A/N: I reloaded the story, but no reviews yet! IM BACK! yaaaay! it's been awhile so id really appreciate some love! Anywho heres chappy 2
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He saw it-the invitation on Jerica's mirror. It matched the one in Abby's notebook. But where to now? The notebook.Back to Pearl he went, up the stairs, under the matress.
Names. Places. Anything, A piece of paper fell out. It was the corner of an old newspaper. There was some kind of symbol on it. Two vertical, parallel lines about an inch apart, and a horzontal line going through the two about a cenimeter from the top. What was it? Why was is in her notebook? He kept searching.
There was a dark Spot of ink drawn inside a heart drawn on one of her pages, right after all the entries on Jerica and Irving Hall. A heart w/ a spot. Spot. Spot Conlon. Brooklyn.
Over the bridge he went. Across the docks. Three guys stood in his path. Muscle. Gotta love the muscle.
"Goin' somewhea' Blink?" one of them said-not so intimidatingly.
"Conlon. Whea' is he?"
The boys all shifted their gazes up to the higher dock. There he was. Perched high in all his fucking glory. Not for long.
"Why don't you head back ta' Manhattan whea' it's safe, eh Kid?" Spot's voice sailed through the air. He was patronizing him. Blink hated that...
"Whea' is she Conlon?"
"Who?"
"Abby. What did you do to her?"
"A lot. She was good too-" he started to light a cigarette.
Before he could finish, the cigarette went flying and a fist collided with his face. He fell backwards off the dock. Blink jumped down on top of him and hit him several more times, drawing blood from Spot's nose and watching it drain all over his face. His beautiful, glorious fucking face. He kept hitting as hard as he could until-
"Alright, ALRIGHT! FUCK!" Spot yelled, wiping blood off his face, "She hasn't been with me for weeks. Find Tug.
He'll tell you what's up."
"Tug?"
"Did I fucking stutta', Blink? Tugger. He's probably in Queens gettin' drunk off his ass. He'll still rip your guts out though, don't get to confident..."
Blink was up and walking away before he finished. He would go to Queens later. First he had to attend to some other buisness.
The adress on the invitation was a familiar one. 804 Sorenson Street. Not exactly in the "avenue" district, but it was a street that none of the newsies would likely ever find themselves on unless they were selling. Even then, only the older, more experianced newsies were sly enough to charm the rich. He knew the girl that lived there.
Salone. The mayor's daughter. She moved out after the strike. Daddy bought her her own place to try and make ammends for her neglectful upbringing. She often rallied against him, but still could retain her "rich-bitch" attitude with ease.
He sat on a stoop across the street waiting. It was 4 p.m. She walked out and began making her way up the street. He followed her on the other side. She began to cross, unaware of his presence. He passed her by.She didn't notice. She rarely took note of street rats. He slipped into an alley. She felt someone grab her arm and pull her off the sidewalk. Not abruptly. Gently. And with that same gentleness a hand slipped over her mouth. Her back was to his front. He slowly relased his hand.
"Money?" she said calmly, almost mockingly.
B:"Answers."
S:"What do you need to know?"
B:"Your pahty ta'night."
S:"Do I know you?"
B:"Not directly."
S:"I know everyone. What's your name?"
B:"I have an invitation."
S:"Then what's the problem?"
B:"I need ta' be sure that I won't run into any trouble."
S:"What kind of trouble are you running from?"
B:"Not running from. I wanna talk ta' you."
S:"Only if you tell me who you are."
B:"I happen to have a certain person's invitation. That's what I wanna talk about ta'night."
S:"Not if you're a street rat-"
B:"Abby Collins."
She paused, "7 o'clock. Tonight. It's a costume party."
"In the summer?"
"We get bored."
He let go of her and shoved her back out into the street. She turned around. He was gone.
Specs. That's who he needed to talk to. He made his way back towards Tibby's. It was about dinner time. There he was. As usual. Sitting outside on the bench in front of the restaraunt, legs folded indian style, eating his measly dinner.
"So?" Specs asked.
"Conlon's involved." he sat next to him.
S:"Conlon's always involved."
B: "And Jerica..."
S: "Irving Hall Jerica?" Blink nodded, "Didn't' you two-"
B: "Yea." he paused, "Salone's havin' a pahty ta'night. Abby had an invite. I'm in."
S:"Stay in the shadows. Get Salone alone-just the two of ya. Other people around give's her excuses to avoid the conversation."
B:"Right. And I have ta go ta Queens ta'morrow. Some guy named Tug."
S:"Tugger Williams. Muscle. Drunkard. Real idiot."
B:"Figures. Well I betta' be off Specs..." he stood, "I got a pahty ta go to..."