Boys Of Brooklyn

Chapter One: The name's Spot

By: Ambrlupin

Rated: T (REALLY!)

Disclaimer: The only people I own are those you don't recognize.

A/N: Race's past is MINE, do you hear me? If I find someone using my ideas, I will soak you, and I am not joking. I wrote this story, and I claim all little plot-holes and pasts I wish. Race and Spot's pasts ARE MINE. I will only say this once, but this will stay up here as a reminder. I aint having NO MORE OF MY IDEAS TAKEN, okay? Okay.

Summary: Brooklyn aint for the weak hearted, and its true there are some bad people there. But Spot Conlon's done a good job protecting his turf. So what happens when rumors start going around about a murderer in HIS Brooklyn?

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Spot's POV

The name is Spot Conlon. Not Spottie, and NOT kid. You call me either one of those names and you're asking for me to soak you. And trust me, I'd be happy to oblige. Just give me a time and a place.

Or if you'd prefer, we can lay it down right then and there.

I may only be fourteen, and I may have only been leader for a little under a year, but I can take care of myself and my boys. I'm not a wimp, I can fight, and be prepared to get your face knocked in if you start something on my turf. You hear me? I only have five simple rules and I think they are quite reasonable.

One, don't mess with me.

Two, don't mess with my boys, cause that would be messing with me.

Three, don't mess with Brooklyn, cause that's messing with me.

Four, break these rules, and answer to me.

Five, don't answer to me and be prepared to get your rear handed to you.

Get it? Five simple rules, five simple guidelines that you have to follow if you are to live anywhere on my territory. Men, women, children, newsies, scabs, they all listen to me. They all respect me. Ya know why?

Cause im Spot Conlon, that's why-

"Hey, Kid!"

I sigh a little, skipping a few lines in the small book of paper one of my men had given me, my hand moving as I waved to get my caller's attention, the ink slightly blotching as I tried to keep my attention on two things at once.

I take that back. There is only one person who can call me 'kid' and get away with it. Red basically raised me, saved me from my Hell. He is my father, my brother, in more ways than one, the only man I had ever sworn allegiance to.

Sworn allegiance to him, the last leader of Brooklyn.

Behind the boy's backs he had trained me, trained me to take over from him when he thought it was time. I guess he thought it was time about ten months ago. My fingers absently stroked the cane at my side.

That had been a gift from Red, handed personally to me with the land of Brooklyn as a witness. The gold-tipped cane was the flag of our land, held by each and every one of our leaders, the only difference in the way it came to me, was the fact leadership was usually won in a fight.

Not handed to a young kid.

"Hey, Red." I greeted with a slight grin, "Aint you got papes to sell?"

The tall red-head raised his eyebrow as he plopped down next to me on the docks, hanging his legs over the side. "Such a hypocrite, kid. Don't you have papes to sell too?"

"Sold em all." I leaned back, closing the book and reaching over to snag the cigarette hanging from the elder's hand. "Really, Red, why do you even ask?"

He shrugged, "Father's duty, Spot."

I snorted, taking a drag and exhaling slowly, watching the smoke drift up into the afternoon sky. It was quiet, for once. Only the slight cry of the gulls and the lapping of the water. It was peaceful, a rarity in these parts.

"Got sometin on your mind?"

I looked over at him, but as always, his face was darn near unreadable. Even for me. So I put on my best poker face and looked at him cooly. "Why would you think that?"

He chuckled under his breath, "Cut it out, that face don't work on me. I can still read you like a friggin book." He whipped out another cigarette for himself because he knew that once I had my hands on one, I wasn't giving it back.

"Hn." I chose not to comment and turned back to look across the water. A few bottles caught my eye, drifting lazily almost out of sight near the other docks. A slight smile twisted my lips and a pulled my slingshot, carefully aiming before I let the rock fly.

Straight on target, as always. It shattered one of the bottles, the remains sinking to the bottom. "Serves em right, leaving trash in MY river."

"Cleanin up, kid?" Red asked as he lazily took a shot and sunk two at once with one pebble. "Mind if I help a bit?" Did I mention Red taught me to shoot, too?

"Youse already made yourself right at home, why do ya need to ask me?" I broke another.

Red lowered his slingshot just a little, turning toward me just a little. His eyes were cool, but for once I saw a little past them, into what truly made him up. I only wanted a peek.

However, once I did, I couldn't look away.

He opened his mouth as he turned back, his profile lit by the side, his hair blazing crimson. "Cause youse the leader, Spot."

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"Hey Spot! Im HOME!" A voice cried as the doors to my lodging house busted wide open, revealing the last person I really wanted to see at the moment. Or well, ever, really.

I somehow managed to keep my groan from being too loud, but Red heard it and snickered under his breath as he raised a hand, waving him over. "How's it goin, Race?"

"Same ol' same ol'." The Manhattan newsie smirked as he talked around his cigar, waving to those around the room that called out to him. Ignoring me, of course. Not that I wasn't used to such a thing, but it tended to get annoying after a while.

Especially after what he had done to me.

You see, Race had once been a Brooklyn newsie, a while ago when I was just a kid and didn't know any better than to make friends with a dirty traitor. Not that anyone could have foreseen that Race would leave us.

I, least of all, thought he would up and disappear like he had. We didn't even know if he was alive or what, and probably wouldn't have known for years upon years if I hadn't seen him one day, selling papes on the edge of Brooklyn.

Broke my heart, that did. As innocent, and yes I was at one point, as I had been then, I couldn't wrap my mind around why my best friend, my big brother would just up and leave without a word, without a warning.

Without even a goodbye.

He turned to me, and like every time, I had the greatest urge to break his head in, to demand he tell me what he was thinking, to tell me what the heck had made him leave his home behind for Manhattan. But with that also came the urge to cry, to hug him like I was a child again, and cry my heart out.

But I was a leader, and leader's most definitely did NOT do that.

Racetrack Higgins was many things, but an easy person to read he was not. A great poker player, with or without cheating, but he wasn't above...improving his odds, he had one heck of a poker face, and that was what I was looking at tonight.

What I almost always looked at. Those calm, collected eyes, and that playful smirk on those lips. I felt myself slip into my own stoic calmness and returned the smirk, just like always.

It was a game, really. A game that we had learned to play, and had become masters at it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Higgins?"

Race shrugged, chewing his cigar with a thoughtful look on his face. "I was thinking we could start up a poker game. What do you think, Conlon?" He lifted his head a little, that smirk still on his face. "Feel up to losin ya money?"

I snorted, getting to my feet. My boys instantly fell quiet as my eyes roamed over them all, and then I moved, toe-to-toe with the Manhattan boy, the gold-end of my cane pushing against his chest so that he had no choice but to back up.

I felt more than saw Red get up behind me. He was afraid I'd hurt Race, but I didn't really feel like soaking anyone tonight. Actually, what I wanted...

I gave him one hard push and he toppled over to land in a chair, blinking wide eyes at me. For a second he was stunned and then he grinned, nodding his head a little at me. I had broken his poker face, "You win, Conlon."

I grinned, tapping the top of the table just to his left as I took the chair on the opposite side. "Deal me in, Higgins."

The room exploded in whistles as a few of the elder boys began to jump over others to grab seats at the table. It was a first come first serve policy in this house, you either fought for what you wanted, or you lost it.

That's how it works here in Brooklyn.

Why?

Because Spot Conlon said so.

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So, how was it? I liked it. -grin- Anyways, use that little button on the bottom left of your screen that says 'submit review' and drop me a line. Tell me what you think and ill get to work on the next chapter!