The early afternoon sun beat down hard upon the back of Spot's neck as he sat observantly on his perch of crates at the docks. This was the place where he could watch down at his boys like a hawk and not be bothered. He was far enough away to hear himself think but not too far. Below him he could still hear anyone speak to him. Across the docks he could see the men who already worked there and his boys running around and enjoying their brook until going back to sell the afternoon edition.

Bolt made his way up the docks leading toward Spot's improvised throne in a dripping wet mess. He wore only his pajamas and held in his hands a bundle of pants, a shirt and vest, his shoes, and a hat. A playful expression, something everyone who knew Bolt expected to see, was on his face as he looked up at Spot, squinting in the glare of the sunlight. "Missin' the swimmin' tournament!" he called up to him.

Spot expressed his somewhat bemusement. "I take it ya're out then?"

"Thompson's cheatin' somehow." He pulled himself into his brown pants without much care that he was sopping wet. Water stopped dripping from his face and instead started to form little beads on his face and small, lean stomach.

"How'd he be cheatin'? He's been goin' to the mark and back every time." Yes, Spot could truly see everything.

"No, he's cheatin'," Bolt insisted jokingly as he pt on his olive button-down shirt that was well-worn and dirty.

"Whateva makes ya feel better." Spot leaned his arm on top of a box and rested his head on it.

Bolt finished dressing himself and twirled his cap around his fingers casually. He grabbed hold of a box just in his reach and hoisted himself upon it. It wasn't quite as high as Spot's but there was a reason for that: Bolt was right-hand-man to Brooklyn, a noble position to have in most eyes. The two boys sat and watched over everything, chatting on occasion with Bolt doing most of the talking.

"Think we got ourselves a couple 'a visitors," Spot said as he eyed some boys being followed by Brooklyn newies. Bolt sat up and squinted in front of him.

Walking along the docks were two newsboys, most likely from Manhattan, judging from the direction in which they came. The Brooklynites were a very proud and protective group; they didn't like change and were automatically put on natural alert when other boys entered their domain, even if they were allies. Around five or six boys followed the Manhattans closely. But what was Spot to complain? He led a loyal set of boys.

As they neared Spot and Bolt, the two identities became clearer: Jack Kelly and David Jacobs. Spot quickly thought back to the day on which Jack decided to start the strike and they needed Brooklyn's support. Bolt hopped down and made his way toward Jack and David as they spit-shook. Spot noticed David, the walkin' mouth as invented by he, seemed to have grown more accustomed to the swap of fluid as he didn't wince. He was a newsie now.

"Conlon!" Bolt called and led the way to his perch. "Get your royal ass down her!"

Jack and David both looked at each other, wondering if it was okay to laugh.

"Best be watchin' ya mouth, Bolt," Spot responded and jumped down. He greeted each Manhattan boy with a spit shake and sat on a nearby wooden box. "What's goin' on? 'Cause I know ya didn't come down to check up on me."

"Don't flatter yaself," jack said and leaned his back against a wooden pole. He noticed Spot's newsies gradually stop their activities and shift their attention to their leader. "Spot, we got some news about Tyce."

Spot hardened is gaze instantly. "Go on."

The cowboy pushed himself off the pole and took a couple of steps around. Moments passed and he stopped in front of an impatient Spot. "He sorta…well, he disappeared."

Spot furrowed his eyebrows and made a face that looked like he was having trouble believing Jack. "What the hell ya talkin' about? People don't just disappear."

Jack opened his mouth and shut it again. He knew he should have eased into this whole thing. When giving any type of news to Spot Conlon, one had to strategically map out every word or else they would get some kind of scathing retort in response. Jack turned to David and jerked his head behind him.

"Well, you see, Spot," David saved and walked forward in hopes of a recovery. "Last night we got word that Tyce isn't in Queens. He's been gone for a few days and no one's real sure where he went. He could've been abducted, or in hiding for some odd reason, or just takin' a little vacation. Shit, he could've been killed for all we know."

David stared at Spot for a reply and was unable to read his motionless face. Out of his peripheral vision he could see the news soak in to all the boys around him. David stood still and put on hand in his pocket, still waiting for a reply. Jack's eyes darted from Spot to David to Bolt and back to Spot again. After what seemed like a minute, there was movement.

One side of Spot's mouth went upward and to the side. "I like you," he said as if suddenly David was the most respected newsie in all of New York, aside from himself. Without taking his eyes away he pulled over a sturdy wooden box with just his foot in front of him. "Talk to me."

Obediently, David took a seat on the quite uncomfortable char. "To put it bluntly, Tyce's sudden disappearance is dangerous, especially for you. If any leader suspiciously vanished it would be dangerous. But being from Queens given your history, he's twice a threat."

Spot looked to the side of him and thought on this for a moment. David looked behind him and when jack gave him a reassuring nod, he breathed a little easier.

"If Tyce is missin' that means he could be dead," stated Spot.

"Yeah, but there's no tellin' if he's alive either."

Spot sighed and scratched the back of his head. "I guess maybe that's a'right; I think I'd like the honor of killin' the son of a bitch myself."

David fought back to the urge to laugh or even smile. Bolt, however, held nothing back and chuckled while giving a crisp round of claps. Spot turned his attention back to the issue at hand. He placed one hand on his hip and the other on his knee, clutching his chin in thought.

"How d'ya propose we go about handlin' this? I don't really think searchin' for 'im would be smart…"

"Yeah, neither did us."

"So," Jack stepped in before his presence was forgotten about entirely. "We'se thinkin' backup in all the territories. Maybe even spies."

Spot nodded and looked up at Jack. "I like the sound 'a that." He snapped his head quickly toward Bolt. "Hey, get me some boys!"

"You got it, boss." Bolt nodded and took a step to the side to shout in the direction of the docks. "Thompson! Glover! Get ovah here now!"

At once, the two chosen newsies came hurdling towards the end of the docks, both still dripping wet from the water. Bolt got them up to speed on the news and what they were to do.

"I need you guys to together the best we got. I'm gonna need some in the Bronx and Harlem; send the best there. Make sure they'se not real known around the city or nothin', though. They gotta be able to blend without gettin' caught."

"We got some from Manhattan too, Bolt," Jack added. "We'll station a few guys there too."

Bolt nodded. "Guys got it?"

Thompson and Glover bother nodded and departed in a hurry. Spot stood and shook hands once again with Jack and David.

"Ya wanna discuss this more, Conlon?" Bolt inquired.

"No…I think I'm gonna go take a walk. Sort shit out."

All three made no objections and let Spot out of their way. Although he had a talent of hiding it very well, the news of Tyce being missing made him nervous. David was right: Brooklyn was twice as much in danger. Queens was close to his kingdom and it could be attacked in a flash if Tyce so desired. But even though Spot didn't trust Tyce Nichols and loathed every part of him, Tyce was not crazy enough to spring a massacre on Brooklyn. Although they detested each other passionately, there was a mutual respect between them. It was beyond being leaders and beyond being newsies. Meaningless attacks were low.

His feet took him around the streets aimlessly, around corners and through herds of people. He wandered around at a fairly quick pace as he let everything settle into his brain. He hadn't been gone for too long, though; the distribution place was just around the corner. The turn he intended to make was just a few steps away. As he made it, he slammed right into a teenaged girl and they both stumbled backward onto the ground.

Spot rubbed his chest where he was guessing her head had made contact and blinked a few times. In a now dirtied, dark green skirt, Gabby sat directly in front of him. She had her eyes closed as she rubbed them both, along with the red mark above her eyes. Spot smiled to himself.

"Ya okay?" he asked, still on the ground.

Gabby took her hands away and immediately grinned at the sight of who she collided with. "Hi!" She jumped up and promptly grabbed Spot's hands to help him up.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Wasn't expectin' that."

"No problem." She rubbed her head. "Wait!" Her eyes suddenly widened and she took hold of Spot's wrist. "We're not supposed to meet here!"

"Huh?"

Before he had a chance to comprehend this, Gabby was dragging him through the rush of people and soon brought him to the bench where they initially met a couple of days ago.

"If luck'll have it, right?" Gabby said.

Spot smiled as they took a seat.

"So, where were ya headed?" she asked.

"Oh, ya know just kinda followin' my feet. Coincidentally they ran right into you." Spot pondered what he just said and realized that he didn't intend for that to be a pick-up line.

Gabby smiled her lovely grin and crossed her ankles, positioning her torso to face him. "Well, now that we ran into each other, how are you?"

How am I? he thought. I just got word my worst enemy could be out to murder my boys. He almost communicated his thoughts to her since he had previously explained about Queens, but it didn't make its way toward his mouth. Instead, he heard himself say:

"Now that I'm here things couldn't be better."