Immediately after lunch and selling Thursday's morning edition, the Brooklyn boys gathered in the bunkroom for a meeting called by Spot. By then, everyone had learned of the conflict coming up on Sunday, yet there were a few things that needed clearing up. As they filed into the room, all forty two of them, the atmosphere morphed into one of not-so-delightful anticipation and impatience.
"This bettah be a good plan," said fifteen-year-old Noah with doubt. "Remembah last time how confident they was? Look how that turned out."
Sixteen-year-old Jimmy nodded his head in agreement. They entered the room with their fellow newsies and stood leaning against one of the bunks.
"I ain't sure Spot's in the right mind to be makin' these decisions," Jimmy stated. "He's been actin' all weird lately, not showin' up a lot and bein' all quiet talkin' to Bolt."
Noah crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head to himself, agreeing with Jimmy's observations. He looked in front of the crowd of boys and watched their leader. Spot was sitting on the side of his bunk with his palms on the tip of his black cane that stood straight up from the floor. Bolt paced in the small area next to him, occasionally speaking to only Spot. Noah let out an anxious sigh and waited impatiently while everyone came into the room.
A couple of minutes passed and the last of the stragglers arrived and took a seat in the back of the narrowly spaced rows of beds. Bolt looked at Spot and gave him a nod. Spot nodded in response as the two of them exchanged reassuring looks. He rose from the bed and slid his cane into the loop of his suspenders. For some reason the memory of a situation similar to this came to his mind. It was of himself approaching his boys about a decision as to help Manhattan out or not with the strike. He remembered already knowing the outcome of that discussion, because he knew his boys would make the right decision; and he remembered the confidence he had, and he felt it now.
The group quieted to an almost eerie silence as Spot stood before them preparing to speak.
"A'right, I'm gonna make this quick. To make everythin' clear, we got word 'a Queens callin' us out to a meetin' this Sunday. They sent us a message to be there at seven to talk about territory problems. We had a spy in Harlem for a real long time, Noodle, and when he came back we found out Tyce is tryin' to trick us.
"He and fifteen 'a his boys are gettin' there at six so they can attack us when we get there. Lucky fer us, we have their plans. Bolt and I been talkin' this ovah fer a while, and we'se decided to take twenty five to the factory at five to get Tyce before he gets us." Spot paused to let the information settle.
Hushed murmurs and whispers went around the room. Boys turned to each other to question the plan and voice their thoughts. Spot looked to Bolt at his side.
"Fellas, fellas," Bolt spoke to hush the group, "let's finish and then we'll open it up to questions."
"We got our twenty-five," Spot explained further, "I thought long an' hard about wo we gonna take and I think I picked the best. Before I go on and name 'em, anybody got somethin' they wanna say?"
The boys looked around and turned their heads to see if anyone spoke up. Nearly ten seconds passed until, to Spot's surprise, Jimmy broke the silence. Of all people to speak up, he expected it to be Ace. But Ace seemed to be blatantly absent for some reason.
"Yeah, I got a question," Jimmy said. "How d'we know it ain't gonna end up like it did last time?"
Slowly and surely, the forty-one other pairs of eyes traveled back to the front. Once again Bolt and Spot exchanged looks. Spot paused, thinking about how he should answer that. His hand found its way to the tip of his cane near his hip as he pondered it over. He couldn't say he wasn't prepared for something of this nature.
With a quick inhale of air, Spot looked out at all the doubtful eyes in his presence. "Boys, ya have my solid word…I will not let ya down this time. Not now. Not evah. I can promise all 'a you that right now. I know I made mistakes last time, but I can't take that back and I can't ask fer your forgiveness. All I can ask for is yer trust. I won't let ya down."
Spot panned over his boys, hoping he had gained the full support of them. Somehow, thought, he had felt it. Jimmy lessened his hard glare at Spot and nodded hesitantly, but ultimately confirmed his trust. Spot then rattled off the twenty-five names from memory, and put a close to the meeting. When the others were leaving, the air had changed drastically. As they dispersed, a new, and old, faith was restored in their leader.
The twenty-five stood silently around Spot and bolt while the others exited. Though they were touched the smallest bit of fear, each of their eyes possessed a look of confidence and understanding. Spot pulled a crate from underneath the bed and pulled it over to the center of the circle. The boys' eyes widened the slightest as they looked at the box's contents. Thirty miscellaneous weapons were piled into the crate, filling the boarded walls. They varied in size, shape, color, and intent, but they all had the same purpose.
"We can't rely on our slingshots," Spot said as if answering the unanimous question.
"Boys, take yer pick," Bolt told them. "Ya can only choose one, so choose wisely."
The compilation of knives, pistols, blades, chains, tools, and other dangerous items sat threateningly before them, untouched.
"When ya've reached a decision on which lovely one you'll take with ya, get to know it a lil' bit, see what I'm sayin'? Do what Conlon does with his goil. Love it. Stroke it. Take it out to dinner." Bolt smiled at Spot and patted him teasingly on the shoulder. "But fer the love 'a God, do not try to use 'em er fire 'em."
One by one, they stuck their hands into the crate and took a weapon of choice.
Gabby tapped her feet together lazily as she sat on the porch railing of the lodging house. Spot had asked her to meet him there and it sounded like he really needed her. She wondered what it must have been like for him, to have the heavy weight of Brooklyn on his shoulders, to see it from the other side.
"Such bullshit," Ace muttered after giving the door another swift kick.
"C'mon, are you really that surprised?" Gabby asked him.
She had watched the whole thing play out: Ace was hurrying to get to the meeting and he was the last one to arrive. Thompson had been at the door seeing everyone inside. When Ace had arrived, though, Thompson stopped him and told him the meeting was not for him, by order of Spot. After a graphic conversation decorated with plenty of curses and a near fistfight, Thompson shoved Ace way and locked the door. Thompson had even given Gabby a threatening look.
"I am, actually," Ace replied angrily. "I need to be in there. Why'd they do that?"
Because they're smart. Gabby quickly glanced at the fire escape on the side of the building and decided not to tell Ace about an alternative entrance. Though she knew that the act was minimal, Gabby felt as though she was doing a partially good deed.
"Well, I guess you missed your chance," Gabby said emotionlessly.
Ace slowly turned his head towards her, and it was the first time Gabby ever felt scared of him. She gulped slightly and felt a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ace approached her quickly and grabbed her shoulders. His face was but inches from hers.
"Don't you mess this up fer us," he growled in a low voice, pointing his finger at her. "How many times do I gotta tell ya this?"
Gabby could feel her eyes turn frightened, and her breaths were short. She pressed her quivering lips together and suppressed the feeling to cry. Ace's hard eyes suddenly softened and he slowly let go of her shoulders, telling her he was sorry. He stepped the side of her and thought to himself for a while. Gabby subtly rubbed her arms in pain and swallowed the lump in her throat. The boys began filing out into the street and Ace rushed off the porch to join them in hopes of getting some information.
Wiping her eyes dry and sitting up straight, Gabby smiled once Spot came out last. At first, he did not see her and he held the back of his neck and rolled it around. I feel your pain, thought Gabby. Spot heaved a sigh and caught notice of Gabby's presence. He turned and faced her, smiling thankfully for a moment. He walked toward her and greeted her with an innocent hug and kiss.
"It's set," Spot told her. "Everythin's set fer Sunday."
Gabby stared deeply into his worrisome eyes and nodded.
"There's also this thing tomorrow night at Sonny's. Just a party er somethin'. I'm takin' you, right?" he smiled, answering his own question for her.
"Right," she said after a few seconds. She tried faking a smile, an act at which she had become an expert, but for some reason, the muscles in her cheeks and face would not allow it. Instead, her lips fell to a quiver and she looked down, mortified that she had allowed this to happen. Surely, it would all come spilling out anytime now.
Spot furrowed his eyebrows and held her shoulders, asking her what was the matter.
Gabby sniffled and wiped her red, teary eyes. She grabbed Spot's shirt and pulled him towards her, burying her face within his chest. Fortunately, she had gulped down the lump that had grown earlier and she simply held him close to her. He rubbed her back lovingly, confused at the outpouring of emotion. Gabby sniffled once more and looked up at him with saddened eyes.
"I just don't understand why it has to be like this," Gabby said, "why you guys have to fight to put an end to everything."
"I wouldn't expect you to. It's just one of those things ya're kinda born with and ya live with these boys all ya life. I can't just sit back and let 'em be treated like this. If you were one 'a us, you'd feel differently."
Suddenly, while listening to Spot talk, Gabby became very angry; to whom, she did not know. She wanted to take his words and spit on them, throw them away, stomp on them. She hated what this had become and she hated being involved with this. This was not her place in life, to be some boy's whore he used to get back at someone. She was mad at everything that she had become.
"Yeah, well, from what I've seen and heard, it's stupid and pointless. Boys dying just so they can prove to each other who's better, or which territory is stronger. Newsboys. There is so much you guys can do but you waste your time with these wars and life-or-death situations," Gabby said, more hurtfully than she had intended.
Spot looked at her, both surprised and offended, and took a step back, breaking from her embrace. He took in her insulting thoughts and was speechless. Gabby looked at him through a hard gaze and at once changed her face. She came to her senses, realizing what she had said and how she had said it.
"Oh, Spot…I'm so sorry…"
"No. Don't apologize," Spot said sternly, proving he was not certain an apology was not wanted. He looked in another direction and folded one arm over his chest, and held his neck with the other.
"I just don't see why it has to end like this."
"Ya don't need to," he responded quickly. "Why d'ya think I quit talkin' to you about this stuff? I figured it was not big deal to you. I didn't want ya to get involved or in too deep and maybe get you hurt over my 'stupid' way 'a life."
"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," Gabby sobbed, "please, Spot, I didn't mean to." She hopped down from the railing and grabbed his arm.
"No, obviously ya meant somethin' when ya said that." He pushed her hand away and began walking off the porch. "I gotta think about some things…"
"Spot, I said I was sorry!" Gabby ran in front of him and stopped him.
"No, it's fine," he replied weakly, looking at the ground and not at her eyes. "I just need to re-think some things."
"What d'you mean? I didn't mean what I said."
"I just need to think about things, a'right, Gabby?" His voice jumped up an octave and he stepped to the side, walking away from her quickly.
Gabby paused for a moment and stood amongst the hustling crowd of people, feeling more alone than ever. The anger again gathered within her and she felt more frustrated than she had ever felt. She turned hard on her heels, shoved people out of her way, and caught up to Spot who was walking briskly ahead of her. She grabbed his arm and turned him around.
"Why are you doing this?" Gabby found herself asking him in a fiery tone. "Huh? What do you need to think about?"
Spot closed his eyes and hardened his jaw. "Gabby, please—"
"No! Why're you walking away from me? Talk to me!" Gabby then smacked his chest hard. "Talk to me, dammit!"
Spot looked at her and said nothing. Gabby proceeded to hit his chest and shoulders in a fit of rage as warm tears began streaming down her cheeks.
"Thinking about leaving me? Is that what you gotta think about, Spot? Breaking up with me before you go off and fight? Is that it? Answer me, Spot!"
Before giving him any chance to answer, Gabby slapped his face and started smacking and hitting and punching him. After Spot felt he had endured enough, he grabbed Gabby's arms as she struggled powerlessly to break free. She soon found herself not beating Spot, but wrapping her arms around him tightly and holding him close. Her cheeks were drenched with hot tears as she cried painfully into Spot's chest as she held her tighter than ever.
"I don't want to lose you," Gabby told him through her sobs.
Spot wanted to reassure her with his whole heart that she wouldn't lose him, that he would always be there for her; but he could not lie to her. He instead bit his tongue and kissed her on the head.
"Look at me." He held her cheeks with his hands and wiped away the tears as she tried to look at her feet. "Hey…Look at me, Gabby."
With drenched eyes, and a red nose and cheeks, Gabby lifted her head.
"It's gonna be okay," Spot told her. He only wished he could believe it himself.