Thanks to Stormshadow 21 and tudilovesyou for reviewing! It is much appreciated.
Disclaimer: Still don't own a damn thing...well except for everyone at the Widow's Rose. Yep!
When Lottie returned to the Widow's Rose that night, the building was still bustling and loud with activity. Lottie figured it was still early—it was only a fifteen minute walk back from the Brooklyn Lodging House. She quickly entered the back door and made her way up the rickety stairs, trying hard to be silent. She didn't want Lady or Miss Velvadine bumping into her—she didn't feel like explaining the absence of money, or why she was back so soon. She figured Spot Conlon was an old customer, and Miss Velvadine wouldn't be too pleased to know he was denied service that night.
Lottie groaned, starting to pull the pins out of her hair as she crept down the hall. Why had she acted like such an ass tonight? She had completely choked—she was so afraid that this would happen. From the moment Miss Velvadine had smiled at her with that evil gleam in her eyes, she knew exactly what she had gotten herself into. She hadn't meant to become a hooker, of course, but she needed money the fastest way possible, and if that meant throwing her morals out the window for a few months then so be it. She just needed to get out of New York, to just leave everything behind and start over.
But, as Lottie turned the hall and started for the third floor, she realized she'd never get that money to leave if she didn't swallow her pride and do her job correctly. It was her first night, she reasoned. First time jitters. But those 'jitters' needed to be gone by tomorrow, or else she would be royally screwed. She couldn't believe she had embarrassed herself so badly. Her face burned hot as she remembered the expression on Spot's face the second he opened the door. She had never felt more stupid and immature than she had that night. He must have thought she was a foolish girl, too in over her head. Lottie pulled the last of the pins out and shook her head.
She was making this a bigger deal than it actually was…it was just sex, right? It was no big deal—millions of people all over the world did it all the time. So why was it such a big deal to Lottie? Maybe because she had wanted to save herself for the right man…maybe because she knew she was better than all this. Maybe because she wasn't experienced…maybe because she wanted to be in love the first time.
Lottie needed to go to bed. Her thoughts were all fuzzy and her head began to hurt. She would contemplate the matter of sex another night. Right now, she just needed to get to her room and forget all about Spot Conlon and what a mess tonight had been.
Just as she was about to unlock her door, another door behind her slammed closed and she turned around, jumping from the noise. Catalina "Spice" Bermudez stood there, all five foot eight of her, looking even more stunning than usual. Her long, blonde locks glistened in the moonlight and her big, blue eyes looked down at Lottie with disdain. She held a comb in her hair and began brushing her tresses, leaning against her door, glaring at Lottie for no apparent reason. Lottie just looked back at her blankly. From the minute Lottie had come to the Widow's Rose, Spice had just detested her. She seemed to hate Lottie, and Lottie had no idea why. And now that Lottie had filled in for Spice, Spice had seemed almost offended.
"Hi Lottie," she said in a dangerously calm voice. Lottie just fingered the key in her right hand, wishing Spice would just go away so she could go to sleep. Spice always found it a point to bother Lottie and it annoyed Lottie to no end. She preferred Spice just pretend she didn't exist—better on everyone.
"Um, hi Spice," Lottie said somewhat slowly. She wasn't going to cause trouble—she preferred to get along with everyone and resolved to be as polite as she could be to Spice. Spice looked Lottie over somewhat critically, and placed the brush she held in the pocket of her long robe. She reached behind her ear and pulled a cigarette out, lighting it with a match she pulled from underneath the doormat leading into her room. Taking a long drag, she blew smoke right in Lottie's direction. Lottie tried hard to stifle the cough that was rapidly climbing up her throat.
"Want a drag?" Spice asked, quirking an eyebrow. Lottie shook her head, wanting more than ever for Spice to just leave her alone. The icy stare Spice was looking at Lottie with made Lottie feel small and inferior.
"So," Spice continued, evidently ignoring how uncomfortable Lottie looked. "How did yer night go? I undahstand you'se was wit me boy Spot. You'se were good to him?"
Lottie began to wring her hands together again. She wasn't going to tell Spice what had happened—well, the fact that nothing had happened—she wasn't going to give Spice that much satisfaction. She didn't like Spice, but not for the same reason most girls hated Spice. Lottie wasn't envious of Spice's incredible and unusual good looks. She just wasn't a jealous person when it came to looks. She just couldn't stand how Spice hated and detested her so, and she didn't even know Lottie. That was what drove Lottie crazy—the fact that Spice didn't know Lottie and yet she hated her.
"It went fine," Lottie said shortly. She was growing tired and annoyed by Spice. Luckily, Spice seemed to be boring of Lottie anyway. She took one long drag on her cigarette and gave a cruel smirk to Lottie before disappearing down the hallway.
Lottie glared at her back, wishing she would just leave her alone. With one last sigh, Lottie quickly entered her small bedroom, trying her best to forget all about Spot Conlon and Spice Bermudez.
The bright rays from the afternoon sun caused Spot to squint as he made his way toward Manhattan to meet with Blaze and Jack. They had all decided on meeting in Manhattan since Manhattan had the least attacks occurring, and they all felt a bit safer than in Brooklyn or Queens. Spot was relieved they were all finally meeting, the sooner they figured out how to stop the attacks and beat Harlem and the Bronx, the better for everyone.
The previous night had been a difficult one for Spot. He'd slept barely a wink, constantly tossing and turning, unsure of why he couldn't fall asleep. Between worrying over the safety of his newsies and those newsies of Queens and Manhattan, and then the whole thing with that strange girl from The Widow's Rose, Spot felt more exhausted then he had ever felt. Spot remembered the previous nights events—or there lack of—and couldn't help but feel irritated and annoyed. Why couldn't Spice have just come over? That girl Lottie or whatever her name was had made his head hurt way too much for anyone's good. Forgetting about Lottie, Spot reached to his back pocket to put his cap on to find it wasn't there. Cursing, Spot figured this week couldn't get much worse.
The sun glaring down upon the back of his bronze neck, Spot stepped into shade of nearest alleyway and continued his journey in the slightly cooler area. He fingered the key around his neck he'd had ever since he could remember…from the past he'd long since put in the back of his mind. The key gave him security, a sense of knowing…whenever he was losing himself, whenever he needed a reminder of where he came from and who he was, Spot always had the key with him. It was his link to his past, a link to the future, to a hope, to a better life. He knew he wasn't going to be the Brooklyn Leader forever. Eventually, he'd have to renounce his title and move on. But for now, Brooklyn was what he was living for—his boys were his world, and without them Spot didn't know where he'd be. Of course, if they knew this, he'd probably be laughed out of New York. They didn't calm him the King of New York for nothing.
Just as Spot was about to turn out of the alley and reach the Lodging House, a gaggle of angry voices caused his ears to prick up and make him slow down. Heated yells could be heard just out of the alley, and it sounded like quite a few. Quickening his pace, Spot jogged out of the alley and made his way to the commotion. Upon exiting the dark alley, Spot came face to face with a group of five or six Harlem newsies and one younger Manhattan newsie Spot recognized but didn't know by name. The Harlem newsies were gathered around the small Manhattan kid, who was whimpering and desperately trying to defend himself. One burly Harlem newsie kicked the kid, sending him to his knees and giving a painful cry. Spot's blood began to boil as a sick laughter bubbled out of the dirty Harlem newsies's mouths.
"What the fuck do you'se think you'se is doin'," Spot growled, standing up to his full height which was a decent five ten, glarind at the newsies, causing them to recoil only slightly.
"Well if it ain't dah fuckin' Brooklyn King 'imself," one of the Harlem newsies sneered. He was a shorter, thick guy with scraggly brown hair and quite a few rotten teeth. Spot recognized him from before when Brooklyn and Harlem were alliances and had poker nights a few times—Scrags, the boy's name was, probably coming from his scraggly mane. He was a foul thing, truly mean and bitter. "How ya doin' Spotty?"
Spot took a few steps toward the group, clutching his fists at his sides. "What do ya think yer doin' heah Scrags? Get the hell outta heah."
Scrags stuck his fists in his pockets, quirking a thick eyebrow at Spot. He ran a purple tongue over his mutilated teeth, the boys behind him smacking their fists, heavy thugs just waiting to pound anything in their way. Spot wasn't afraid—he was one hell of a fighter, and if push came to shove, Spot could snap his fingers and in seconds he'd have boys to back him up. But he didn't need it. He never needed it.
"We'se can walk wherevah we want Conlon," Scrags growled, stepping closer to Spot. Spot looked down at the rat of a kid with condescension and disgust. "What are ye doin' in Manhattan anyway? This ain't yer territory…this ain't got nothin' tah do wit dah rumored alliance you'se got wid Manhattan and Queens is it?"
Spot glared at Scrags. "That ain't none of yer damn business. Now get the fuck outta heah!"
Scrags just shook his head and turned to his boys. "Come on, let's leave befoah yer highness heah gets his knickers in a twist." The newsies guffawed stupidly and trudged their way out of the alley, Spot watching them the whole time. Shaking his head, Spot made his way to the small newsie bent up on the ground, clutching his right arm where the Harlem kid evidently kicked him. A nice black eye was quickly forming on the boy's left eye.
"You'se okay kid?" Spot asked, helping him to his feet. "They didn't rough you up too bad, did they?"
The boy stood up and adjusted his cap, swallowing hard and looking up nervously at Spot. No doubt the kid was probably humiliated and most definitely intimidated, but Spot felt bad for him. He was in fact looking a little beat, and Spot shook his shoulder in a friendly state.
"I'm okay!" the kid squeaked. He had tears in his eyes but was trying pathetically to swallow them.
"What's yer name kid?" Spot asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Taps," the kid said, his voice small and unsteady. Spot nodded.
"Come on Taps. I'se headed fer the Lodgin' House anyway. I'll make sure you'se get there okay."
The kid grinned nervously and wrung his hands together. "Okay!" Spot just grinned, leading the kid safely to the confines of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House.
"Damn kid what happened to you'se!"
From the moment Spot and Taps entered the Lodging House, Jack and most of the newsies had approached them, worry evident on their faces. Jack took hold of Taps shoulders and tilted his face into the light streaming in from the lobby window, getting a better look at Taps' swelling eye. His lip was busted open, blood crusted on his upper lip. Jack grimaced.
"Dem scum bags from Hahlem was beatin' up on Taps," Spot told Jack, leaning against the Kloppman's counter and quirking an eyebrow. "I'se heard them givin' him a hard time on me way ovah heah."
Spot could see the fury in Jack's eyes, making the usual light hazel hue turn dark and stormy. Jack straightened up, keeping an eye on Taps. "Race, go get Taps cleaned up." Race nodded and took the small boy by the shoulders, leading him to the washroom. Jack looked back at Spot. "Blaze is waitin' upstairs."
Spot nodded and followed Jack through the throng of curious newsies, up the rickety old stairs and down the hall to a small spare room Kloppman usually kept for sick newsies. Blaze paced the room, and upon hearing the closing of the door and seeing Jack and Spot, stopped in his tracks and nodded. A tall, broad shouldered young man with shaggy black hair that usually fell into his grey eyes, Blaze was both a good friend of Jack and Spot and a hard leader. But the panic look in his eyes showed the pain and worry of the circumstances going on.
"Heya Spot," Blaze said, spit shaking with the Brooklyn leader. "How you'se doin?"
Spot shook his head. "I just found one of Jacky's boys gettin' beat on by a couple of Hahlem punks. Who the hell do dey t'ink they are? This has gotta stop!"
Blaze sat down, Spot and Jack following suit. "We gotta do somethin'," Jack said. "This can't go on. One of these days our boys is gonna seriously get hoit. Hahlem an' Bronx are both on the same side, between the both of 'em they could wipe us out at this rate."
Spot shook his head. "We'se can soak 'em! Me boys ain't scared, Brooklyn alone could beat their asses!"
Blaze ran a hand through his hair. "Spot, we'se know you'se could take both of 'em. But they's are dirty fightahs. Shoah, you'se could beat 'em if you'se was just fightin' skin on skin. But dem Hahlem and Bronx newsies are nasty—they'se ain't scahed to use weapons. They's got no…no…decency. No sense of what's right."
"We'se need othas," Jack said. He sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "We could try and get Midtown. They's is good fightahs. Or them fellas on the East Side. Somethin'."
"Do we really wanna bring in otha boroughs into this mess?" Blaze questioned, his eyes wide. "Maybe we should set up a meetin' with Harlem and the Bronx. Talk tah Shooter and Tricks. We'se don' even know why they's keep attackin' us!"
Spot shook his head, his eyes blazing. "The minute I get close enough to tawlk to dem scums, is the minute I'se bash their heads in."
Jack looked at Spot cautiously. He knew the danger of Spot's temper as well as anyone. "Spot, I'se think Blaze is right. Maybe we'se can woik out a compromise or somethin'."
Spot couldn't believe his ears. "Yer boys are gettin' beat everyday and you'se wanna go and make a compromise? What the fuck is gonna be worth compromisin'? One of yer boys lives?"
Jack stood up. "Are ya sayin' I ain't capable of handlin' the safety of me boys?" There was a dangerous growl in his tone.
Spot also stood up. Blaze looked between the two friends, worry growing in the pit of his stomach. "I'se sayin' that maybe ya need tah remember the lives of all of Manhattan newsies is in yer hands!"
Blaze stood up just as Jack opened his mouth to reply back with a snap. They'd get no where if Jack and Spot continued to bite each other's heads off.
"Guys—we ain't gonna get anythin' accomplished if you'se keep fightin'! You'se actin like you'se is five years old!" Jack and Spot hesitated, then looked at Blaze. Blaze half expected them both to hook him in the face, but Jack nodded.
"You'se is right," he grumbled. He was acting foolish, letting his temper get in the way of more important matters. "Listen, we'se gotta do somethin'. Fer now, why don't we'se just tell our boys they's ain't allowed out aftah the evenin' edition is sold and they's got their dinner an' all. No roamin' around. And now one can go to anotha borough by themselves…they's need at least a group of three."
Spot nodded, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, okay. But I'se still say we soak them bastards."
Jack suppressed a grin. "We'se can't do anythin' like dat yet. I'll tawlk tah Midtown, see if they'se can help us out. Meanwhile, Blaze you'se send some of yer best birdies ovah tah Harlem and the Bronx, see if they can find anythin' out. Yer spies is good, they's tough boys, they's is smart, they won't get caught."
Blaze nodded. His borough was known for having the best spies, and he fully trusted his boys to be okay. "I'll send five or six tah be safe."
Jack nodded. "I'se station me boys all around heah, Brooklyn and Queens. We'se always need tah be near eachodda, in case them scabbers pull somethin'."
"I'll do the same Jacky-boy," Spot told him. "But if this shit doesn't stop, don't think I ain't gonna go kill Shootah and Tricks. They desoive it."
Jack clapped his hands together. "Blaze, I'se think we'll have anuddah meetin' in a few weeks. I'll send woid if anythin' changes."
The sun glared into the room, making all three men squint. The sky was uncharacteristically blue, contrasting greatly with the tension hanging thick in the room. There was a foreboding in all of their faces, a knowing look of dread and a glimmer of hope. "Let's hope somethin' does," Blaze muttered. "Let's hope."
Jack sighed. "I'se afraid that's all we'se can do…hope."