For Brooklyn 2
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Fifteen: We're coming for ya
Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)
Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.
A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-
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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.
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Needless to say, the courtroom exploded into utter pandemonium the very second they hauled Red off, as newsies shouted and sent out threats, demanding that the judge change his mind or face their wrath; that he rethink it all or face them in their own court.
Of course, they were all idle threats, most of them anyway, and Monahan knew it just as well as his guards did. They restrained those who actually tried to attack the judge, but they were laughing the whole time. After all, what harm could a bunch of kids do?
Spot didn't hear it, not a word. His mind was blissfully empty of everything...voices, thoughts, it was just calm and tranquil silence. He let everyone down. They were counting on him, so many people had been trusting him, and he had let them all down.
For a second he wished he had died in that warehouse in Queens, that he had let Karlof kill him. At least, that way, he wouldn't have made it to this point, wouldn't have ruined the lives of those he considered family.
Ace, for instance. Ace had lost the Bronx because of this. Because he had placed his trust in a shrimp, he had lost the land his very blood kin had protected since day one. He had lost all that made him who he was. How could he ever make that up to him?
He couldn't. There was no way, no way to make amends, no way to say anything, because at that moment, a hand clasped itself around his arm, jerking him to his feet with enough force to send him crashing head-first back into reality.
Jake hauled him forward, around the table and toward the door at the back of the courthouse, behind the judge's desk. Panic gripped his mind as he felt the rough edges of the key in his hand. He couldn't leave Brooklyn without a leader, that was the only thought running through his mind.
He could handle whatever his father wished to dish out, but his boys...They took priority over everything else. He jerked free, spinning on his heel, eyes searching through the mass of people, searching for one head in particular...
"RACE!" He screamed, voice a whip as he flung the key as hard as he could through the air, a mere heartbeat before Jake snagged him again. But his eyes followed its arc, followed its flight. Too high...he had thrown it too high...Race wouldn't be able to-
The Italian boy leapt across the gate, onto the table as his fingers snagged the object. He looked down at what was in his hand in astonishment, head snapping up, eyes wider than he had ever seen them, face snow white.
Their eyes met for a moment and Spot smiled at him sadly, "Take good care of them, Racetrack." He whispered, just as his father drug him into the fray, and their connection was lost, swallowed up by the confusion.
Race was stunned as he stared down at the silver key, glittering innocently in his palm. It didn't have a care in the world, he would bet it was even unaware of what it meant, what it represented. What it meant for him, to hold it, to be given it.
"Take good care of them, Racetrack."
Spot...He searched desperately for the youth, eyes finally spotting him being drug toward the door. Fire burned in his blood and he slid along the table, snagging Red's briefcase. Tugging it open he pulled out the cane, brandishing it with one hand.
"HEY!" He shouted, so loudly most stopped to look at him, standing so tall, eyes ablaze as he slipped the key around his neck. "JAKE CONLON! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING! BROOKLYN AINT DONE WITH YOU!"
A roar met his statement, as Docks and Shorty led the swarm of Brooklyn newsboys straight at the man that DARED to test their anger, many of them armed with only their fists. But they were still a fearful sight, after all, these were the newsies Spot himself had commanded.
Suddenly, the adults realized that maybe...just maybe...they had underestimated the kids.
Yet again.
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In less than an hour, the entire state of New York had heard the story, and its many variations, and anyone on the street could tell you what had happened, word for word and blow by blow. The bulls had been called in before any real damage could take place, of course, but that didn't mean damage hadn't been done after.
Word around town was that the bulls had seriously hurt a few of the rebels, hurt them real bad. A few from Manhattan, a boy from the Bronx...but nearly half of the Brooklyn boys had been dealt blows, more than a few, it would seem, on the new leader himself.
Young kids ran around spreading the news as fast as they could, but the story revolved by mouth. Yes, it was true. Spot Conlon had handed Brooklyn over to a fellow newsie. Race owned Brooklyn now, but something else circulated even faster than that.
The fact that the Bronx was now anyone's game piqued many an interest.
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"Race...Race...!"
The Italian moaned, his hand coming up to weakly brush whoever it was aside, to leave him be. It was quiet where he was, quiet and safe. He was fine, why did they feel the need to bother him!
"RACE!" This time, hands were shaking him, back and forth so hard his teeth chattered.
"Wha!" He groaned, his eyes cracking open. "Whaddya WANT!"
It was Docks. He sighed, sounding relieved. "We thought you'd neva wake up. We'se been callin you and callin you, but you wouldn't answer."
Race frowned, "What? What happened? What do you mean, never wake up?" He ran a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed up against a large and highly sensitive bump on the side of his head.
Oh.
"Don't you remember what happened?" Shorty cried, sounding slightly panicked.
"Hey, hey, fellas. I got this." A new voice said from behind, and Race turned to see a familiar and very wanted face as Jack knelt on the ground next to him, reaching out to take a look at his head. "Race, you okay?"
"What happened, Cowboy?" He shook free of the hands, voice snapping, "What happened!"
"Well, what do you remember?"
"I remember..." He frowned, rubbing at his eyes. "I remember goin after Jake. I almost got him, but the door..." He took a deep breath, struggling, "The door hit me as it swung closed. I stumbled...and the bulls..."
Jack laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You got hit pretty hard, Race. One of the officers wasn't paying much attention to what he was swinging at."
Race nodded as he took a look around for the first time. They were in an alley just across from the jail, most of the newsies sitting on boxes or perched on the fire escapes. He had been laying on the ground, head propped up by what looked like someone's jacket. It was still bright, so he couldn't have been out for all that long.
"What happened?" He asked, and this time he wasn't talking about himself. "Where's Ace? And Red?"
"Red is in there." Jack nodded toward the jail. "They are talking about charging him with something or another. Ace went in there about an hour ago, after the bulls broke up the fighting. He's gonna bail Red out, and then we're gonna go get Spot back."
Race could only gaze at the door to the jail, waiting for that flash of red hair, those sharp emerald eyes. Everyone knew that without Red, they would have no chance of rescuing Spot, none at all. Then another question hit him. One he wanted answered. "What do we do when we find Jake?"
There was a soft span of silence, utter stillness as everyone questioned themselves, pondered the question and rolled it around. Finally, after what seemed like forever, one asked, "Well, what do you want ta do when we find him?"
Race smirked, and it was a chilling smirk. "Well, I think im gonna rip him apart piece by piece, boys. What say you?" There was a startling amount of approval to that, and the poker player could only chuckle as he got to his feet, taking a few steps toward the street, his hand caressing the cane at his side.
"Take good care of them, Racetrack."
"Worry about your own self, Conlon." He whispered, turning his face to the warm sunlight, letting it wash over him in droves. "And be ready...cause we're comin for ya."
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-grin- Race is the new Brooklyn leader. Betcha most of ya didnt see that coming. Hehe. Since Race was actually, I found out this after I came up with his past, historically, a Brooklyn newsie, I thought why not. Sides, it all fits together later on. -giggle-
so leave me a review if ya readin...I seem to have lost a few reviewers and that makes me sad. So, lemme know whatcha think and how you feel, and ill get the next chapter out as soon as I can.