Chapter 18

Concerning item #5: The Key Around His Neck 12 (continued)

-

Spot sat on his bed, his back against the headboard, staring at the wall in front him. He had set up the newspaper with all the newsies on the cover, the one with the headline of Newsies Stop the World. The one that had brought them and Denton all together. The one that made them feel on the top of the world, that they actually had a chance to win this war. He held his slingshot in his hand, and a handful of gravel in the other. He hit Jack's face every time.

Downstairs he could hear his boys celebrating their return to Brooklyn. Spot didn't join them. There was nothing to celebrate. They had lost. They were all fools, who tomorrow would realize they had nothing left, not even food in their stomachs. And it was all Jack's fault. Spot sighed and shot through the hole where Jack's face used to be in the paper once more. In one day he had lost everything: His best friend, the war against the big shots, Brooklyn's faith in him, and…Cat. And the worst part is, they were all beyond his control. He hated it when he lost control. The only thing left to do was drink it away. So he took another swig of his beer.

"Hey, Spot," Woodsy said, knocking on the door as he came in the room. "Youse comin' out anytime soon? Youse been in here all day and night. The boys were just goin' out to get some girls to join in."

"They sell out?" Spot said grimly, glancing at Woodsy for only a moment.

"Yeah, we sold papes today. They paid us a dime extra each, too."

"You too, huh?"

Woodsy looked at the floor.

"Well, yeah, seein' as youse said we was done an' all."

"We are done. I ain't accusin' you of nottin'… relax."

"So youse wanna come, or not?" Woodsy pressed. "We'll save ya the prettiest one…"

"No. You should know that by now."

Spot fired again, and began to make a hole in the wall behind the paper.

"Youse still playin' sterile for that little schoolgoil?"

Spot shot Woodsy a harsh glare, and lingered on it.

"Go away, Woods. You're botherin' me."

"She's changin' youse, Spot," Woodsy insisted bravely. "All the boys see it. Ya ain't the same guy."

"So just because I don't wanna have promiscuous intercourse with stupid harlots I don't know, much less care for, means I'm goin' soft? Sorry for feelin' just a little bit upset that we just lost EVERYTHING we've been fighting for, and it don't exactly put me in the mood to entertain a stupid whore! Get outta my face, Woods, and shut up."

"You used to. Now that schoolgoil won't have you back anyway."

Spot turned back to him slowly, his eyes flaming.

"What did you say?" he challenged, daring him to repeat it.

"I, uh…"

"YOU'RE the one that told her I go around beddin' girls and then leavin' them out cold, aren't you?"

"Spot--"

Spot may have been even more drunk than he thought, because he grabbed the rocks and began to fire away at Woodsy without mercy. Woodsy yelled and closed the door after himself very quickly.

Spot readily went back to thinking and drowning in his own sorrows. Were they right? Was Cat changing him? Somehow, he felt it was true. She did make him want to be a better man. Now he knew she had been told lies from his own right hand too. And with that, she was leaving.

"To Monterrey, California," Spot said aloud. "What the hell's in Monterrey, California?"

Not him, that's for sure. She was going away from him. As far away as possible too. Might as well say she was leaving to China.

He couldn't let her leave without saying goodbye. He had to see her.

-

He spent all night walking. By the time he made it there, the sun had already risen. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. In fact, he hadn't for many days. His head throbbed because of the drinks he had on an empty stomach, and he hoped he wasn't still blazing drunk. Maybe the walk had worked it off a little. He seemed like he was walking straight…

He looked up and found himself on Cat's stoop. The door opened and Cat's friends began to walk out in a straight line like they always did, but stopped when they noticed him at the bottom. Cat was not among them.

"Cat!" one girl called. "Another newsboy is here to see you!"

"Honestly," another girl whispered to the one standing nearest her. "You buy one paper from them and they just keep coming back like dogs to food."

Spot smirked to hide his offense at the comment. If only those snooty girls knew what it was like… Just one day out there…

"Spot?" Cat said, stepping out of the house and rushing to him. "What are you doing here? You're filthy, look at you."

Her nose scrunched up.

"You smell something awful. What happened?"

"It's ovah, Cat. The strike's done for Brooklyn. Jack turned scab."

"Oh my goodness…" Cat said in surprise.

"Catherine, do you know this young man?" Miss Gray boomed from the top of the stoop.

"Yes, Miss Gray, he's a friend."

Miss Gray glared at Spot, almost like she recognized him, but seemed to put the thought aside.

"Well, tell him you don't have time for chatter. We must be off, and Cat, you have to go inside."

"Spot, I'm so sorry about Jack," Cat said seemingly ignoring Miss Gray.

"Go ahead and say 'I told ya so'," Spot said. "Ya deserve it."

"I'm not going to kick you when you're down, Spot."

"Catherine!" Miss Gray called impatiently.

"I have to go inside," Cat said apologetically to Spot.

"Hey, hey, don't," Spot said, grabbing her hand. Again, more drunk than he had originally thought. "Don't go. You'll be gone soon enough for my liking. Just stay for now."

"Catherine!" Miss Gray said, stomping back up to Cat and grabbing her other hand. "May I remind you that you are officially engaged? And that your fiancée is still waiting for you inside? It is not proper to be having private conversations with strange boys. Especially of that kind."

Her nose scrunched too.

"You smell like beer, boy. They drink younger and younger these days. Do they let you have opium too? Dear God. Be thankful child," she said to Cat. "That I found you when I did. You might be hanging around with that kind of miscreant. Now, do come along."

She pulled Cat away, and Cat held onto Spot's hand as long as she could before the distance parted them.

"I'm sorry," Cat said. "I really am."

"Cat…"

"Miss Gray, it's all quite fine," said a raspy voice from the door. "She can have a moment with her young friend. I'll look after her while you are away."

"Very well, Mr. Sinclair," Miss Gray replied. "Have it your way. Come along, girls."

The line of girls continued on down the street, one of them smiling Spot's way and winking.

Spot smirked. Girls.

The man stepped out into the sunlight. He was an elderly fellow, sporting a short cape, cane and top hat.

"Spot, this is Howard," Cat gulped. "Howard, Spot Conlon."

Spot realized that this was the rich man she was leaving with, and looked at him in a new perspective. This old pompous fellow was Spot's competition. The thought, and maybe the beer, made Spot laugh out loud.

"I do say!" the old man said. "What is so funny?"

Even so, Spot wasn't stupid, and began to inconspicuously button his shirt over the key.

"Howard, nice to meet ya."

"You as well, Mr. Conlon," he said, shaking Spot's hand. "Ugh…" Howard looked at the dirt now on his white glove with bother.

"Well, if I may," Howard went on with a smile and a tip of his hat. "Steal Cat away from you?"

Spot's eyes narrowed and anger came quickly.

"Like hell, you will--!"

"Spot!" Cat said, grabbing his shoulder. "He means for a private moment's talk…?"

"Oh, then… then, sure," Spot said, loosening his grip on his cane. "Go ahead."

Even still, he kept a close eye on Howard. He was old and fat, and Spot knew he could soak him in a second's time if needed. He waited for a better reason.

The man was old enough to be her father, grandfather even. His salt-and-pepper hair was balding imminently, with pockmarks scattering the shiny edge of his forehead. His wrinkles were deep and his skin sagged. The sight sickened Spot, knowing this man would kiss this pretty young girl. Have children with her. He tried to stop thinking about it, as his stomach began to churn on the mental pictures.

Cat nodded to Howard as a reply to whatever he had just told her, and Howard kissed her on the cheek and went inside. Cat stepped down to Spot.

"Why in the world did you do that?" she said harshly. "Laugh, I mean?"

"Look at him, Cat!" Spot said with a chuckle. "You're going to spend the rest of your life with that?"

"Stop your laughing this instant! Yes, he may be slightly older than me, maybe a couple, er, score or so, but he's a sweet man, which is more than I could say honestly about you, Mr. Conlon."

"Oh, call me Spot, ya dope. A few years ago we was equals. Ya get a bit of schoolin' and suddenly ya think you're bettah than me? And don't give me that 'he's so sweet' gag. You're not marryin' him, you're marryin' his money."

She glared at him, and Spot felt slight remorse for his harsh comments.

"It's time for me to go," she said with an upset tone. "Howard's a very jealous man."

Spot nodded, and studied her eyes for what emotion she was having. It was a mixture of many, it seemed.

"He was just telling me now, that we're leaving sooner than planned…" she explained. "Tomorrow. I think he found out about you… and what I gave you…"

Spot frowned at the news, still feeling the chilly touch of the silver key dangling underneath his shirt. The icy wind still made the metal cold against his skin. He spied Howard looking through the curtain of a nearby window. She wasn't lying when she said he was a jealous man…

Spot got lost in thought. She didn't love Howard; he just knew it. It wasn't fair for her to go off with this man she didn't love… she was supposed to be with Spot…

But no matter what he tried to convince himself with, Spot knew, with that man, at least she would be taken care of. She'd live comfortably. He'd give her more than Spot ever could in three lifetimes. She was used to a snug little bed at night and food on a plate. What could Spot give her? A rat infested, drafty old lodging house and a loaf of stale bread a day. There was a big difference. Sure, he knew she'd do it if just told her that's what he really wanted, told her he really did need her with him…

But it wasn't the right thing to do, and Spot knew it. That thought hurt too. It wasn't about Brooklyn anymore… because now he realized he'd give up anything to have her, even his beloved city… It was about what was best for her. He even went as far as to remember his promise to Mrs. Barrenger. He had swore he'd take care of her. This was the best way he could.

And Spot had to admit, Howard had a kindly face and seemed to dote on Cat greatly. On top of the fact that he was painfully rich, and always would be, it made him an all right catch. That thought hurt too.

An uncomfortable silence came for a few moments while Spot dwelled on all this. He looked at her again, glaring straight into her brown eyes. Like many, she crumbled under his silver stare, and her gaze fell to the floor. She was so innocent, so patient. So kind. Everything he wasn't. He loved it. It was his last chance to speak to her. What words could he possibly say?

"Cat…" he said finally. "You're so…"

She bit her lip and blushed already, even though he hadn't said anything yet.

"So… what?" she said encouraging him onward.

Spot closed his mouth, not being able to decide on a word. Basically everything wonderful bundled up in one human being, but somehow, that still didn't seem like enough to describe her. He didn't want to scare her either, or make it seem like he was going…

Soft.

His damn pride stepped in again. Paying her a compliment might seem like he was going soft. He hated that instantly. He was as far from soft as they came. He was leader of Brooklyn. The leader didn't need a broad in his way did he?

He frowned. Yeah, this leader did…

"Dammit," he muttered. "You're too pretty for your own good."

"Umm… thank you," she said quietly, just like she used to when she was little. She blushed again too.

"So what is wrong with you?" Spot said harshly. She looked up in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

So much anger surfaced in his voice, so much aggravation. It was like he had it bottled up for so long… and he was finally letting it go. He might as well too. Not like he was going to get another chance.

"Why do you like me so damn much? Me! Look at me! Why?" Spot threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Why do you put up with me? Why do you INSIST…on… liking me? I'm not some God a' Brooklyn… I'm close… but not quite. Can't you just stop already?"

"Why do you insist on not liking me?" she replied without hesitation. "Why do fight it so hard? Do you think it will make you weak?"

Spot thought about that, but she wasn't done.

"Do you think I'll hurt you? I won't."

"God, Cat!" Spot said, looking to the darkening sky. "I don't want to do this! I just don't want to be in love. I ain't some guy whose gonna hang on your every need, or settle down, buy a house, have kids. It's just not who I am. You don't get it. You want me to be this wonderful someone I'm not. I ain't nevah gonna be him. You just have to accept--!"

Spot put this head down and sighed, stopping his speech abruptly. This time, it was Cat who lifted his chin.

"But you want to be," Cat guessed. "Don't you?"

Spot said nothing in reply, just pasted on his cold, blank expression. How did she do that? How could she just see into his soul like that? It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry I tried to make you choose between me and Brooklyn," Cat said. "That's not fair to you."

"I'm sorry I tried to make you choose too," Spot said sadly. "We're both in the places we're meant for, Cat. We should keep it that way."

She nodded sadly. She knew he was right, but she didn't like it any more than he did.

"I guess…" Cat said, her eyes falling to the ground. "I guess this is goodbye… then?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Spot agreed. "I… I, uh…"

He paused, and stared right at her, pushing the stupid pride away.

"I love you, Cat."

She seemed surprised, but nodded in acceptance.

He kissed her hand, tried his best to smile encouragingly, then let her go. He took a deep breath, and pulled himself back. It pained him to do so. Then he left her there, on the stoop.

He looked back once, stopping for just long enough to get a good look. A breeze was coming, blowing her chocolate curls in her face. She just stared, standing completely still, watching him leave. Thunder cracked overhead, warned of an imminent storm coming. But still their gaze was not broken.

"You'd better get inside," Spot warned. "Looks like rain."

They stared for only a moment more, but it felt like hours. Finally, Spot willed himself to pull away, and go.

The winds picked up some more, blowing away some of the mist, but still he felt soft sprinkles on his face. Then it came harder in larger drops, thoroughly soaking him from head to toe. He and his emotions matched the weather around him: Cold, dark, and… wet. He knew that wasn't just the rain making his eyes damp.

He walked home that night with a part of him missing. He had left it behind with her. He fingered the key around his neck. It was the only thing he had left of her.

-

All right, you know what to do, I think. If you don't then…you're just dumb like that. Hey, don't be dumb! Push the little purple button. NOW.

Thanks.
Signed,
--RedRogue