Sorry, but this chapter needs to be straightish and shortish. I promise another chapter tomorrow, as an apology.
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Chapter 12
Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 6 (continued)
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"Spot!" Woodsy came running up with a worried look on his face. Spot immediately paid attention.
"Ya didn't sell today?" Woodsy said through his panting breath.
"No, why?"
"They jacked up, didn't ya heah? Everyone's goin' nuts."
Spot's head was quickly thrown back in the game, and off of his personal affairs like Cat.
"What?" he said in surprise, feeling anger almost instantly. "How much?"
"A dime on a hundred. Every newsie in New York is mad. They say Crazy Jake's and his boys are goin' along with it, but Jack's boys…"
"What about him?"
"They're sayin' somethin' about a strike."
"No doubt he'll come to me for help too…" Spot guessed thoughtfully.
"I figure it's only a mattah a' time."
Spot sighed.
"We can't afford to help Jack, Spot," Woodsy said. "Youse know how we are. He'd bettah be serious or we all gonna starve or be sent to the refuge."
"I know it," Spot said, nodding. "Just trust me. Wait 'til he comes. I'll talk wit' 'im."
Spot lingered on his perch for a while, before heading back to the lodging house for sleep. He had decided not to go see Cat, even though she wanted him to. In fact, he wondered if he should see her again. He'd have to think about it more. He didn't know what he'd do or say if he did see her. Something happened when he was around her; he lost control of himself. He didn't know if he liked it, and it definitely wasn't good if this happened around one of Jack's girls.
But God, it hurt. He wanted to see her again so badly. He just kept telling himself to choose: her or Jack. Jack was the answer every time. Spot had never had a truer friend. It had been years since he first met Jack now, and they had gone through a lot together, and their oath of allegiance was not going to be so easily broken. Not over a stupid woman. She was just a little girl. She wasn't worth it… Not worth all he'd have to pay.
So why was he so stuck on her?
Spot headed up the stairs and dropped his cane and slingshot on his bed. His eyes fell to the dresser, where he had left Cat's key. But it was gone.
Spot grabbed his cane, stormed out of his room and shouted over the railing of the stairs:
"Alright, who took my key?"
The boys seemed confused, and mumbled amongst themselves.
"What key?"
"Don't you play stupid!" Spot yelled, stomping down the rest of the stairs. "I want to know where that nice little silver key on my dresser went."
Spot scanned each face for a clue. Any sign of dishonesty, or nervousness. Near the back, he had a winner.
"Fingers!" Spot called. "Empty your pockets."
The tall, thin boy hesitated.
Spot marched right up to him, and jabbed his cane under Fingers's chin.
"Now," Spot said, not having much patience left.
So Fingers turned his pockets inside out, and down came the key, clinking to the ground.
Spot knelt down, eyes still on Fingers, and grabbed it off the floor. Fingers shook in fear, and remained silent. Spot hit his face once with the cane, making him bleed.
"Don't ya evah steal from Spot Conlon, heah? I oughtta break your fingers, Fingers."
Fingers nodded fervently. Spot turned to everyone else in the room.
"Consider this a fair warning. Anybody steals from me again gets a swim in the Hudson. Heah?"
Everyone nodded.
"Now," Spot said, turning to Fingers again. "Why did ya want this little ol' key?"
"A guy paid me t' get it for him."
"What guy?"
"Big rich guy. How he knew you had it, I don't know."
Spot held his hand out.
"Somebody give me anoddah key."
One was placed in his hand immediately.
"Take this one instead," Spot said, grabbing Fingers's hand and placing the duplicate in it. "Give me thoity percent a' what he pays ya."
Fingers nodded quickly again.
"Now go to sleep, all a' youse."
Spot headed back upstairs, and sighed. So it looked like the rich fellow knew about the key, and was jealous. Something about this key was valuable. Only Cat had the answer as to why. He told himself that he'd visit her later, but not now. Brooklyn really needed him right now, and he had no time whatsoever for anything else.
Spot looped a dirty white shoelace around the key, and tied it around his own neck so it couldn't be stolen again. The first chance he got, he'd go ask what it was for, but for now, he needed to deal with Brooklyn business first. Brooklyn had to be first.
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"Everyone's talkin' about Jack's newsies," Salty, a gang leader from Eastside, said. "About them goin' on strike and whatnot. Did ya heah?"
He blinked in the sunlight, putting up his hand to try and see Spot up on his river perch.
"Yeah, I hoid," Spot said, taking a big puff of his pipe. "Ya joinin' in with him, Salty?"
"Well, uh…" he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Well, one a' his boys came down and asked us to… But I was wonderin' what youse was thinkin' a' doin', actually."
"Hmm," Spot said thoughtfully. He was the third guy to come to him with that same tune in this week alone. But Spot told them what he had told Woodsy.
"I ain't joinin' anythin' yet," Spot said to him. "Jack's smart; he'll come to me. I'm gonna talk to him. See if it's just a gag."
"But youse think it's unfair too, doncha Spot?"
"I think it's the woist thing that has ever happened to us, for sure."
Salty nodded, and since there was nothing left to say, started back home.
"Hey Salty," Spot called. "Say hi to ya sistah for me."
Salty glared evilly, but said nothing. He looked as if he had to gather every once of self-control he could, before he finally turned around and sulked off. Spot smirked and took another puff of his pipe.
"Hey Spot!" Woodsy said, running to his doorway. "Get a load a' this."
Spot followed Woodsy to the boarding docks, and saw many boys in suits putting stacks of papers onto the docks. Hundreds had to be in each stack. Spot could guess what was going on without even asking, but he thought he had better be sure.
"What's all this?" Spot asked loudly, gripping his cane in thought.
"Courtesy of Mr. Pulitzer," said one boy. A scabber kid. "Says they're misprints, and they should be gotten rid of heah to be dealt with however youse guys want."
When the last of it was dropped off, the first boy came up to Spot and put a dollar bill in Spot's hand.
"Happy sellin',"
the scab said, tipping his hat and leaving.
Spot smirked. Bribes.
"You know, Spot," Woodsy said with a greedy grin. "This strike may be the greatest thing to ever happen to us. Ol' man Pulitzer will probably treat us like kings if we don't join."
Spot knew what was happening here. Pulitzer was afraid of him joining Jack's protest. Spot had too many influences. Combined with Jack's influences, they could rule New York. It pleased Spot greatly to know this piece of news. He was more powerful than he had originally imagined.
"We gonna sell the papes or what, Spot?" Woodsy insisted.
"Put them aside for now," Spot said. "Ise gotta feelin' Jack's boys gonna be heah today."
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"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick," Spot said with a cocky smile, spying Jack coming down with Boots and a nervous looking boy he didn't recognize. He was a bit surprised that Jack would come to deal with Spot himself, but then again, that was probably wisest.
"I see you moved up in the woild, Spot," Jack said, going past Spot's tough-looking boys like they were his own family. "Got a river view and everything."
Spot knew Jack was just trying to be antagonistic, as always, but that was their relationship. Jack spat in his palm, and Spot, smirking, did the same and shook his old friend's hand. He was glad to see Jack, but tried not to show it too much. Not wanting to ignore Boots, who probably still feared him, he said good-naturedly:
"Heya, Boots. How's it rollin'?"
Boots, in reply, held out a few marbles like an offering of peace.
"I gotta couple a' real good shooters heah."
"Yeah…" Spot agreed as he examined them, and took one to give it a test run. As he did so, he got to business. It wasn't like he all the time in the world to waste, but he'd spare the time as needed for Jack.
"So, Jacky-boy, uh…" he said as he fitted the marble in his slingshot. The nervous boy jumped out of the way like Spot was going to shoot him or something. Idiot.
"I've been hearin' things from little boids," Spot went on.
"Yeah?" Jack said, acting dumb.
"Things from Harlem, Queens," Spot let the marble go, and as expected, it hit a beer bottle on a beam overhead. The others seemed impressed, by Spot paid it no mind.
"All over," he went on. "They're chirpin' in my ear. Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they're goin' on strike."
Jack, like Spot knew he would, did not bow to his challenges.
"Yeah, well we are," he said with self-assurance.
"But we're not playing," the jumpy guy said. "We are going on strike."
Spot didn't have time to speak with whatever novice newsie decided to speak up to him. He was here to talk to Jack. What Spot hated, more than anything else, was a novice out of his own place. Best to make him remember what his place was.
"Oh yeah? Yeah?" Spot said with a nod, getting in the kid's face. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kind of walkin' mouth?"
The kid was even more jumpy after that.
"Yeah, it's a mouth," Jack agreed, putting a hand on the kid's shoulder to encourage him. "A mouth with a brain, and if you got half a' one, you'll listen to what he's gotta say."
Spot raised his eyebrows agreeably, folded his arms and took a seat. If Jack had confidence in this kid, he'd give him a minute or so. If he didn't capture Spot's interest in less than a minute, he'd send them all, including Jack, home packing. This strike, after all, was not in his best interests.
"Go on," Jack said to the kid. "Tell him."
"Well," the mouth kid said. "We started the strike, but uh, we can't do it alone. So, we've been talkin' to newsies all around the city."
"Yeah," Spot said impatiently. "So they told me. But what'd they tell you?"
"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon does; you're the key. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else! And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they'll join, and we'll be unstoppable! So you gotta join, becau-- well, ya gotta!"
Spot smirked with amusement. The kid was really trying hard.
"Well, you're right, Jack," he admitted. "Brains."
He got up and took out his cane.
"But I got brains too," he said decidedly, whacking his stick on the crate he sat on. "And more than just half a' one," he insisted to the jittery new kid, putting the cane in his face. It was Spot's turn to make them understand. His turn to talk.
"How do I know you punks won't run the foist time some goon comes at ya with a club? How do I know you got what it takes to win?"
"'Cause I'm telling you, Spot," Jack said immediately. Spot considered that for a moment, but not too long. Any other time, any other situation, that would have been enough for Spot. But this was big, and they both knew Jack was asking a lot.
"That ain't good enough, Jacky-boy," Spot said finally. "Ya gotta show me."
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