Adelaide's hands shook as she tried to keep the gun steady. The breeze that blew over the East River ruffled her hair and her skirt, but her eyes were trained on Ralphie. From the lights on the bridge, she could barely make out Ralph's figure six feet in front of her. It was only the three of them on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Adelaide," Spot said off to the side, "Put the gun down." He took slow steps towards her.

"Don't worry," Ralphie smirked, staring down the barrel of the gun. "She's not gonna shoot."

"You don't think so?" Adelaide's voice shook. "Five months. Five months I've put up with you - pickpocketing for you, sharing your bed - all to protect those I love from your threats. But you took away my baby." Adelaide clenched her jaw, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Even when you soaked Skittery I came back." Adelaide took a breath, trying to stop her hands from shaking. "Do you realize what I would've done to keep my baby? Anything. You could've told me to do anything, and I would've done it if it meant I got to keep my baby. But you're never gonna hurt me or my friends and family ever again."

Ralphie rolled his eyes. "I never hurt you," he said. "Your fella?" He shrugged. "He had it comin'. Any man who moves in on my girl has that comin' for him."

"I'm not your girl."

"As for your baby," Ralphie shrugged. "It wouldn't have lived a week."

Adelaide cocked the gun.

"Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?" Spot asked, inching towards her.

"You stay away!" she said to Spot.

"You're really gonna shoot me?" Ralphie mocked. "Just because I saved you from having some brat hangin' off you for the rest of your life?"

"Yes. And for what you did to Skittery. And Snipeshooter. And for every time you made me get into bed with you."

"Blah, blah, blah." Ralphie rolled his eyes.

Adelaide pursed her lips and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out over the water. Ralphie's body collapsed on the bridge.

"Oh shit," said Spot. "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."

Adelaide took a ragged breath and exhaled calmly.

"Fuck," said Spot, rushing to her side and yanking the gun out of her hand. He walked to the edge of the bridge and tossed the gun over. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Adelaide calmly looked at Spot. "What had to be done."

The look in her eye caused Spot to pause. Despite taking a man's life, she was oddly calm and composed - not a trace of panic or hysteria.

Spot held a finger up. "We're going to come back to that. But for now…" Spot ran his hand through his hair, his mind working in overdrive. "We're gonna make him look like a jumper." He walked over and yanked off Ralphie's shoes and took his hat.

"What are you doing?"

"Jumpers always leave something behind," said Spot, setting the shoes neatly side by side next to the railing and setting the hat on top of them.

"No one's gonna believe he jumped."

"Maybe not, but the Front Street gang always make it look like their hits are jumpers. Maybe we can pin it on them." Adelaide stood, watching him. "Come on. Help me get his body over."

Adelaide walked over and helped Spot drag Ralphie's body over to the edge and together they lifted it and pushed it over. Adelaide watched it fall down and crash into the river.

"Fuck," he muttered again. "The last thing I need is word getting back that Ralphie got killed on the bridge between Manhattan and Brooklyn."

"I won't say anything," said Adelaide.

"You better not." Spot pointed at her. "Because if you do, it's gonna look like this was a plan by me to take over. And the boys won't waste any time on havin' you join him down there."

In that moment, Adelaide realized what she had done. Ever since her procedure, she'd been focused on Ralphie, and only Ralphie. Making him pay for what he did to her and making him disappear. But now, seeing Spot panic for the first time, she realized the effect this would have - on her, on Spot, and on Brooklyn as a whole.

"Thank you, Spot," she said. "I…I don't…"

"We need to get out of here," said Spot. "Let's get back home." He grabbed her arm and pulled her along. "Where the hell did you get a gun anyway?"

"Snipes stole it for me."

"If word gets out that you killed him, or that Snipes got you the gun…I can't protect you."

Later that night, Adelaide lay in bed alone for the first time in months, staring at the ceiling. She replayed the night over and over in her mind. The way the gun felt in her hand. Ralphie had been so confident that she wouldn't pull the trigger. The kick of the gun as it went off. The image of Ralphie's face the second before he died and his body slumped to the ground.

The way the newsies looked at her. None of them knew Ralphie was gone. They barely raised an eyebrow when they came back to the tenement without him. Did any of them suspect? Did any of them see?

If they ever found out it was her, she was truly a dead woman. Any confirmation, and she wouldn't even see it coming.


"Ralphie was a good leader," Spot said the next afternoon. A search party had been sent out that morning and Blade had discovered Ralphie's shoes and hat on the bridge. Spot kept a straight face, though the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had to play his cards right. "We don't take the deaths of our own lightly. I want everyone to keep your eyes open and ears to the ground. Let me know if you hear anything. We're going to get justice for Ralphie."

As Spot spoke, Adelaide had a sick feeling in her stomach. What if someone saw it happen? What if someone had seen the gun under her coat? What if someone had seen Snipeshooter steal the gun?

Adelaide was grateful that Spot took the lead. He seemed to put everyone at ease. They all looked to him to lead them.

"Good riddance," said a voice from the small crowd.

All eyes turned to Snipeshooter, leaning against the wall, smoking.

"He was our leader," said Spot.

"He wasn't mine," said Snipeshooter. "Not after what he did to Aide, takin' away her baby."

Adelaide appreciated his comment, but she was more concerned about how his comment would be perceived by the boys. The boys were hungry for a scapegoat for Ralph's death, and Snipeshooter was all but offering himself up.


"Hey," Violet grinned at Spot as she opened the door to her apartment.

"Hey," Spot said, trying to force a smile. He had his hat in his hands and was wringing it.

"Come in," she said. She frowned when she saw the expression on his face. "Everything okay?"

"Sit down," Spot said, leading her over to her small bed.

"What's wrong?"

Spot took a breath. "Vi, Ralphie's dead."

Violet's face froze, yet her frown of confusion turned into a poker face.

"I see," was all she said.

Spot watched her for a few moments. She turned and faced forward, staring out the window.

"I don't want you to worry, Vi," said Spot. "I'll still make sure you're taken care of."

Violet shook her head. "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, but you can't afford to live here on just a factory salary."

Violet shrugged. "I'll move. They've got boarding houses for girls, don't they?"

Spot shrugged. "Not many."

"It doesn't matter. I'll find a way."

"You don't have to," said Spot. "Let me help."

Violet shook her head. "I hated taking Ralph's help. I don't want yours."

Spot watched her for a few beats. "Okay."

Violet sighed. "So how did it happen? Did he finally piss off the wrong people?"

Spot averted his eyes to the window, watching the smoke from the factories drift across the river.

He almost said, "you could say that," but he knew he should stick with the suicide story, even with Violet.

"No, they think he jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge."

Violet's head snapped and she looked at Spot. "No he didn't."

Spot nodded. "Yeah, Vi, he did."

Violet shook her head. "My brother would never jump off a bridge. If that's really what killed him, then he was pushed or killed and then tossed over. Ralphie loved torturing others too much to end his own life."

Spot clenched his jaw. He should've known Violet wouldn't buy the story.