"What the fuck are you boys still doing here?" Roan demanded a few minutes after Ugly had left, "don't you have business to attend to?"
Lewis darted his head around, caught off guard by his leader's sudden temper. Kyro rolled off the bed in a daze. He knew better than to ask what business that might be. He left the room without a word. Lewis stood abruptly.
"I'm gonna go check in with some of our boys up north, okay boss?" Roan didn't respond. He just ran his finger across one of the new knives. "I'll give you a full report tonight, okay boss?" Lewis was a needy kiss-ass.
"Fine, Lewis, and stop by Black-Eyes' on your way up to check on that kilo. Tell him I got people waiting. People who ain't so very patient," Roan ordered. Lewis headed dutifully out the door, his useless little soul filled with the pleasure of having a job from his God. Roan pulled out a tool kit from under his desk and got to work on those knives.
Roan Xavier was a true renaissance man. He had his fingers in many "businesses" throughout Brooklyn and the city. He improved and resold weaponry on the black market; he had a part in drug trade, preformed armed robberies and owned several Brooklyn properties, including the Lodging House. No one knew for certain all that he did, but everyone knew who he was. He employed over a hundred Brooklyn boys directly, and countless New Yorkers indirectly. But most importantly, he offered his protection, for a fee.
Up until recently, everything had been running smoothly in his domain. Too smoothly, Roan was starting to get bored. But lately, Roan had been hearing more and more whispers about a newsboy leader named Spot Conlon. Conlon was beginning to exert an influence in Brooklyn that irritated Roan. He had a spy network around the city and twice his newsboys had held up some of Roan's thugs on a job. He was talked about on the street and making a name for himself in Brooklyn. This hadn't so much bothered Roan; after all, he was just a newsie. In fact, Roan had sort of liked him after hearing about the newsboys strike. This Conlon kid had helped kick the balls of the rich cocks that ran this city, and Roan liked that. But a few months ago, the "protection fees" from the Brooklyn newsboys had stopped coming in. At the time, Roan had let it go because he'd been preoccupied with other things. But Roan was not about to let a mere newsboy challenge his supremacy in this borough. And now, it bothered him not a little that Conlon had triumphed in the strike. If he could win a fight with the most powerful men in New York, who's to say he couldn't be a worthy adversary to Roan himself? Roan smiled and lit his opium pipe. He always worked better when he was high.
Ugly had been lying awake in her bed for only a few minutes when she heard a soft tapping on the door. As usual, she couldn't sleep, so she didn't mind the distraction. She opened the door to find Kyro, glassy-eyed as usual. He walked in without a word and she bolted the door behind him. He lay down on her mattress and she lay next to him. He looked at her with his yellow eyes and young, sensitive face. He moved in and kissed her, sliding his right hand down the curve of her back as he mouthed her beneath him. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his touch. There was nothing else, nothing else. Hypocrite! She mentally hissed. But she wasn't a whore; she wasn't doing this for money. She was doing it for loneliness and emptiness. She was doing this because she was rotting inside and she wanted to feel something beautiful, even if it was only for a moment.
Later on that day, Roan was also vertical on his bed with a sweet young Brooklynite with her hair in two long braids. Roan liked his pretty, young things clean and pure. He also liked to talk during sex; it was when he did some of his best thinking.
"So, this Conlon guy, are he and his gang still on the corner of 8th?" he asked in heavy breaths as he pounded her.
"Mostly…he's down…by the…docks," she really needed to work on her stamina.
"Which docks? Jamaica Bay?" He asked.
"Un-uh…Brooklyn…br…the bridge," she said, he was finished. They paused for a moment, breathing.
Roan pulled out and rolled over on the bed. He lit a cigarette and leaned back against the headboard. "The bridge? Cocky son of a bitch," he mumbled to himself. The girl slithered over and rested her head on his chest. He put a hand on her head and ran it over one of her long braids. "What else do you know about him?" He asked.
She shrugged. "A lot of girls at school have crushes on him…"
"Does he fuck 'em?"
"I don't know…not as good as you fuck me," she said, tracing her fingers down his taut tummy. He rolled over her and fucked her again, this time smoking instead of talking. Roan was quite the multi-tasker.
Ugly and Lewis walked down the streets, headed toward the Brooklyn bridge. Roan had sent them to talk to the newsboy leader there. The streets were hot and crowded and the back of Ugly's shirt stuck to her sweaty back. She squinted her eyes. She hated working in the daylight. She felt like everyone was looking at her. She pulled her hat down on her head and quickened her pace.
"Slow the fuck down!" Lewis whined, plodding after her.
She sighed and slowed her gait. She was tired anyway. Despite numerous swigs of whiskey and cigarettes, she'd hardly gotten a wink of sleep last night. And the boisterous Brooklyn streets were not doing much for her headache. Hundreds of people were charging this way and that, with scowls on their faces. Expletives were yelled if any of these people crossed paths, which naturally happened often. Ugly was crawling out of her skin. She much preferred the night, when the streets were quieter and the air cooler.
Finally they reached the bridge. Lewis stopped at the top and pulled out a pair of opera-style binoculars. "Which side?" He asked.
"North," Ugly responded, slipping her hand beneath her shirttail and slopping off the sweat. She really wasn't a daytime person.
Lewis peered through the lenses. He looked like an ape at the theater. Ugly couldn't help laughing to herself.
"What'd Roan say he looked like?" Lewis asked.
"God! Don't you know nothing? Let me have those," Ugly snatched the binoculars out of his fat hands and peered out onto the docks. She scoped the scene. Boys loitering… jumping into the lake…ah-ha! One skinny boy stood alone on some kind of look-out. He definitely had the superior attitude of a leader. She motioned Lewis to take a look. "Right there," she directed.
"That's him? He don't look like no leader," Lewis commented.
"Roan said he was kinda smallish, remember?"
"I still say he don't look like no leader," Lewis maintained.
"C'mon," Ugly directed, "let's go."
They walked down to the docks and up the planks. The boys stopped in there activities to regard them fiercely. A boy with big pecks who was dripping wet stepped in front of them and halted their walk.
"What do yous think you're doing here?" he demanded.
Lewis stepped up, looking threatening. "We're here on business, from Roan Xavier," he said, feeling the effect of his words as the boys listening clenched up at the name.
The mouth didn't move, although he seemed a bit shaken. "Brooklyn don't talk ta anyone without an appointment."
"Brooklyn?" Ugly scoffed. Lewis fingered his knife, no one talked down to him who wasn't his leader.
"Skiff! Let 'em by," A voice called out from on high. Skiff stepped aside.
Spot Conlon stood up on his perch, regarding them magnanimously. As they approached, he leapt down and stood firm, regarding them with big, glaring blue eyes. Ugly stared right back, she knew it was a challenge of some sort. He looked like a wolf and she hated that her skin crawled a little. He turned away, satisfied, and sat down on some crates. His boys hovered around, like shadows, ready to spring from the dark at the slightest beckon of their leader.
"So, what is it yous want?" He asked, continuing to glare with eyes that seemed lit from a fire within.
Lewis squinted back at him. His hands were balled in tight fists. "I'm second in command to Roan Xavier," Ugly couldn't help but smile at his self-given title. Roan did not have a second in command, he was president, vice and scum all rolled into one. "I'm sure you've hoid of him."
Conlon fingered the gold tip of his cane. "Xavier..." he said as if trying to place him.
"You lying son of a bitch!" Ugly accused. She had problems keeping her temper in check.
Spot looked at her as if just realizing she were there. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned back to Lewis. "Yeah…I've hoid of him. What about him?"
Lewis twitched visibly; he did not take well to disrespecting of his leader. "As you know, Roan runs this town. Every shitty thing you do, every paper you sell, every second you breathe, it's because he lets you," Lewis threatened. Spot's eyes flashed and his nostrils widened. "And all he asks is that you pay him a small fee for all that he gives you. And we's here to collect."
Conlon was electric with anger. The eyes of his boys were burning into him, wondering what he would do. He stood up quickly, struggling to hold in his temper. "You can tell your so-called leader, that the Brooklyn newsboys don't answer to no one but themselves," he marched up to Lewis, glaring into his eyes without blinking. "You can tell him that Brooklyn is Spot Conlon territory," he backed up, "and if you have a problem with that, you can come to me." It was a challenge. Ugly could see Lewis sweating under the exertion of holding himself back.
"My leader sent me here to talk, that's all. So that's all I'm gonna do," Lewis' voice was shaking with anger. Ugly put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to walk away. They turned around. Lewis turned back. Spot was regarding them with crossed arms and smug look. "But you better believe you're going to pay for this," Lewis threatened. "If Roan don't see no money from you, you're going to wish I had killed you. I can promise you, Roan won't be so merciful." They walked off the docks silently, each burning inside. Ugly couldn't believe that this newsboy was standing up to Roan Xavier. He had to be the stupidest boy she'd ever met. If only he knew what he was in for…she almost felt bad for him.