And another chaptered story threatens to take over my already pathetic life… It was waiting to happen, I swear.

Chapter 3

After coming to the conclusion that Jack had lied to him and running himself ragged looking for information, Spot was still no closer to finding out where Whistler lived, or what his real name was past the surname Connolly.

Standing near his tower, Spot cursed to himself as the object of his frustrations appeared.

"I hear you're lookin' for information," Whistler said. "Did it ever occur to ya to jus' ask?"

Spot was dumbfounded. Of course he'd thought about it, but you don't just walk up to someone you don't know and start asking them things. No one in their right mind would answer questions like that. But no one ever said that Whistler was in his right mind…

"Where are ya livin'? Ya didn' show up at the lodgin' house last night."

"Didn't think I was welcome," Whistler replied, skirting the question. "Considerin' what happened when I first showed up in Brooklyn, I didn' wanna get meself killed jus' for a bed."

"There's no fightin' allowed in the lodgin' house. Y'er a newsie, y'should know that."

"Never stayed in a lodgin' house. Had me own place back in 'Hattan."

His own place? Spot had never heard of a newsie with their own home, unless they lived with a family.

"Your parents' place?" Spot asked.

"Nah, my place," Whistler said, emphasizing the "my". He was clearly proud of the fact that he had had enough income to afford rent, and rightly so. "Don't remember m'parents."

Spot nodded slowly. "So if y'had y'er own place in 'Hattan, why'd ya come to Brooklyn?"

"Got evicted," Whistler said with a shrug.

Before Spot could ask why the other boy had been evicted, Knicknack came running up.

"Deuce—in Brooklyn—got a bunch of his thugs—" the boy panted.

"Call everybody back to the lodgin' house," Spot ordered. "I don't want nobody on the street, even if they ain't done sellin'. I'll take care a' this myself."

Knicknack's eyes widened. "But he'll cream ya, Spot! He's seventeen!"

"I'm older than him," Whistler put in.

"No y'not," Spot said.

Whistler grinned. "Yah, I am."

Knicknack shifted uneasily from foot to foot as the argument commenced. Finally he'd had enough. "Spot, cut it out, we gotta be serious 'bout this!" he said.

Spot swore. "Knicknack, go 'round an' tell all the guys to get back to the lodgin' house. Take this loser with you," he said, motioning to Whistler. Whistler raised an eyebrow, but went off with Knicknack.

Ten minutes later, Spot ran into Whistler.

"Y'er supposed ta be with Knicknack, back at the lodgin' house," he snapped. "What the hell do ya think y'er doin'?"

"Nuthin', jus' thought you might like to know that they got Skipper."

"Sonnova—I'll kill him, I swear I will—"

Whistler shook his head, grabbing Spot's arm. "Y'er not doin' anythin' without me. That guy's crazy, you'll never get rid of 'im alone."

"An' why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be on his side!"

"Never," Whistler said. "I saw him pull a knife on someone half his size, with three to one odds in his favour. He plays dirty. I may be crazy, but I'm fair."

Spot nodded slowly. Much as he hated to admit it, he hadn't particularly been looking forward to taking on Deuce by himself.

"You distract 'im," the King of Brooklyn decreed. "I'll take 'im down." Whistler shrugged, and the two went off in the direction Whistler had come from.