quickly searching the bunkroom for Swifty. Where could he be? Jack continued to look until his eyes fell upon the boy's bed. Still asleep at this hour? Jack smirked. Most of the other boys had gone off to sell already.
"Swifty," he shook the newsie's shoulder. He heard a groan as the boy rolled over.
"What is it, Jack?" his voice displaying the grogginess as he rubbed his eyes.
"I need you to go to Brooklyn."
"Ok, right," Swifty sat up, putting on his shoes, still half-asleep.
"Don't you wanna know why I'm sending you to Brooklyn?" Jack laughed, amused at Swifty's drowsiness.
"Oh, yeah," he grinned sheepishly up at Jack. "Might help."
"Maybe," Jack smirked. "I need you to ask Spot if he'll come here and talk with me. I gotta tell him something."
"Do you think he'll come? I mean, after…" he trailed off, not wanting to offend Jack. Swifty doubted that Spot would come. His temper was quite strong and Jack had insulted him twice.
"I gotta try," Jack shrugged. "So, you ready?"
"Yeah, I'll do my best, Jack," he nodded, standing up. Jack patted his shoulder once before Swifty left. He had a long walk ahead of him.
Jack proceeded to sell, though thoughts of Swifty's returning message occupied his mind. He quit early, unable to concentrate.
Later that evening, Swifty returned, much to Jack's relief.
"What'd he say?" Jack questioned, not waiting a moment.
"He didn't seem that mad, but he said that you had to come down there. He wasn't coming up to see you. But I really think that he may listen to what you got to say," Swifty assured him.
"Thanks, I'll go tomorrow," Jack sighed, heading off to bed. He supposed that this was to be expected. Spot did not enjoy traveling to suit other's needs. He relished in making them come to him. Jack was not surprised, actually. Spot usually had Jack go to Brooklyn anyway; with the two on bad terms Spot certainly was not going to travel. Jack could only hope that his seeing him at all was a good sign. He needed Brooklyn, whether he wanted to or not.
A/N: I just want to reinforce the policy I had on reviews last time. I want honest reviews. I want insults. I'm begging you, please!