"How 'bout we just have someone kill Tyce in his sleep," suggested an extremely exhausted Jack, "hire someone to just slit his throat."
The boys had been pining over what to do next for several hours in the smoke-filled room. Countless ideas had been thrown out there and every one of them dropped. The floor around them was littered carelessly with cigarette butts and crumbled pieces of paper. David wrote down Jack's proposal on a notepad just like he had done with all the other ideas.
"Sounds good to me," Bold said in a tired voice. He sat uncomfortable in his chair with his arms dangling at his sides and forehead planted on top of the table so that all he saw was the tops of his brown shoes.
"You wanna volunteer fer that job, Bolt?" Thompson asked with a hint of sarcasm as his head rested on his bent arm on the table.
"Sure," Bolt sighed. He retrieved his slingshot from his pocket and waved it around with a lazy arm as if he were to attack. "Watch out, Tyce."
Bolt's act of sarcastic humor provided much needed comic relief to the group. Thankful laughs and brief chuckles sprang from each boy's mouth for a couple of seconds. Even Spot let out a laugh. Bolt brought his head back up upon hearing this.
"Thank god, Conlon!" Bolt said as if he had been waiting for years to hear Spot laugh. "I was startin' to think you was dyin'."
"Ah, shut it, Bolt," Spot said in a drained tone. He took a ball of paper from the table and threw it at Bolt effortlessly, hitting him in the face. "Ain't like I'm really dead."
"Yeah, 'cause 'a 'Gabby'." Bolt made air quotation marks at the saying of her name.
"You shut up," Spot said in defense.
"Who's Gabby?" Racetrack asked curiously, drumming his fingers along the table and fiddling with a cigar.
"This girl Spot's seein'," Thompson answered as he sighed and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Hey, maybe she could kill Tyce for her," he joked.
Spot chuckled involuntarily. "Yeah, that'll be happening."
An air of lesser tension settled now in the room. They took a short break for some normal conversation for a couple of minutes, took a little restroom break, and got off the topic of depressing war plans. Soon, though, got back to the reason why they were there.
"What about Buckles over in Coney Island?" David suggested hopefully. "I mean, they were in on the spying before; I'm sure they'd help us now."
Spot winced and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think bringin' 'em in would do much, to be honest. They ain't ready for this."
David sighed and crossed out his idea on the paper. With a yawn, he stretched out his hand to make sure the cramping muscles were still intact. He had been writing for quite some time now.
"That reminds me," Thompson said abruptly as he straightened up quickly. "Harlme. Our spy said Jumper was talkin' to Tyce."
"You sayin' they had a secret alliance?" David asked, more to clarify himself than asking a question. "Bastards. We were okay with Harlem."
Jack suddenly got up from his chair and started pacing around as if he were antsy. His eyebrows furrowed determinedly as his mind raced speedily and his hands flickered around to suggest said racing mind. The other watched him in expectation. Jack then smacked his hands together and turned to face their eager faces.
"I got it," he said with energy, "we send a little message over to Jumper and his boys, if ya catch my drift, lettin' 'em know we know all about their siding with Tyce. We don't necessarily gotta kill someone, but we gotta make Jumper look like a total dumbass fer tryin' to keep a secret. We then hold a war council with 'em and discuss what to do next."
They looked at Jack with blank faces while considering the proposal as David scribbled away.
"It ain't genius," Jack said, "but it's the best I got."
Spot paused for a moment and took to his feet. "I like the strikin' Harlem idea. That, I can definitely arrange."
While the boys enthusiastically mapped out a plan of attack, they were under the assumption that they were in a confidential area. Spot had specifically instructed each newsie to stay out of the lodging house for the afternoon. Although, sitting upon the staircase just outside the bunkroom door was Gabby.
God, first I have to weasel this stupid shit out of him, and now I actually have to go in and hide, Gabby complained to herself. For what seemed like hours, she had been planted on the splintery wooden boards with her ear pressed to the door. Every comment that was made fell into her hearing range, from the spat upon proposals to the comment of her killing Tyce. That one was ironic and rather amusing.
However, Gabby did not have much of a choice. She got herself involved with Tyce's work and now she had to finish. Gabby remembered that day pretty clearly:
"Hey, sweetie, why're you lookin' so upset?"
"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."
His hand brushed against her cheek. "C'mon, I'm here for ya…"
"Thanks…"
The alcohol was flowing. The desire was intense. She used to be innocent.
Unfortunately, there was no going back now. Tyce's personal power over her was increasing with every bit of news she gave to him. The mere thought of her leaving all of this made her cringe.
It was getting pretty interesting now, though; Thompson had just brought up how Queens and Harlem were secretly allies against Brooklyn. At the mention of this, Gabby sat up in hopes of juicy information and listened intently. Lucky for her, Jack was telling the group of his idea in a clear voice. For every word, she made a mental note. To her, the idea was good for Brooklyn; then again, anything would after this long of an afternoon. Her back was starting to ache terribly from sitting against the wall. She could now hear Spot's voice agreeing with Cowboy. Hm…his voice was kind of cute from a distance.
Before her lips spread into a smile, Gabby heard the downstairs door open. What? she thought, puzzled. No one's supposed to be here. She stood up ever so quietly and began to tip-toe down. The voices of younger boys filled the room at the bottom of the steps, although the staircase would not allow her view of the door. Outside came a crack of lightning and it instantly started to downpour. Shit. The boys were coming in from the rain. Dammit, why couldn't the have gone somewhere else?
Unsure of where to go, Gabby made her way up the steps again. Maybe they'll stay downstairs. Frantically, she scurried up. IN doing so, she slipped on one step and landed in an awkward position that involved the front side of her body to be spread upward on the staircase and a few right ribs to hit the wooden boards mercilessly. Gabby resisted the urge to let out a yell, got up, and clutched her aching side. As she got up further, the door to the bunkroom flung open and there stood a rather puzzled Bolt. Obviously her crash had caused a disruption.
"Hi," she said, scared and uncertain of what else to do. She quickly straightened herself out and grabbed the gray hat on the step. "I'm Gabby."
"Oh, so you're Gabby," Bolt replied in a tone that more accused her than greeted her.
Spot jogged up to Bolt's side and noticed Gabby standing there, clutching his hat. He too looked confused.
"You left your hat at my place," Gabby told him and handed it to him. "Sorry, I figured you would need it."
"Oh, thanks." Spot graciously took his possession and smiled. "Just give me 'bout ten minutes to wrap things up and then we'll go."
As Gabby nodded, Spot went back to the table of guys and Bolt shut the door in her face without a second glance. Gabby sighed relief to herself as her heart rate returned to normal. She could feel her beating pulse slow in her eardrums. Her hands rubbed her bruising ribs as she winced with pain, surprised if they would not be broken. A roll of thunder came from outside with a heavier set of rain. Yes, things were definitely looking up for Gabby Lawrence.