Boys Of Brooklyn

Chapter Two: Rules o' bettin

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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"Like this?"

Race laughed as he leaned over and rearranged the kid's grip on the cards, "Stop trying to choke them, Spot. They aint gonna fight back ya know."

The kid laughed as he let his grip loosen a bit. The cards almost immediately fell and he growled, his hand snapping them back up. Racetrack winced a little as he gently took them from his hand.

"These are good cards, okay?" He gently began to bend them back to shape, "Can we please try and keep them in semi-good condition?"

"Sorry, Race." He mumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly, "Im just not going to be any good at this poker stuff."

The elder smiled a bit, "Naw, that aint true. Come on, one more hand and then you can go if you want." He moved a little so he was more comfortable on the bed, dealing out the cards with the practice of a master.

Spot fumbled for his hand, somehow managing to get them the way the other had told him. His eyes brightened and a wide grin split his face. "I did it! I did it!"

He got a smile and a hair ruffle, "Yeah, ya did, Spot. Im proud of you."

(Spot's POV)

I clenched my teeth slightly as I failed to erase the memory from my mind. I was usually better at this, but with Race sitting a table-length away...I guess it made it just a bit harder. He had taught me poker, taught me to lie, to steal too actually.

He couldn't help a slight smile from crossing his face. Red had been less than thrilled about that certain talent, he recalled, especially after he had nearly landed himself in the refuge on more than one occasion.

That was the last place I wanted to be at. They controlled you there, everything you said, everything you did, they were standing over you like some sort of god. I had already had my share of that, and didn't need any more of it, thank you very much.

Red took care of the actual leader-stuff, but the one thing they had done together, come to think of it, was to teach me to read and write. Each of them took a hand in that, making sure everything was right and they weren't making any mistakes. Race had even broken into a school in Staten to get some textbooks to study off of.

That had been the only time Race had stolen something in full view of Red, and not gotten yelled at for it. Even now, when Racetrack was a Manhattan newsie, if Red caught him stealing, or heard about it...

"Conlon!"

My head jerked up and I came face to face with the traitor himself. Race looked concerned, darn him, and he frowned, "Are you feelin all right, Conlon? I must have called you like ten times! Its your turn."

"Im fine." I snapped, looking down at my hand. It was my turn already? Where had the time gone...and what had everyone else done? For all I know, they might have been looking over my shoulders while I wasn't looking.

I had an okay hand, nothing spectacular, just an average hand. But I raised anyway. It was all in the poker face and the bluff in poker. You see, it wasn't necessarily what you have, but what your opponents think you have.

My boys looked around a bit, but a few of them bit it. Race would, I knew. He had that look in his eyes, and I was more than willing to help him find that challenge he was apparently looking for.

"Raise you again." He murmurred, flicking his cigar.

In less than two turns we lost all but one other person. Once more it came around, and once more Race and I raised the pot even higher. One of us was going down, but the thing was, we were both two stubborn to admit defeat

Suddenly, it wasn't just about poker.

Red snorted and threw down his hand, "Forget that, boys. You two have at."

Race smirked, "Can ya take the heat, Conlon?" He played with the change he had left, clicking it slightly with his fingers. Intimidating to everyone.

Everyone but me. "Play with fire, Higgins, and you're gonna get burned." I threw in some more money, twice what we had been betting. It was a foolish move, and I knew it the minute everyone gasped in shock.

But I was tired of getting beaten. Especially by Racetrack Higgins.

The Italian boy looked at me in slight surprise. "That's a lot of money."

"So it is." I took a drag on a cigarette, "Backin out now?"

He smirked and threw in his own money, "Not at all."

"All right." Race sat cross-legged on the bed, "Whats the rule in poker?"

Spot glanced up with a surprised look, "Which one?"

He chuckled a bit, "Smart kid. All right, how bout the bettin' rule?"

"Only bet what you know youse can afford. Never put too much money in de pot, cause if you do, it'll be hard to back out of it if you get a bad hand..." He frowned, trying to remember the last bit of important information.

Race sat there, a soft smile on his face. He knew the kid would get it, he just had to give him a second, that was all. "And the last one?" He prompted.

"The last one..." He looked down and played with the cards, his lips turned into a small frown, "The last one is..."

Suddenly a smile lit his face and his head jerked up proudly, "The last rule of betting is, never, ever, get foolish with your money!"

The elder laughed, "That it is, Spot. That it is."

Right now, all I wanted to do is make Race eat his own words, even if they were from so long ago. I had quite enough playing around, and the pot could only get higher. I threw in the last of my money, tapping my foot in the silence.

Race was close to breaking out in sweat, I could see it. Pride wouldn't allow him to back out now, but his wallet was starting to clean out real fast. The elder boys usually saved up for poker nights, and Race usually took the table every time, cleaning out Brooklyn and Manhattan alike, but this one game had nearly cleaned him out.

He gulped a little, I could literally see the fear in his eyes before a calmness seemed to talk a hold of him and an iron gate slammed down just behind his eyes. He looked down at the last of his money, and pushed it all toward the table among slight gasps.

"Rule number one o' bettin, Conlon." He murmurred, as he tapped the bottom of his cards on the shining top of the table. "Only bet what youse can afford."

Rage slipped through me, but the only indication was the slight tensing of my muscles and the way my fingers tightened ever so slightly around the cards. I wanted to rip them up into tiny pieces and pitch them over the side of the bridge, but more than that...

More than that, I wanted...

"Youse is breaking your own rule, Higgins."

I wanted to get even, at least this once.

"Flip em over already!" Red cried with a slight laugh, pushing me lightly in the shoulder, "We aint gettin any younger here!"

Race and I looked at each other from across the table, eyes locking. There was a small fortune sitting right in front of us, and neither cared. This wasn't about the money, at least, not anymore.

I flipped my cards over, and he did the same, but as entire room leaned over to see the hands, the front door burst wide, the light illuminating one of the younger newsies who stood in the doorway.

"Spot! SPOT!" He yelped, running inside and nearly careening into a few bodies. It was Trip, a little kid with ebony hair. He had an older twin by the name 'Fall'. "SPOT!"

"What?" I was already on my feet, already moving. Forget the game, forget Race, this was my boy, calling for my help. "What is it, Trip?"

He landed on his hands and knees right in front of me, staring up with eyes full of fear, tears cascading down his face. "Spot...its horrible..."

Red and I knelt by his side, shushing him and wiping away his tears. He was only eight for God's sake! "What is horrible, Trip?" Red asked softly, smoothing back his hair, "What did you see, kid?"

He shivered lightly and buried his head against my chest, believe it or not. "Its Fall...Oh god, Spot! Fall's dead! FALL'S DEAD!" He screamed, sobbing. "FALL'S DEAD!"

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