Disclaimer: No, Newsies is not mine. Quit asking!
Chapter 4:
Racetrack, sitting with Kid Blink and Mush on the front steps of the lodging house, closed his eyes and turned his face upwards, relaxing under the warm sun. It was a wonderfully warm day; the boys had stopped selling early to enjoy it.
"Hey, Race, look who's coming," Mush exclaimed, bringing Racetrack back from the edge of sleep. "Did Jack say anything about Spot coming?"
"Spot?" Racetrack repeated, straightening up while blinking slowly. He turned his gaze to follow Mush's as he regained consciousness. At the corner of the block, Racetrack could see Spot, accompanied by a brown haired boy whom Racetrack could not clearly see, strolling towards them. "Yeah, I think he said something about it. But that mighta been him bragging about how he got Spot to help us again."
"What's he doing here, then? Spot don't usually come to Jack," Kid Blink observed. After a pause, he questioned, "Do you think it's about this thing with the Bronx?"
"Maybe," Racetrack replied. Jack had been rather quiet about the Bronx situation. He would tell anyone with ears, and Skittery swore he saw him talking to a mop once, about his talk with Spot and how he cunningly tricked him into agreeing, but was not so open about plans. Unfortunately, all they wanted to know about were the plans. Manhattan had not been involved in a war for longer than most newsies there could recall. They did not know how it was done, but were very eager to learn. "Hey, Spot!"
Still a few buildings away, Spot turned from his companion, whom Race now recognized as Sling, with a grin still fading from his face. The grin returned when he saw the group on the steps. He turned back to Sling and they hurried toward the lodging house.
Mush had jumped up from the steps, all laziness forgotten in the excitement of visitors. He now held out a hand to Spot, only a bit prematurely, as Spot reached the steps a minute later.
"Hi, Spot! How you been?" Mush smiled widely. He then offered his hand to Sling, shaking the one offered in return. "Hey, Sling. What're you guys doing here?"
"I'm talking with Jack," Spot answered, looking past Mush to the door of the lodging house. This glance was in place of asking Jack's location.
"Yeah, Jack's upstairs, but I wanna talk with you," Racetrack put a hand on Spot's arm as he spoke. Spot looked at the dark-haired boy with curiosity, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Look, Jack ain't said much 'bout this stuff," here Racetrack waved his arm vaguely, accentuated how little he knew of the affair, "with the Bronx. We gotta know something, Spot."
Racetrack spoke with such melancholy and looked with such desperation to Spot for answers, as did the other two boys, that Sling nearly broke down and told all that he knew. Spot, as if expecting this reaction from his friend, rushed his reply.
"I'm sure Jack told you enough. There ain't much to tell anyway. I'm here today to talk 'bout plans with him. After this, there'll be something to tell," seeing that Racetrack, Mush, and Kid Blink were not convinced, he promised, "I swear that Jack'll tell you what you need to know when we're done."
Spot's expression required some answer, so the boys nodded and quietly murmured agreements. He nodded to them and brushed past, heading towards the lodging house. Sling followed, his gaze lingering on their dejected faces.
The pair was silent as it began the staircase, but Sling could not keep quiet.
"He ain't told them anything?"
"There ain't much to tell," Spot responded, though his tone had none of the conviction it had possessed before; it was rather empty.
"There seemed to be plenty when you told us 'bout it," Sling muttered, midway between annoyance at Spot's attitude towards him and fear of upsetting him.
"I know," Spot replied quietly, looking back at Sling, worry in his eyes.
The bunkroom was filled with the usual activities, though they seemed a bit more sluggish because of the heat. There were boys washing, sleeping, gambling, talking, and numerous other forms of entertainment. A stench hung over the whole room. This odor was the combination of sweat and smoke, which is quite common during the summer. The noise was terrible to unaccustomed ears, but phased neither Spot nor Sling.
Jack was easily located in the center of the room. The one table had been dubbed the location of the major poker game. There were smaller ones scattered throughout the room, but they were located in corners or on beds.
Spot and Sling made their way, unobstructed, to Jack. He was absorbed in the game and did not notice Spot until he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly. At that point, he tilted his face upwards, expecting one of his newsies.
"Jack, we need to talk," Spot solidly stated. After he spoke, he set his mouth in a firm line and stood still, one hand on his cane, the other hanging by his side, and his gaze fixed upon Jack.
"Alright," Jack answered, annoyed at the interruption, but in no position to anger Spot. He stood up and addressed the newsies at the table, all of whom were watching him. "C'mon, get outta here."
The newsies made their ways to the door, some grumbling in low voices, but none daring to argue or stay. Satisfied, Spot took a seat opposite Jack's seat. Sling followed him and sat down next to him. Jack watched Sling for a moment, still miffed at Spot's evident superiority.
"What? My newsies gotta leave, but not him?" Jack muttered to his lap, but loudly enough for Spot to hear.
Sling shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning slightly red. Spot, taking this as a sign of his leaving, put a hand around his arm and held it to the table. Sling became more ill at ease, worried that he would be the cause of a sour meeting.
"He stays, Jack," Spot worked to keep his teeth unclenched as he spoke; it was too early to begin a fight.
"Right," Jack gave in, as he had never known Spot to do anything important without Sling and this was not worth causing trouble over. He lifted his gaze to Spot, waiting for him to begin.
Spot cleared his throat, "Wish I was here on more pleasant business, but we gotta discuss the war with the Bronx. We need a plan."
The words brought a slew of thoughts to Jack. They would have a plan. Is that how these things worked? His fantasy of wars had always been simpler. He saw a heroic victory, and that was all. The process had never crossed his mind. Obviously, Spot knew much more about this than Jack; he would have to be careful to disguise his ignorance.
"Yeah," Jack agreed, waiting a moment to see what Spot would do. The blond haired leader lapsed into thought; Jack followed suit.
After a moment, Jack began to wonder what Spot was considering for so long. It had not taken him long to come up with a plan. It was simple: they attacked. That was how wars were, after all. The two sides met in battle. The most obvious thing was to attack. That would give them the advantage. So, what was Spot thinking?
Jack was correct in assuming that Spot knew more than he did about this. However, 'this' included not only war, but also the Bronx. Spot knew what formidable opponents they were and how much it would take to beat them. He understood that the underdogs of the war were Jack and himself. Therefore, the Bronx would set the terms, whether Jack liked it or not. Spot was dissatisfied with the situation as well, but he needed no convincing to see that it must be that way.
Spot was wondering what the Bronx would do. They had sent the note, but that was a warning. Javier had yet to show how this war would be executed. It was difficult to determine a plan when the terms were unset. The most he and Jack could do was plan a response to the various tactics Javier may employ. This question is what kept Spot in thought for so long.
Sling had sat silently during this time, his own thoughts, unrelated to the topic, passing through his mind. The one thought that stood out from the rest was the thought of contributing to the conversation. Spot liked to keep him around during meetings and would even ask his opinion occasionally. This is what he dreaded as Jack and Spot thought. He knew what he believed about selling spots and other small things, but this was massive. He worried about the fact that what he said might affect others. What if he were wrong? Sling did not want that responsibility, and so feared that Spot would ask him to accept it.
Sling shifted again in his seat at the picture of faces contorted with anger. The faces he knew well, they were those of his fellow newsies. He did not want to anger them, should he make a wrong decision. He squirmed a bit more.
His friend's movements brought Spot from his mind. He glanced over, wondering what it was that made Sling's expression so strange. He would ask later. A glance across the table showed him that Jack was ready to talk.
Meeting Spot's eyes, Jack determined that he could now speak.
"Alright. Why don't we beat 'em to the chase, you know? Make the first move? I say we take 'em head on," determination was written all over Jack's face as he spoke. He looked like a brave general proposing the perfect plan. Unfortunately, this was only half right.
"No, Jack," Spot shook his head slightly. He leaned forward with his arms on the table to explain. "We can't do that."
"Why not?" he furiously demanded. Slamming his fist on the table, he continued, "We can't let 'em think we're afraid. Why not start it ourselves?"
"Jack," Spot patiently broke in. "The Bronx is experienced in this kinda thing. They're real strong. We gotta be careful."
"C'mon, the two of us together can take 'em any day," Jack waved his hand dismissively, matching his tone. "With Brooklyn, we can do anything."
"Jack, if you're attacking the Bronx like that, you're on your own. I ain't bringing my boys into something like that," Spot warned him. "I don't like murder."
"Murder?" Jack echoed, visibly confused by Spot's wording.
"Yeah, that's what that is, Jack. You send your boys in there, I guarantee you won't have a single one return to you," he explained.
"Fine. Let's hear what you've got," Jack frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair with the air of a foiled child.
"Hold on, I gotta think," Spot answered.
Jack watched, from across the table, as Spot created a plan. He saw his forehead wrinkle when a flaw was discovered, the eyebrows lift when a solution was found. He watched as Spot rubbed his chin pensively. Finally, Jack saw Spot come back, a smirk on his face.
"I got it. We gotta let the Bronx attack first. Quiet, Jack," he cut off the other's argument preemptively. "That way, they gotta come over here. We get the benefit of our turf and they're weak 'cause they can't bring everyone over."
Jack considered for a moment. It was not the glorious plan he wanted, but it was only the first battle. There would be time for heroics later. Besides, it was a bit like his idea in that it gave his side the advantage. He could live with it.
The Manhattan leader prepared to bid farewell to Spot and Sling, standing up and holding out his hand across the table. Spot took it, but had to put a last word in.
"Jack, some of the boys told me they were a bit confused 'bout what was going on. You might wanna help 'em out," he carefully chose his words, hoping to both show Jack that his newsies needed to know things and conceal that Spot knew he had not explained anything to them. Jack nodded, giving Spot reason to hope for the best.
The last piece of business taken care of, Spot and Sling could head back to Brooklyn. As they passed over the bridge, Sling asked a question that had haunted him since they sat in the Manhattan lodging house.
"Will it work?"
"Sure, what could go wrong?" Spot confidently assured him. Sling let out a relieved sigh, small, but audible. At this, a frown passed over Spot's face. What if they lost?
A/N: Well, it's been a long time since I updated. I really meant to write over the summer, but it just didn't happen. I don't think it matters, since I don't believe anyone is reading this anymore. I haven't gotten a review since chapter two (or chapter one, if we're going by titles)! I'm going to keep posting anyway, since I like the story, but if someone is reading, please review and tell me so. I could really use a critique of the story.