A/N: Another one up! Ahh ok so I have a story. I was on vacation this last week with the family, and we stayed at this hotel with a water park. Anyways, me and my sister were at the water park and since it was made for little kids, we thought it was pretty lame and got really bored. So, we decided to go in the hot tub. As we walked over, I stopped dead in my tracks. In the hot tub was a guy who looked EXACTLY like Spot Conlon, reincarnated or something! And he was sitting in the hot tub all by himself, just glaring at everyone with these amazing blue eyes. Now this was a pretty crowded water park at a pretty crowded hotel, yet no one else even dared to go in there with him, the way he just sat there, almost daring people to come and disturb him. Yeah, like I said, freaky. The kid even acted like Spot. So basically it was amazing. Just thought I'd let yah know.
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The days dragged by slowly in Brooklyn. Spot was sitting on the docks, atop his usual perch. It was dusk in Brooklyn, the sun's last rays sinking behind his borough's dingy buildings. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and gave out a frustrated sigh. Bull still hadn't made a move, and it had been almost a week since the threat on Manhattan had been made. Spot was tired of waiting. "What are you playing at, Bull?" Spot thought coldly as he stared into the river's rough waters. Queens had made a statement when they confronted Jack, and now what were they doing? Laying low? Backing down? Planning something? Spot didn't have a damn clue. Queen's silence gave him no answers, but Spot looked at it as an act of cowardice. Bull made a threat that he couldn't back up, so he thought if he didn't say anything more, things would blow over. Spot smirked. "Poor bastard," he thought. "He's got anuddah thing comin' to him if he thinks dis is gunna jus' go away. Not now. Not dat Brooklyn's involved." If there is one thing you've got to learn about Spot Conlon, its that he doesn't let things go easily. The way he figured it, forgiveness never built empires.
But Queens wasn't the only thing that had Spot in an especially unapproachable mood. No matter what he did or what he was thinking about, Brooklyn always found his mind drifting. He wasn't used to this. He knew what he wanted, but he hadn't gotten it yet. Her. The girl. The girl with the eyes. Damn, Spot liked those eyes. Most of the whores that hung around Brooklyn didn't have green eyes. At least, not like hers.
Spot silently cursed. It was plain and simple. Spot wanted the broad he saw in Manhattan. Hell, he didn't even know her name! But when he first saw her, she had captivated him. She appeared so... innocent. Spot had never been with anyone innocent before. No, most of his women were very experienced. But maybe that's why he wanted her. Spot didn't know. Nether the less, he was itching to go to Manhattan again. He couldn't wait to find her, to lay his eyes on her again, to make her his.
Spot jumped down from his throne. Slipping his cane through his belt loop, he hitched his thumbs in his pockets and headed off the Brooklyn Lodging House. The sounds of the city were quieting down. This was the time of night that everything closed up, when everyone retreated to the safety of their own shit hole apartments. Brooklyn was not a good place to be at night. Dangerous people roamed it's infamous alleys, prowled it's dusty streets. There were thieves. Rapists. Murderers.
There was Spot Conlon.
Spot's kingdom may not seem like much to you, but to those who lived on the other side of society, it was everything. You see, in our world, money essential. We need it. We're a slave to it and what it brings us. Not only does it determine our social status, it determines our survival. Surprisingly, this system didn't work too well in New York's underworld.
Spot Conlon was a poor man. All newsies were. Yet these were the kids that ruled the streets, that established hierarchy within the boroughs, that got power. How was it possible? It's a funny thing, power is. When money's not there to decide who has more or less, what does?
Fear. Fear and respect.
Nothing less, nothing more. Don't try to argue the fact, because I'm telling you, it's the truth. That's the way things worked back then. Cowboy, for example, was known for being an incredible leader. He was loved by nearly everyone who knew him, and held in high regards of the newsies throughout the city. But was he powerful? No. Jack was not powerful. He may have had respect, but he wasn't feared. The two need each other for the system to work, otherwise the whole concept of power falls apart. Now Kelly was a good man, but he wasn't powerful. Not like Spot.
In order to understand the complex person that Spot Conlon is, the system which he rules over needs to be comprehended. Spot, his newsies, or anyone else he deems worthy can pass through his streets at night unharmed. No one would dare touch them. Being powerful tends to have it's advantages.
Spot smirked as the lodging house came into view. He could picture the look on Smalls' face when he told him that Bull would be dead within 36 hours. That kid had always hated Bull; no one really knew why. Spot might have even let him do the honors if so much wasn't resting on this. He had a point to prove. If you mess with Manhattan, you mess with Brooklyn.
Spot pushed open the door to the lodging house and stepped inside. Most of the boys were milling about, either talking or playing poker with one another. The Brooklyn boys were a rough crowd. You could tell just by looking at them. Bruises and scars coated many of their faces and their knuckles were almost always scraped and bloodied from a recent brawl. Their eyes were cold and hard, trained not to show emotion. Years on Brooklyn's tough streets had taught them that.
"Night! Smalls! Come here!" Spot barked as he walked over to a corner of the room. The two newsies who were previously occupied with a game of poker quickly put down their cards and headed over to their leader. Spot didn't like to wait. They exchanged a slightly nervous glance as they approached him, who had a very serious look on his face. Each were secretly praying that the other had not spoken word of Spot's idea. They could only imagine what Spot would do to them if he found out they had disobeyed a direct order. However, They didn't have time to ask each other, as Spot was impatiently motioning them over.
"Yeah, Spot?" Smalls began, careful to keep the nervous tone out of his voice. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak in Spot's eyes.
"You two remembah what I told yah da day we went tah Manhattan? 'Bout Bull and my little idea?" Spot began, his eyes betraying nothing of what he was thinking.
"Oh shit," was all Night could think. "Damn Smalls an' his big mouth! Now we're gunna get it..." Night risked giving a hard glare in Smalls direction, only to find him glaring with equal force back at him. "What da hell?" thought Night. "He's lookin' at me like I'm da traitor?"
Spot continued talking, ignoring the looks Night and Smalls were giving each other. "Well I've made up me mind. Bull hasn't sent a runnah an' I'm tired of waitin'. If he couldn't back up his threats, he shouldn't have made 'em." Spot said evenly. He noticed hints of relief wash over his two newsies' faces, though they did well to mask it.
Smalls grinned wickedly, his previous nervousness gone now that he knew Spot wasn't angry with them. "So we're acutally gunna kill Bull?" he asked, a almost greedy look in his eye. Spot nodded.
Night rubbed his hands together. This was big. They were actually going to assassinate a borough leader. Damn, it felt good to be a Brooklyn boy. "When we gunna do it, Spot?"
"'Morrow night. Da sooner da better. God, I can't wait tah get dis thing ovah wit," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Anyone else comin'?" Smalls asked.
"Yeah. Nails and Rusty. You two tell 'em 'bout da plan. Tell 'em we're gunna slit da bastard's throat, but I want Nails tah bring his pistol wit him jus' in case." Spot could talk about murder like he was talking about the weather.
Smalls and Night nodded, excited looks on their faces as they went to go find Nails and Rusty. Spot smiled in satisfaction. This would be a clean job, and quite a few of his problems would be solved, for the mean time at least. Spot was walking over to where a few of his boys were playing poker when a knock was heard on the lodging house door. Spot stopped in his tracks, his back went stiff. Turning to face the door, he narrowed his eyes. "Who da hell could dat be?" he thought cooly. Nobody ever came to the Brooklyn Lodging House at night. Never. They all knew better.
The room was silent know, all eyes on Spot. Some of the newsboys had stood up, ready to fight if the need be. Someone knocking on Brooklyn's door? This was defiantly unusual. Spot took out his cane from his belt loop as he walked towards the door and flung it open. Standing before him was a boy about his age with shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. He looked at Spot defiantly, yet Brooklyn could see fear distinctively in his eyes.
"Who da hell are yah and what are yah doin' here?" Spot asked coldly, with absolutely no kindness in his eyes. The boy averted his gaze from Spot's and tried not to gulp in fear. Spot rolled his eyes, he didn't have time do deal with this. "I asked yah a question, yah bum. Now answer it!" He took his cane and pushed the boy in the chest with it, forcing the kid to stumble backwards. A few of the Brookies let out amused laughs. It was always fun to watch Spot fight.
The boy took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at Spot. "My name is Freckles. I-I have a message from Queens."
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A/N: Yeah I know this chapter didn't have "the girl" actually in it or anything, but I needed to write this one as it is important to the plot. I hope you like it though, I really wanted to get it up so I wrote it kinda quick so sorry if its not the best or anything... actually I'm really not too happy with it :( but PLEASE review. Advice is always welcome!
