Something was happening.
Vin didn't know what yet, but he knew something was going down. When his sharp ears picked up the noise of a fight, he grimaced and nodded to himself. It seemed about right. Heat did things to people and it was a hot one today. His feet led him down the wide alley even though his brain told him it was none of his business. What he saw at the end of it made him frown and instinctively clench his fists.
Several of Finch's boys were beating a rather skinny kid to a pulp. It looked as though he had given up a while ago. One of them was holding the boy's arms behind his back, two or three of them were taking turns punching him and three or four more stood by, laughing.
" Hey c'mon, now. Hasn't he had enough?" Vin shouted before he could stop himself.
All the eyes in the alley were now on him and he bit his tongue, wishing he had done it about three seconds earlier. He held his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. He did not want to re-direct their anger at him. After all, he didn't know the skinny kid, he just felt bad for him.
"What's it to youse?" Called one of them.
"Nothin'," Vin said quickly. "I'm jus' sayin' youse showed him. He ain't fightin' back no more."
"Yea, dat's right. Youse wanna take his place?" The biggest of them, a thick, blond boy, took a few steps forward.
Vin shook his head.
"I don't, but-"
"I do."
All eyes, once again, found the newcomer to the alley, who had seemed to magically appear from thin air. Vin had seen him before. There was no mistaking the cold ice-blue stare, the red suspenders or the gold-topped cane. This was Spot Conlon, one of the best fighters in Brooklyn. He had been pointed out to Vin as someone never to cross.
Vin was momentarily surprised at how short and skinny Spot was. Vin was tall for his age, but he had at least six inches and fifty pounds on Spot. He wondered vaguely how the kid had gained such a reputation as a fighter.
Apparently, Spot's reputation preceded him in more than just Vin's mind. The boys at the other end of the alley hesitated, despite the fact that there were more of them. They murmured amongst themselves for a moment and as they did so, Spot glanced at Vin.
"Who are youse?" He asked quietly.
"Nobody." Vin whispered back. "It was jus' seven-on-one. Didn't seem fair to me."
Spot raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly to Vin and then turned his attention back to the mass of newsies at the end of the alley.
"So Marcus, what'd youse go and kick tha shit outta Mitts for?" He called.
"He was askin' for it." The same thick, blond newsie from before answered.
"He asked ta get soaked in a seven-on-one, insteada fair fight? Or youse jus' too scared to take on a skinny kid on ya own?" Spot spit on the ground beside him. "How's 'bout youse and me settle dis?"
Marcus sneered at Spot and stepped forward, silently accepting the challenge.
Vin watched in fascination. There was something strange about this Spot Conlon. As Marcus taunted and feinted punches, he stood poker-straight with his shoulders thrown back and his head held high. His face was an absolute impassive mask of coldness. There was no hint of dismay or misgiving about his situation. Not a muscle in his body moved. Even his ice-blue eyes lay still in their sockets, unfocused and unblinking, taking in everything at once.
At last, when Marcus had enough of taunting Spot without any sort of response he attacked. He lunged forward, swinging his huge fist at Spot's head, and finally Spot moved.
His reaction was as quick as lightning. The wild punch hit nothing but air as Spot ducked it effortlessly and struck back with both of his fists. As Marcus doubled over Spot drew his cane from his suspenders with a motion like drawing a sword. He gripped it like a bat and swung it at Marcus' head. Blood spewed from Marcus' mouth as he crumpled to the alley floor.
The cane was raised again, high in the air, and brought down with vicious force. Blood spattered the front of Spot Conlon's face and chest. The rest of the newsies gave cries of shock and outrage. Then they turned tail and ran like the cowards that they were.
They pushed past Vin as if he weren't really there, watching the cane fall twice more on it's already feebly stirring victim. Before Vin had really contemplated what he was doing, he threw himself forward and with both hands, seized Spot's arm.
Spot stared up at him. His eyes were mean and dangerous.
"You'll kill him." Vin said as he wretched the cane from Spot's grip.
"So?"
"Youse gotta be kiddin' me."
"He swung first."
There was no regret or remorse written across Spot's face. There was not even any anger or rage written there, only cold disinterest. It sent a shiver down Vin's spine. Perhaps this was the reason he had garnered such a reputation.
Wordlessly, Spot moved away down the alley towards Mitts. Vin followed him in a daze, not wishing to be any closer to Marcus than he had to be. It took Spot a few seconds to shake Mitts awake.
"Spot?"
"Yea."
"What kept ya?"
"Sorry, Mitts." Spot said with a grin.
For just a moment, Vin thought about how completely bizarre Spot looked, spattered with blood, grinning down at his friend.
"Can youse walk?" Spot asked Mitts.
He hefted one of Mitts arms over his shoulders and helped him to his feet. Mitts stumbled a few steps and Vin instinctively reached out to grab his other arm, which he threw around his own shoulders as Spot had done.
"Who's ya friend?" Mitts asked a little blearily.
"I dunno. Nobody." Spot smirked a little. "Youse got a name?"
"Vin."
Spot met his eyes and nodded once. Vin thought it must have been his way of saying 'thanks'. For as little as he knew of Spot Conlon, he figured it was not a phrase he over-used.
