Chapter 13
Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 7 (continued)
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News came quickly to Spot about the riot by Jack's distribution office, about the wagon being overturned, and Crutchy being the first prisoner of war. It didn't please him. In fact it made Spot downright mad.
He kicked the stacks of newspapers that were delivered free of charge to his boys every day, untouched by his command. Yelling in anger, he ripped a few in his hands, and threw the pieces in the river.
His boys watched close by, watching Spot's fit of anger with fear and concern.
Jack couldn't expect to do this without Spot's help, but he was trying anyway. Spot considered Crutchy being taken as all the proof he needed that they were serious about this. It was enough for Spot. No more playing around.
"Spot," a kid named Griffin said. "We can't be dragged into this, we can't. It makes me mad too, but we just can't--"
"Why the hell not!" Spot yelled. "Because we're scared? It's injustice, is what it is. All of it."
"Spot, I didn't wanna tell ya this…"
Spot went and grabbed Woodsy's collar.
"What?"
"Well, see, I sorta hoid that the big-shots are planning some sorta sting for Jack's boys soon. A trap, sorta."
"And ya weren't gonna mention this… why?" Spot growled through his teeth. He was beginning to think Woodsy wasn't as loyal as he once was.
"I knew you'd rush into this, an'…"
Spot sighed, shoving him away.
"And ya know our boys can't do this, Spot!" Woodsy still insisted. "We can barely eat as we are. And youse got more than enough dough t' live on, so there's nottin' really in it for youse anyway!"
Spot climbed up to his perch.
"And if we just go along," Woodsy continued. "We'll be treated real nice, ya know?"
"Griffin!" Spot called once he reached the top, ignoring Woodsy completely. "Tell the boys to take every last one a' these stinkin' papes they tried to bribe us with and toss 'em ovah the Brooklyn Bridge. Make sure they're seen throwin' 'em. Then tell 'em to get a slingshot each. We're going to Manhattan foist thing tomorrah."
"But Spot!" Woodsy protested.
"Anyone who wants a cane in their face, speak up now!" Spot calmly. "But we all know Jack can't do this without us. We go in, we follow him, we win. As long as Jack's leadin' with me behind him, it's a sure thing. If we just get off our hides, and do somethin' about this, we don't have to put up with the lousy tenth of a cent. Sure, I got money. So you all know this ain't about the money to me. It's about it to them. To you. All a' you. Now Jack, I consider him to be a part a' Brooklyn. And nobody… messes… with Brooklyn!"
Cheers came from his loyal followers, making Spot smirk in amusement. Guess whether they wanted to or not, his boys were in this now.
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Spot marched into Manhattan like he ruled that city too. But when the police came running, he knew he was too late to just march in the front gate of the distribution office sting. It was locked, Jack and his guys already trapped on the inside. He even thought he heard little kids in there too.
"Com'on," Spot said, taking the sharpshooters of his gang.
"Stay here!" Spot yelled to the rest of them. He smirked all of them, and said daringly: "I'll open the gate."
They laughed at this, and Spot led the range shooters to the roofs. He jumped down to a small balcony with Woodsy on his right, and Griffin on his left, sporting a boastful grin. There was nothing Spot loved more than a good fight with the odds in his favor, and he knew he was going to save every one of their Manhattan butts in a few moments, making each and every one owe Brooklyn big for this. He was proud of that fact, that Jack would never be able to pay him in return. Spot was here to save the day, be a Good Samaritan, the hero. And he knew they would be overjoyed at the sight of him.
"Nevah' feah, Brooklyn is heah," he said with an arrogant smirk.
"Hey, it's Brooklyn!" Mush yelled in a happy surprise, noticing him first. The rest joined in, shouting "Brooklyn!" at the top of their lungs.
A few well-aimed shots were all Jack's boys needed to get on the upper hand. The scabs didn't even know what hit them.
"Hey, Spot!" Jack called, trying to nab his attention. Jack was the only one still overwhelmed, and needed his immediate assistance, it seemed. So Spot grabbed at a nearby pulley, and tried not to think of Cat then, when he had done this same action so many years ago, with her on his back, escaping a fiery building. A memory quickly shaken off.
Spot swooped down to Jack, hitting a herd of scabs on the way down, causing them to fall on one another like bowling pins.
Though they were still in the middle of the brawl, Jack took a second to spit in his hand, and like Spot read his mind, at the same moment Spot licked his own, and the friends shook heartily.
After that Spot headed for the gate to let his boys in and undo the final thread of the ambush. Manhattan was trapped no more.
More shouts of "Brooklyn!" were heard, this time from his own crew announcing their presence for all to 'hear and fear' as they would say.
With a very pleased Spot at their head, they charged as if for war. Spot whipped out his cane and just joined in, running and bashing a scab's head in as he lunged into the heat of the fight.
It didn't take long, though, for his boys to shove those scabs back in where they came from.
Soon everyone was cheering and shouting and congratulating one another. They had won… of course.
They gathered on the highest platform, all hugging and patting each other on the back. Everyone was pretty proud of themselves.
"You guys were great!" Kid Blink shouted to Spot through the noise.
"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Spot agreed. That's when he noticed a man with a camera.
"Freeze!" the man yelled.
"Alright guys," Jack said, trying to get everyone to pay attention. Before Spot knew what was happening, out came a flash.
After that the cameraman shook everyone's hand in congrats, and introduced himself to Spot as "Denton from the Sun".
It took Spot a second to realize he meant the New York Sun, as in, the newspaper.
Denton promised them all a big story, and to meet him at a certain restaurant tomorrow to let him show it around. Everyone agreed, and that's when they began to disperse. Spot agreed to stay at Jack's lodging house for the night, so he wouldn't have to go all the way home.
As they walked home, Jack patted Spot on the back and gave him a broad smile. It was worth more than any verbal 'thank you' Jack could say.
"I never got to ask," Jack said pointing to Spot's neck. "What's with the key?"
"Oh," Spot said looking down at it. "It's, uh… good luck."
That wasn't exactly a lie, since it had brought him good luck so far… That's when he remembered Cat wanted to see him.
"I'll meet ya at the House latah, Jack," Spot said, parting ways with him. "I'll be back."
Jack didn't question him, since Spot always was needed in three places at once. He just tipped his hat and told him that he wouldn't wait up for him.
Spot made his way around the corner to Cat's place, and knocked on the wooden door. A girl answered.
"What do you want?" she said with a sour tone.
"Cat," Spot replied.
"Oh, are you Spot or Jack?"
Spot was confused for a moment, then said:
"Jack."
"Then she says she's sorry she missed you today and she'll meet you tomorrow."
"I lied," Spot said. "I'm Spot."
The girl noticed the key around his neck, and nodded.
"Oh, I see, you little trickster. Then she says to give you this."
She handed him a slip of paper, then shut the door.
Spot opened the folded piece of paper, and inside were only a few words:
388 Templeton St.
10 o'clock Pm.
--Cat
That was nearby. Just up the road a bit. Spot stepped down each of the seven cement stairs, and when he reached the ground, sat.
Should he go? She was Jack's girl. What was even at this address? Spot just sat there and frowned. She was teasing him, was all this was. Just playing with him. But what was the harm in just paying his old friend a visit? It wasn't as if he was going to steal her from Jack. She liked Jack better anyway, right? Spot smiled at his reasoning. It didn't take much to convince him.
He looked up at the town clock tower. It was only five now. Might as well go back and wait.
Spot went home and played a few rounds of poker with the boys, beating the pants off of even Racetrack. Once he had them thoroughly angry with him, he called it a night.
"I'm going out," Spot said, forgetting why he even bothered making an excuse to leave. Maybe it was a guilty conscience, if he had a conscience at all. Spot wondered about that the whole way to the address on the paper. He finally reasoned that it wasn't guilt, it was responsible concern, and that was that.
So when that was decided he looked up at the place Cat had directed. It was a nice restaurant, called "Jones's", but by the looks of the dark inside, it was closed, and had been for a few hours at least.
Spot fingered the key around his neck. He was early, but he supposed it wouldn't matter. So he pulled the shoelace over his head, and inserted the key in the front door.
It didn't fit.
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Please review, if
you would be so kind…
Signed,
--RedRogue
