Author's Note: Here's chapter four. Woot. I know, it took like forever to get this out, but problems arose, ensued, were overcome… That, and I have way too many stories on my plate at this moment. Next time I decide to publish one, someone please smack me.
Disclaimer: Spot Conlon, as he is a character from the 1992 live action musical, Newsies, is the property of Disney. Anyone else mentioned in this fiction will be the creative property of me.
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Ballad of the Street Rat
08.24.06
Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong.
That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.
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A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money. - W.C. Fields
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Part III
Harold White removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before slumping back down on the sofa. His two children were each occupying one of the wooden-backed chairs across from him, Walt to the left, Katie to the right. The daybed sunk down in the middle under his considerable bulk but Harold did not seem to notice. He was too preoccupied processing and responding to his only daughter's announcement.
"Katherine Elisabeth White," he said, his voice a mixture of rumbles and groans, produced from deep in his gut, "why would do something so… so foolish? Married? I can not believe this." He removed the hand he had on his nose and used it to, self-consciously, brush some of his thinning fair hair over the bald spot at the back of his head. Katie knew he was agitated now – normally her father did not draw attention to his balding head in front of anyone, including his children.
She did not know what to say – all she knew that it would be even more foolish to speak out of turn and add that her name was now 'Katherine Elisabeth White Conlon'. Rather than reply to her father, she turned to her right and glanced at her brother.
Walter White's expression had not changed once since Katie announced that she had gotten married the day before. It was a bemused expression, coupled with a hint of regret. He found his younger sister's decision to get married on a whim – and whim it must be considering she had only been home a month and had never brought a suitor around to meet her family – to be quite humorous. If anything, he was just upset that he had not been invited to the ceremony.
But, just because Walt found the whole situation humorous, it did not mean that he was going to defend her actions to their father. He was, after all, still heir to his father's wealth. At the rate the man was handling his daughter's surprising news, he might be inheriting sooner than they all expected.
Harold was waiting for Katie to reply but, when she did not, he continued in his rant. "Did I not give you everything a girl requires? Pretty clothes, a good education? What did they teach you at that Miss Norville's, Katherine? Did they teach you to marry the first man you ran across in the street?"
Katie shook her head; her long dark-blonde hair was swept back simply, with a dainty hat keeping it in place. After bathing and changing into her day clothes, she had not had much time to fix her hair. She was too anxious to come visit her family. This, in hindsight, was probably not the best idea. "Daddy, I did not just marry the first man. I had been seeing Liam for a month before we were wed."
The man gave up on trying to keep his fair hair set. He threw both of his hands up in the air and stood up from the couch again. Normal men pace but, ever since Katie had returned home, he had gone from sitting to standing multiple times. He was too afraid that, should he take a few steps away from the couch, he would try to sit down upon it, miss, and land on the floor. Definitely not an acceptable position for a man such as him.
"Liam? Liam!" he hollered, his hazel eyes opening wide and his hands waving with the effort of his yells. "Now, my daughter, why have I not met this Liam? If you, as you say, have been dating him for a month, would it not have been proper to bring him around to meet your father?"
From his seat, Walter tried hard to keep his face straight. It was quite rich, watching his father making a spectacle of himself. He knew that Harold was only putting on a show for the maids in the kitchen, but really… Who was he to remark on the propriety of actions when, more often than not, he brought loose and cheap women into his own home?
His eyes, the same vibrant green shade as his sister's, glanced sideways. He met Katie's gaze and winked once. She nodded her understanding. He would handle their father for her. As the elder White child, he had much more practice dealing with his father when he was in one of his tempers.
"Father?" At twenty-six years of age, Walt believed that he was far too old to refer to Harold as 'Daddy' the way that Katie did. He did not have much respect for the man to begin with, he was not going to lower himself and use such a childish moniker.
It seemed as if Harold had forgotten the present of his other child. He had been so surprised at Katie's rash actions and bold announcement, he had not paid Walter any mind. This, of course, was the way that Walt normally liked it. But he had a sister to protect – after all, if Harold lectured Katie to death, he would never find out what actually happened.
"Yes, Walter?"
"Shouldn't we give Katie the benefit of the doubt? Why don't we meet with Liam fellow and judge him then. I mean, what's done is done, right? Katie is married, now. We should feel lucky that her new husband did not spirit her away following their nuptials," he added slyly. That's exactly what Harold White had done to his young bride, Marie Marshall. He, himself, had been afraid that Mr. Thomas Marshall, a very powerful banker, would have the marriage annulled. Marie did not get the opportunity to visit her parents again until Harold's job as a lawyer began to flourish and she was pregnant with Walter.
Harold sighed and took his seat upon the sofa once more. Walter was right. "Katherine," he said, finally. "When can we meet this Liam man?"
And, with his question, the tension in the Brooklyn home evaporated. Her father had given in.
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Without thinking – almost as if it were an unconditioned response – Spot's face twisted into a haughty smirk as he faced the young woman who had called out to him.
She was his age, maybe a few years behind him, but years on a hardened street had prematurely aged her. She had hair the color of coal but without any of the luster or shine; the dark mess, straight and crinkled at the same time, hung limply down her shoulders and went to the small of her back. It was ratted and knotted and, he could see from a few feet away, had a stray leaf nestled on the side.
Her arms were crossed over a good-size bosom, her legs spread in a fighting stance. There was an amused grin that split her long and dusty face but did not extend to her dark eyes; she was obviously not as happy as she was trying to appear. The girl was dressed in boys' clothing – a faded green shirt and dark brown slacks – that had certainly seen better days.
As he looked over the girl, Spot remembered the better days. It was not that long ago, actually, that he considered Cinder Harrow one of the prettiest street girls. They had sold newspapers together when they were kids; when he moved on, he had offered her the chance to be on of his girls, working under him at the local brothel.
Cinder had turned him down. And now she looked like shit. He was smirking. She should have known better. "Cinder," he greeted her. "How are you?"
She dropped her hands to her sides – Spot could see that the reason behind her crossing her chest was to hide the fact that her shirt was missing two buttons – and shrugged. "I'd be better, Conlon, if you told me that Ricky was lying."
"Lying about what, Cinder?" He contorted his features into a puzzled expression. Next time I see Rick, I'm gonna have to talk to him about keeping his mouth shut, he promised himself inwardly. It had been one day since bringing Katie home to be his bride and he was already dealing with the repercussions. And after that entire month of secrecy, too…
The girl cocked her head; the leaf seemed to dislodge from her wild mane. Spot watched as it fluttered, forgotten, to the ground. Then Cinder snorted. "Oh, don't pull that one on me, Conlon. You know what I'm talking about." And, to his embarrassment, she pointed at the simple gold band that was on his finger.
He had forgotten to remove the ring. Shit. He mimicked her earlier gesture and shrugged. "Yeah, and?"
"So, it's true then? You're hitched?"
Spot nodded. "Seems that way, eh, Cinder?"
"When?" Her voice had changed. She had seemed energetic, almost playful, earlier. Now her voice sounded strained.
"Yesterday. Why?"
Cinder shook her head. That fake smile had found its way back to her face; her eyes were still as dark as before. "Just wondering. I mean, I only heard from Ricky this morning and I couldn't believe it." Her smile was wavering and he saw that. "You know, I was only gone for a few weeks, Conlon. I didn't expect you to be taken when I got back."
He was truly puzzled now but did not show it. And then he remembered: Cinder had gone on a trip to Jersey with one of the other girls. He had run into her shortly before they left – he had been celebrating another job that he had pulled off and he met up with a bunch of the old gang down at a bar.
He had run into Cinder and another of the old girls, Fire, that night. After a few drinks, he and Cinder had sat down to reminisce over their days as newsies. She had been kind of anxious to leave Brooklyn behind but she had promised Fire that she would go with her. Spot, still on the high of completing a successful score, coupled with the amount of alcohol he consumed in celebration, had tried to console his old childhood chum.
And then one thing had led to another. The next thing he knew, he had woken up in his bed – with Cinder.
When he looked at the girl in front of him, he saw the hurt that was in her eyes. Spot was sure that she was the recognition in his own. Nervously, he began to twist the wedding ring on his left hand. The simple gold band was beginning to burn.
