The Royal Flush

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Hi everyone.

So…it's been a long time since I updated anything. A really, really long time. Over a whole year! I'm seventeen, a college student now at Kapiolani Community College in Hawaii, and so many things have changed. I still love to write though, but some things happened that made me stop writing completely and it's been a rather awful year I suppose. But I know I promised to finish the story, and I've made you guys wait a long time...for that I'm truly sorry, and I owe you an explanation I suppose.

A couple chapters back I mentioned that my mother was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in her brain. It's been a little over a year since, and it's been a pretty tough year. The doctors gave her three months to live, but she surpassed their expectations through our prayers, hope, and faith. She passed away last June, and although I know I will see her again and have hope in that, it's been really hard to cope I guess. This story meant a lot to me, truly, as tacky as it sounds, but after my mom passed away, writing some dumb fanfiction on the internet sounded sooo meaningless and I just didn't like what I wrote anyway.

I guess I started writing again since I took some English classes that forced me to write, and sort of made me realize how much I loved writing once again. And also I've met some other people who love to write who encouraged me after reading some of my stuff, and also my old friends kept encouraging me as well. Hm.

So that's the whole sob story as to why it's been so long since I updated. I wrote about half of this chapter before stuff began to happen, so I really hope there's some form of fluidity and connection between the time I was writing before and then from where I began again.

Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

"Aaaaaand one, two, three, one, two, three…"

Spot smoothly slid his hand around my waist, but his eyes were blank as though he were trying very hard to pretend he was far, far away from here. "Dis is a waste of time," he murmured tightly and reached for my hand.

"Other hand, Spot!"

He swore under his breath and hastily switched hands. I put my left hand on his shoulder as I was instructed and glanced at his face. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

He scoffed in denial. How just like a guy. "Dat's 'cos I got a bad partner.

"Well!" I huffed, "I like that!"

He smirked in appreciation. "Yep. I've never had a worse partner."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah right. You've never danced before."

"True."

"Well, it's gonna get worse. All we've done is take position and then do a couple of steps."

His grip tightened and he gave me a stormy sea-gray glare. "Just shut up and dance."

He led. I followed gingerly, feeling his tension in the stiffness of his shoulders, despite the confidence in his steps. He wasn't very good, to be honest, although he was learning fast. At any rate, who was I to talk?

Medda hollered instructions to each of us. I chanced a look over my shoulder. Due to the lack of girls, Medda had to appoint some of the boys to dance the ladies' part. I was dancing with Spot, but everyone else…well, you can imagine how it was. I watched as Kid Blink push Mush away as the other boy made a misstep. I winced as Medda bellowed at them. Skittery swore a colorful streak as he moved the opposite way from Jack, causing both of them to stumble clumsily away.

And Race? He was stuck with Verge.

Well, they were doing well, which was a surprising thing in itself. However, the most astonishing thing was that they were both silent.

Previously, the two of them had been going at each other's throats, throwing nasty insults that were sometimes quite clever. Verge was actually very intelligent, despite his occasional sullen, stubbornness. Race, as I had discovered already, was a major wise-cracker, and had been ruthlessly lashing Verge with his sharp tongue. Apparently, he was bent on not letting Verge have his way 'while he was in Manhattan.'

But now, they were suspiciously quiet as though they were in deep concentration. Then, Verge gave a hoarse shout and sprung away from Race, his blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Ow! Watch where you're steppin', thickhead!"

Race stuck a cigar in his mouth and gritted his teeth, his usually smiling face darkening with annoyance. "Me? You're da one not steppin' right! Your foot ain't supposed to be dere!" he turned slightly and demanded, "Medda!"

"Actually, Verge is right, Racetrack. He's leading, so you're supposed to follow. And I prefer you to not smoke while you dance."

Awkward silence.

Race took the cigar out of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Verge. "Stinkin' Harlem."

"Puny Manhattaner."

"Puny?!"

Jack intervened hastily, trying to sound stern, but the effect was rather ruined with his mouth quirking from the effort to not smile. "Cool it down, Race. We ain't gonna get any progress if we keep stoppin'. And Verge, stop provokin' him."

I groaned to myself as the two boys glowered at each other. In case you haven't noticed, we were now in the middle of our second lesson for the Social Dinner at Mrs. White's. Pleasant waltz music played in the background, but no one seemed to notice. We hadn't even started truly dancing. This was our third false start. The first had stopped because Verge had declared that Race was too short for him. The second had stopped because Kid Blink complained that Mush's hands were too sweaty. Then the third…yeah. As you can see.

Medda leaned wearily next to the phonograph. Her face looked strained with frustration. "Right," she said rigidly, "Let's try it again."

I shot the Manhattaners and Verge a Look. Verge was smirking at Race, who had a fierce scowl distorting his lips. I think he was upset not only because he had to dance the girls' part, but because Medda had made him stop smoking. He rolled his eyes bad-temperedly at Verge, "Wipe dat smirk off your face. We'll be switching soon anyhow."

Verge shrugged. "I'm still a better dancer."

And he was, actually. He was surprisingly graceful, and had a controlled rhythm to his steps that rather caught all of us off guard.

"Be quiet, you two!" snapped Medda, her face nearly as red as her hair. She reached over and abruptly turned up the phonograph. Now," she said coldly, "Let us begin. Aaaaaaand one two three-"

"Ow!!!"

Insert wild swearing.

"What happened?" Medda all but bellowed.

"Ya clumsy dwarf! I'll kill ya!"

"Ya know," Race said uncaringly, "I've got a question."

"Race," Jack said warningly, tipping his hat back.

Race grinned and said in a rush, as if before Jack stopped him, "Hair's so unnatural, eh, Verge? Why's it so white? Like an old lady's or somethin'."

Poor Verge. He looked like he was going to burst into a million pieces. He looked down, struggling to control himself. Jack folded his arms and said thickly, "Can we try again, Medda?"

Medda reached over to the phonograph, her tone resigned as she began again, "Aaaand-"

Verge abruptly turned to Medda and snapped in a cold, cold voice, "I want," he stated very clearly, "I want a different partner."

Medda looked as though she would say yes to anything at that point, as long as we all got along. "Sure, hun. How about Skitt-"

"No," cut in Verge pointedly, "Not one of them," then he snarled vehemently, "Dis whole thing sucks, blast it."

I suppose it did, in a sense, for him especially more than for us. I felt rather sorry for him, because everyone was openly showing their dislike. It was his own fault, since yesterday he had been a real jerk. But today, the newsies were being openly nasty to him. Well, except for Spot, but he wasn't exactly helping either.

So I guess that's why I called out, "I'll switch."

Verge looked startled. Spot gave me a slow, careful look. "What are you doin'?"

"I don't know," I muttered, "But someone's gotta shut Verge up or else we'll never get back home. And I think…I mean, I don't think he'll mind me," I winced and shook my head, saying quietly, "Everyone's being a bit too nasty. Don't you think?"

Spot rolled his eyes and the expression on his face obviously meant: "So? Ain't my problem." But he said nothing. He seemed more exasperated (at my thoughts?) than upset, and he simply shrugged. He gave Race a stare, but didn't do anything to stop me as I went over to Verge. The other boy blinked at me, looking surprised, and I gave him my very best glare so he wouldn't get any mistaken ideas about my switching.

He blinked again. "I think dat just 'bout burned me."

"This is all your fault, you know, for being so bothersome."

He looked offended, but Medda flicked on the phonograph again and we both automatically took position as the music started playing again. It was maddeningly beautiful, by the way. The song, that is. At least, if you actually listen to it. It was the sort of song that really filled you up with a sort of buoyancy until you can't help but move. Our feet led us into a swift turn, and soon enough, everyone was dancing.

I cast a surreptitious glance towards my partner. His eyes were focused on something past my shoulder, and his mouth was tightly compressed in a sullen, mulish sort of way. He looked resigned and tense, and it seemed as though he was getting ready for me to make some snide comment or purposely make a fool out of him in front of everyone.

I just danced.

Step, step, twirl, step.

Medda bellowed out instructions, but there were no other interruptions, which was a great relief. I stumbled once, but he merely didn't seem to notice/politely ignored it. After a while though, we got into the basic swing of it and I found myself concentrating on doing better instead of on not making mistakes. Verge was a good dancer, and as in he looked happier and didn't seem like he expected me to make him trip or anything nasty like that.

He even managed a smile. "Ace, right?"

"And you are Verge," I stated dryly. I felt sorry for him, really. But somehow I couldn't bring myself to be nice. Also, I think I was jealous at how ridiculously graceful he was. I understood Racetrack's frustration. It was all I could do to keep up with him and with every second that passed, I could see how he was trying to make up for the skills I lacked. This of course, made me feel unnaturally clumsy.

Medda continued to yell out commands and orders, but, for the very first time, no one got into a fight. I glanced up at Verge and was startled to see those pale blue eyes trained on me. There was a shrewd, assessing look to them that had a hint of suspicion, and I raised my eyebrows.

"What?"

Immediately, the look went away and was replaced with his usual mischievous twinkle. He shrugged, leading me easily across the room, "Nothin'," then he added, with a quick flash of teeth that I recognized again as a grin, "I was jus' wonderin' what Spot sees in ya."

I nearly came to an abrupt stop, but he managed to force me into a twirl and I came back spluttering, crashing into his chest clumsily. He hastily adjusted me and we both retraced our steps. I glared at him, astounded by the sheer audacity of his remark.

"What in the world?" I snarled under my breath, considering whether to kick him or punch him. Probably kick.

His blue eyes crinkled into a smile again. "Eh, don't be angry. I meant it in a good way. His last girlfriend was a real stunner, alrigh', but she wouldn't have done a gutsy thing like dat."

I was puzzled now. "Like what?" Step, step, step…

"Heh?"

"Like what?"

"Oh. Like walk 'round Brooklyn all night for a doctor."

I choked. "How do you-"

"Shh."

I swiftly threw a look over my shoulder. Spot's narrowed eyes met mine for a second, before he turned away. I coughed and then focused my attention on Verge. "How do you know 'bout that?" I hissed at him, strangely angry.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, his shocking blonde hair shading his face. "Everyone knows," he said simply, all gleeful at how dumb I was. Whee.

I felt cheated somehow. Was there some sort of secret network of spies going through every borough? How was it that everyone seemed to know who I was, what I did, and what was happening around me? I was getting thoroughly sick of being spied upon, and I never liked feeling ignorant. How much exactly did people know that I didn't know they knew?

He rolled one shoulder. "We know all 'bout you. And Conlon. And Duke."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you tellin' me all this?"

He looked surprised. "So you'll have a place to go to, of course."

Of course.

I didn't have a clue about what he was talking about. It must have shown on my face, because he added, "You know."

"No, I don't know."

He began to look uncomfortable. "I forgot. You ain't been with dem too long."

"You're not making any sense."

He sighed and said in a fast, furious whisper, "Just in case things don't go well with Duke, kid. You need to think ahead. Newsies gotta think ahead."

I stared at him, appalled at his words, and astounded again that he had the nerve to say them. We danced in silence for a few seconds as I tried to figure things out. He was offering to take me in to Harlems if Spot lost Brooklyn. Wasn't he? Or…was that what he meant? I suppose I ought to be thankful, but what exactly did he mean by that? A place to go to? Did he really mean just that, or was it a subtle way of telling me that I…that he…oh great. This was terrible. I should have stuck to dancing with Spot.

Verge seemed to be waiting for a reply, so I finally looked at him. "That's an awful thing to say."

He looked startled. "Why?"

"Er. Because…you…because…," I trailed off helplessly and then shook my head mutely, looking down at my feet and trying not to step on his. "Whatever. I love this song," I added, hoping to change the subject, but it only seemed to make him more confused.

There was a rather long pause again until he suddenly sucked in a quick breath.

Well, I looked at him. His expression had changed into one of surprised horror. "Oh," he said and he gave me an indignant look. "No, Ace. I didn't mean that. Have ya any clue what Conlon would do?"

I felt embarrassed. "Then what do you mean?"

"I meant…," he looked away and looked as embarrassed as I must have, "I just meant it as it is. C'mon, Ace. We've only met two times. Anyway," he smiled slightly, "You remind me way too much of my little brother."

"Your brother?" I felt somewhat insulted, although I was glad that he wasn't trying to make trouble. Still, at the very least, he could have said sister. But brother?

Somehow though, I was smiling back. I didn't really know what to think of Verge. He seemed genuine; with an honesty that was a bit tactless but reliable. There were plenty of people going around making vague comments anyhow (coughPhilipcoughSpotcough), and it was nice sometimes to know that he wasn't the sort of person who wouldn't go the roundabout way to make a point. Then again, I remembered that look I had seen. As though he suspected me of something. And again, he had been a little sneaky just now.

But I had to ask one more question: "What do you know about Duke?"

He shrugged and pressed his lips together, as though trying to figure out what to phrase what he was going to say next. I waited patiently, although I was puzzled at his reaction. After a moment, he shook his head and asked quickly, "You want my honest opinion?"

My eyes widened, but I just answered, "Of course. Why?"

"Well," he avoided my eyes, "There are always two sides to every story. I'm guessin' you've only heard one side."

All of a sudden, I felt uneasy. "What do you mean?"

He said quietly, "Duke was a great guy. Helped us out loads of times. He even knocked out the Delanceys once, when we came over to Manhattan," he smiled ruefully, "My brother got picked on. Duke took care of 'em."

I didn't speak. Couldn't speak.

Why weren't people ever what you thought they were?

"Everyone liked him. And I think lots still do, actually. That's probably why Queens took him in."

"Took him in?" I felt utter confusion and a tired sort of exasperation. That's why Queens took him in? Queens…took him in? As in…as in Philip…

"So…," I remarked as casually as I could, "You mean that leader there actually allowed Duke come? As in didn't tell Brooklyn, accepted Duke, and is now currently helping him?"

Verge shrugged again. "Well, whatshisface is new, right? I don't think anyone's even seen him yet. Paul or James or something."

I winced. "Philip."

Verge gave me a sharp look. "Yeh, dat's it. Know him, eh?"

I shrugged back at him. "Sort of," I quickly said, "So you're saying maybe Philip might not know he's Duke…and that's why he's allowing him to stay?"

He looked uncomfortable as he danced a little further away from Spot, who was coming a bit closer. "Well, dat's a possibility. Den again, chances are slim. I'm sure some of the other boroughs' caught glimpses of him."

I gaped at him. "You mean, everyone's probably seen him…but didn't tell Spot? They've helped Duke?"

He hissed at me, "Quiet down, darlin'."

I lowered my voice slightly, "You mean…that everyone…is on Duke's side?"

He didn't answer.

Oh no.

This was terrible. I now knew why Spot had been so haggardly broken last night. A strange sort of tightness gripped me, like someone was choking me again except this time it wasn't my throat. My stomach flip-flopped and I felt sick. Somehow, I gathered myself together and met Verge's eyes. He wasn't telling me everything, I knew, and it was because Spot was there. We had to meet up again somewhere else.

"Could…could we talk? Not while dancing; I can barely think. Later."

Verge shrugged (apparently he has a bit of a bad habit of shrugging). "No problem. Don't tell no one though, right?"

"No, please don't."

The rest of the dance was spent in awful tension. I wasn't angry at Verge, of course; he obviously knew more than he let on. I'd always known there was something much, much deeper going on than what everyone was telling me about Duke and Spot. And here was Verge, this lanky, sharp-eyed blonde boy, who was obviously the best source of information.

Because, of course, he was unbiased and utterly not caught up in this whole thing like we all were. Not tangled up in wires and webs. He could afford to be cruelly honest (although I was sure he wasn't really being cruel on purpose), because he didn't have to lie about anything.

And how desperately I wanted to know the truth.

"That's enough for now I should think," Medda said, her voice sounding tired and strained. She sat down in a chair and switched off the phonograph. "Everyone, be back here tomorrow at the same time."

I think she wanted us out. I didn't blame her. I looked at Verge and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. I shook my head. "Just a second."

I wondered how I would be able to think up a reason to speak to Verge alone without Spot interfering. I didn't exactly think he'd like my discussing with Verge behind his back, but I didn't know how else to talk privately. I glanced towards Spot and he started making his way towards me.

For once, luck was with me. Before he took two steps though, Jack appeared, and tapped him on the shoulder. He said something, quietly and under his breath, and Spot glanced at him. It must have been something important, because he immediately focused his attention solely upon him. I was slightly curious, but I decided to make good use of the opportunity. I walked towards them, and sure enough, they immediately quieted. I inwardly rolled my eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt," I remarked a bit sarcastically, "Nothing wrong, I hope."

Jack said nothing. Spot shrugged, "Nah. How was Verge?"

I resisted the urge to tell him everything. But doing that would mean betraying Verge's trust. I strongly doubted he wanted Spot to know what he had told me. And besides, Jack was there. "He's a good dancer," I answered, and, just so he wouldn't get suspicious, "At least, he's way better than you are."

Jack snorted, while Spot bristled. Boys. "He may be good, but he's a terrible gambler."

I snickered. "Right. Anyway," I said smoothly, "I'll be leaving now. Are you still gonna be here?"

Spot glanced at Jack. "Yeah. I'll see you back at da House."

I wondered if he suspected and marveled to find that he didn't. He must be preoccupied with whatever Jack planned on telling him. Either that, or I was getting better at lying. I shook away the disturbing thought and lightly kissed Spot, inwardly feeling a twinge of guilt at the thought of talking with Verge behind his back. He didn't seem to notice anything, and the moment I left them, they were both talking again, quietly.

I looked around for Verge. He wasn't anywhere in sight. Perhaps he was waiting outside. Pursing my lips in annoyance, I made my way across the room and slipped out. I could hear distant pitter-patter of the rain outside even from the narrow hallway. I reached the door and carefully opened it. It was raining, and it was raining hard. I cursed silently and threw on my cloak, hoping it would keep me as dry as possible. Where was he?

"Where we goin'?"

I glanced sharply to my left and saw that he was there, leaning with his back against the outer wall of the building. Apparently he didn't mind the rain. Nor did he seem all that worried about Spot. All of a sudden, I felt a strange reluctance to leave with him. What if he was lying about Duke? What if he was lying about Philip? Who was I to trust him anyway? I met him only once. What if he was in league with Duke, and wanted me to turn against Spot? Everyone seemed to be changing sides in this game, and I suddenly realized that I couldn't risk trusting in the wrong person now. I eyed him, and he glanced back quickly.

He straightened. "What's da matter? You look kinda pale."

I hastily shook my head. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" He said bluntly, "You gettin' cold feet or somethin'?"

I shook my head again, embarrassed at having shown my emotions. "No, I'm fine. Really."

I caught a sudden flicker of humor tug at his lips, and he looked like he was going to say something, but he merely shrugged. "Well, den, let's head out. You got a place in mind?"

I was an idiot, a fool to just suddenly ask him to spill secrets when I barely knew him. Jack hated him. Maybe Verge was with Duke on this. Spot seemed to trust him, but who could he trust? And if he couldn't trust anyone, who on earth was I supposed to trust?

I didn't know what to do. I took a deep breath, held it, and then blurted out, "You aren't on Duke's side, are you?"

For a moment, there was stunned silence as he gaped at me. He looked so shocked I immediately felt guilty. Then, a strange expression flickered across his face. I couldn't quite place it; he was surprised and horrified at what I had just said, and yet trying very, very hard not to laugh. Amused horror. Then the humor of whatever it was he was laughing at went away, and he grew serious. He said softly, "Listen up, Ace. I don't even know you dat well, but I've heard you're a smart one. So let me tell you one thing."

I reddened. "Yeah?"

"Takin' sides always got consequences." Rain dripped off his hat as he shifted towards me, "Everyone knows dat. So should you."

My eyebrows shot up at his cleverly indirect answer. So Verge wasn't as bluntly honest as I thought. Maybe all newsies were like that. "So you're saying you don't care either way?" I questioned sharply.

He didn't answer immediately, as thought he was mulling it over. Or maybe he was just wondering whether he should just walk away and forget giving information to some girl who didn't even trust him. I crossed my arms, feeling cold and wondering whether I had just made a fool out of myself again.

"You sure have a way of comin' to da point," he finally said, wryly. He grew quiet once more and I waited, feeling there was more to come. Then he seemed to come to a decision. In that same quiet voice, he said, "I'd prefer not takin' sides. But let's just say if worst comes to worst, I think Duke would win."

"Why?" I was horrified.

"He's real smart-"

"Spot's smart!"

"Yes, but Spot's got some morals," he said harshly, suddenly looking angry. "At least, he has 'em now. You should know dat by now. People with a conscience don't go far. Duke ain't got a conscience. He'd do anything to get what he wants. Spot wouldn't. An' dats da dirty truth."

I gritted my teeth. "So what are you saying then?"

He swore under his breath. "This is ridiculous. If I was on Duke's side, you'd be thrown at his feet by now and he'd be usin' you to get at Spot. I gotta admit, I was pretty surprised at yoah request jus' now. You believe people way too easily, Ace. Asking me to talk with you? What if I was with Duke, eh? You'd certainly be in a tough spot to get out of."

I doggedly ignored his sharp words, "So you're not with him?"

He gave a sigh and for a moment he was silent. Then he said quietly, "Even though it makes sense to join da winnin' side, don't mean it's right. Da odds are against Conlon. Duke's got Queens on his side again, and Queens is a pretty powerful borough," he paused and shifted, his frustration fading away. Now he looked plain uncomfortable. I looked hard at him, determined to not let him hedge his way around this time. He finally sighed and said quietly, "Well, obviously you ain't gonna let me off without an answer," he smiled wryly, "It's Conlon I'd back. Duke can get a bit too…extreme."

"What happened to those consequences you were referring to?" I had to ask, as a last probing jab.

He winced. "Yeah well. It's a drag," he saw the look on my face and miled crookedly, "You can distrust me all you want, darlin'. But I knew Duke pretty well. You don't," he paused and said pointedly, "But I know Spot well too. You've got to believe me at one point or another. I ain't intendin' to hurt you or Conlon or Duke. For now, at least," he added.

I was still stiff for a second with all my suspicions. But slowly, I relaxed, and my doubts faded away as soon as they had come. There was no lie in his clear blue eyes, and he was obviously in earnest. Once again, I realized that Verge was as honest to himself as he was to others. I should have known better than to suspect him of doing something sneaky or underhanded. At the very least, he would help me understand the truth behind Duke and Spot. And he himself had said that he would take Spot's side if things came down to that. I felt my shoulders loosen and I tentatively smiled, albeit apologetically. "Okay," I said finally, sticking out a hand. "I believe you."

His smile flashed out again, and he seemed to relax as well. "Glad to know." He shook my hand and without a word, looked rather relieved. "You really gave me a turn dere. I'd never been suspected of bein' a double-crossin' dog. Still," he said thoughtfully, "Good thinkin'. A bit slow though; you should have thought of accusin' me a bit earlier.

I cringed, but then saw that he was joking through the way his eyes were crinkling. "Sorry," I said truthfully, "I don't know what came over me. You were suddenly very suspicious."

He laughed. "Oh yeah? Must be your problem, 'cos no one's ever thought me suspicious. What with my good looks and all."

I coughed. "Right. So let's get out of here. Where's a place we can talk without being disturbed?" I added after a beat, "Thank you though. Really."

He ignored my appreciation. "I know a place. A bit of a walk from here but it's probably da best. No one would catch us dere."

I stepped out, immediately getting wet. I grimaced and said, "Okay. Where is it?"

He adjusted his hat and pulled his collar up against the cold. Then he looked at me and gave me another quick grin. "Are ya up to visitin' Harlems?"

"I heard 'bout Cat."

Spot raised one eyebrow at Jack and felt a flare of irritation. It irked him somehow, to know that Jack had found out Brooklyn was in trouble. He folded his arms and eyed the taller boy, trying to discern how much he knew. Considering it was Jack, he probably had the entire gist of it. Manhattan had some pretty sharp eyes, Racetrack oddly enough being one of them. Cursed Race. "Ace saved her life," he finally said simply.

Jack nodded quietly, his eyes somber as they looked keenly at Spot. "Duke's in Queens."

Spot shrugged carelessly. "Yeah. Had a little chat with him yesterday."

He scored that one. Jack started visibly and although his mouth didn't drop open (Jack never did that, Spot mused absently), his eyes widened slightly. Spot smirked. At that, Jack gave a sudden, trademark Kelly laugh, the one that sounded like the world had played a joke on him and he had enjoyed it. He shook his head slightly. "Well? What happened?"

Spot leaned against the wall. "We just talked. He ain't changed at all."

Jack winced. "He ain't grown a boil on dat face of his?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "Nah. He could still charm a bird right outta its nest. Though dere's a good chance of him getting a broken nose."

Jack's eyes sparkled appreciatively. "What 'bout a shinah?"

"On his eye."

"Both eyes."

They both laughed, a little nastily, but Spot broke off too soon. Jack sighed, noticing his friend's mood. "No other borough's with him yet, Spot. Dat much you can be sure of. He's holed up in Queens, so Queens is 'bout da only one against ya."

Spot narrowed his eyes, noticing how he had hedged around the words. "Are ya sure?"

Jack looked mildly surprised. "No, I ain't sure," he gave Spot a thoughtful look, "And since when did you start caring 'bout not involvin' other people?"

Spot suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Jack was much too perceptive. "Let's jus' say I made a promise."

Jack let it go. "Of course, we're all pretty sure. Queens dislike Brooklyn. Stands to sense dat dey're only too happy to get Duke. We're sure. Just not a hundred percent."

"We gotta be sure," Spot gritted his teeth and went straight to the point, "How many are with me den, Jack."

Jack met his eyes for a brief moment before looked away. "You know we're with ya. I never liked Duke. We see him, we'll tell you. But he ain't stupid enough to show up around here so dere ain't much we're likely to deal with."

Spot nodded slowly. "He'll leave ya alone for sure. What 'bout Harlems? Verge's never drawn da line, even when it happened last time."

Jack's mouth tightened. "Verge ain't nothin' but a two-faced rat, lookin' out for himself. He never takes sides."

Spot smirked, "And here he is, accusin' you of bein' a traitor."

Jack's mood had gotten considerably darker. "You got it. Though he ain't da only one."

Spot listened to the rain outside, not answering. He knew he himself had accused Jack of becoming a scab. He understood Verge's point of view, but Jack did too. It was just…one of those things.

Jack rolled his shoulders, as if to brush away the old memories. "Anyway, he won't help ya. But he won't help Duke either," Jack admitted reluctantly. "Maybe if you convince him." He suddenly broke into a wide, mischievous grin. "Maybe Ace, eh? He seems to like her."

Spot gave a short bark of laughter at the thought of Ace sweet-talking anyone. "He ain't dat much of a rat, Kelly. Though dat's a good idea. She'd yell at him, 'til he gets scared into givin' in."

Jack's eyes narrowed with inward amusement. "She's a good girl, Ace. She like you?"

Spot eyed him. "You think?"

"Well, I ain't seen her all over you like da other girls."

Somehow, Jack's words tugged at something he had forgotten. Something vaguely important. Then, almost immediately, he remembered. Pike had asked him the same question a few days ago.

The bet. He had to make Ace tell him she loved him in public. It had faded into the background what with everything going on. He frowned, feeling annoyed. It seemed such a small, trivial thing now, and it certainly didn't seem like anything worth continuing. Still, he had made a bet. And it certainly wouldn't do for Brooklyn's leader to call a bet off. Pike wouldn't have forgotten it and would never believe him if he said that he had. Besides, maybe something fun would lift the Brooklynite's mood. Ace had a good sense of humor. She wouldn't mind.

Spot found Jack looked curiously at him. He ignored his obvious expectation of an explanation to his sudden silence. There had also been something else he had wanted to ask Jack. He had been planning to ask Cat, but had somehow it had always escaped his thoughts through recent events. Jack would be as good as any person to ask.

"Philip Danford. Tell me 'bout him."

Jack frowned. "Dat's a real polished-up name. I've heard it before."

Spot understood what he meant. The name just popped up everywhere, but somehow always failed to catch anyone's real attention other than the fact that it was 'real polished-up,' as Jack put it. Someone who had continuously made a shady appearance through various sources of information, and Spot had a feeling it was about time to find out who it was.

He rested a hand on the golden-top of his black cane and narrowed his eyes at Jack. "Queens' leader. You seen him?"

Jack shrugged. "Nope. He just joined didn't he, like a month ago? Don't think anyone's seen him yet. Never gotten out of Queens. I heard Bronx invited them over for a poker game, but he didn't come. Somethin' 'bout a broken leg."

Spot nodded. "And Duke's dere. He must be usin' Danford, since he's new. Queens could be against Brooklyn just because of dat trouble we had over territory before, but I don't remember a Philip Danford den. He must be new, so he ain't got anything personal against me."

Jack shrugged once more, but looked wary. "I dunno. Maybe he knows Duke."

Spot shook his head. "Don't think so. Duke wouldn't bother. He wouldn't put a friend there, unless it's someone he could use," he thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the cane, "I know Ace's seen dis Danford guy, but we've never talked about it. Should be a good idea to ask her. She's got a way of nailing someone's personality down from to da spot, and she would know," his eyes hardened, "Duke's up to somethin' dere in Queens."

Whatever it was, he would beat him to it. He already knew it was his fault Cat had gotten hurt. If he had acted as soon as he had found out Duke was back, nothing would have happened. It was evident that it was too dangerous to wait for him to make the first move. The problem was, he mused quietly to himself, he couldn't just charge onto Queens with all of Brooklyn behind his back. Not without making sure all of Queens was against him. Which was most likely.

But if this Danford was new…

He heaved a sigh. There were too many 'ifs.' Perhaps he should talk to Danford. If the guy was new, he couldn't know what Duke was really like. Then maybe Queens could be left out of it all and no one innocent would be hurt. He felt a flash of ironic humor at his line of reasoning. This would be all Ace's doing. He would never have worried about such stuff before. He would have never cared about sparing Queens. But Ace had made him promise not to involve anyone, and she would certainly never allow him to break a promise.

He'd first have to find out what Duke was doing in Queens. If Queens wasn't against him, it would merely make matter worse. He needed information before he could act. Once he had it, he'd know where Duke was staying, who was with him, and what Brooklyn would have to deal with.

He tightened his mouth into a determined line. First things first. He needed to find Danford.

"Two ales," Verge ordered easily, sliding into his chair with a comfortable sigh. I didn't bother telling him I didn't drink, and nodded my thanks to the waiter, who left without a word. I shifted in my seat, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. This was my first time to be in a tavern before, although Verge had called it a 'public house.' I unconsciously took off my hat and placed it on the table before quickly wrapping my hair around my head. Girls weren't allowed in taverns, and I was more than just a little nervous at the thought of getting caught and thrown back out into the rain.

Verge didn't seem to care. "You dun need to do dat," he remarked, laughing at the look on my face. "Dey don't care 'bout newsies anyway."

I shook my head. "I don't want to risk it." I tried to relax my shoulders though, and at least pretend to be calm as I tightened my hair into a bun. My eyes wouldn't stop roaming around the place. It was not as foul or dingy as I expected taverns to be, but the people were very much shady and here and there were a couple of extremely drunk men who were practically falling off their chairs. One handsome specimen sitting alone in a dark corner caught me reaching for my hat to place over my hair and he met my eyes with faint amusement. I looked away quickly, feeling my ears burn as I tugged my hat on.

"So," I forced all my discomforts to the back of my mind, "has Spot done something terribly wrong? Does he deserve what Duke is doing to him?"

Verge leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly. "You really like da straightforward way, don't ya? No fishin' for information with you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm no good at that. I wish I was, and stylize it all,but you'd probably end up giving me stylized truth. Or probably you'd keep changing the subject. And I've no time. Just give me the facts, straight up. What happened exactly?"

He crossed his arms and looked away, his eyes traveling around the room as though distracted, but his gaze was thoughtful. Then he said casually, "Why don't you give me what you already know? Let's hear what your version of the story is."

I scowled, realizing that even if he did promise to tell me all, he was going to take his own sweet time with it. "I truly don't know anything other than what Spot told me."

He grinned. "Well, you're a smart girl. I'm sure you've made up some of your own conclusions?"

I rested my head on my hand, propping myself up with my elbow on the table. "Of course I have. But that's only because I've only heard things from Spot and the other Brooklynites. You yourself told me there's more than just one side to a story. What I see Duke in my head is this incredibly one-dimensional, heartless villain. But is that even possible?"

He flicked me a quick glance. "You're a quick learner."

I gripped my chair impatiently. "I want to know whether…whether everything that is happening is deserved or not."

Verge looked at me keenly, and I knew he had caught my momentary stumble and had known what I was going to say. I wanted to know whether Spot had done something. I wanted to know whether Duke had a reason for what he was doing.

There was silence for a moment, both of us quietly absorbed in our thoughts. Then he flexed his long fingers, "You ain't ever met Duke, right?" he asked without looking at me.

"No, never."

"You'd like him."

I glared at him, bemused at where this was going. He smiled slightly and added, "Look at dat expression on your face."

"Just 'cos I said he isn't a villain doesn't mean I'm going to like him now," I declared vehemently.

He ignored me. "You'd like him because he's just like Conlon. You gotta understand dat before I tell ya anythin'. He loved to play 'round, loved bein' in charge, and knew how to get his own way. So even if he did some nasty stuff, people didn't really care at da time."

I couldn't really understand this. "So you're saying he did wrong things, but he was so persuasive that it seemed right at the time?"

He grinned again. "Dat's it. You're getting it."

"Oh," I said, realizing that his description of Duke fit Spot perfectly, and felt awfully disconcerted. "Oh I see."

Verge gave me a look. "If I'm gonna tell ya what happened, you'd better get dat angelic image of Spot outta your head. Things got pretty dirty both sides. Conlon didn't go as far, but he was pretty ruthless."

I opened my mouth to say that that was just what I was here for, to figure out Spot's role in this; didn't he get that already? Then I saw his face and my irritation faded away. He was dead serious. For some reason, I felt both fear and reluctance creep over my resolution. For the first time, I wondered whether I actually did want to hear this or not. Would it change the way I felt about Spot? What if it did, proving that I didn't love him enough? Did I really want to know what sort of things he was capable of doing?

Or would I rather just continue fighting mindless beside him without fully understanding what had happened? Blindly support him against Duke? I couldn't do that. I just wasn't capable of it, maybe some other girl would be able to be a true girlfriend and accept whatever he did as right. Maybe if it were about something else, I would too, but what he did was affecting what was going on right now, with Duke, and it wasn't just affecting him, it was affecting all of us.

Besides…I was tired and sick of being ignorant. I was sick of being that 'ignorant, naïve' girl, mindlessly loving and blindly prejudiced.

So I looked at Verge and said quietly, "I need to know."

He just looked at me. Then, for a split second, all that amusement and carelessness left him and I thought I caught a trace of some form of respect enter his eyes. Just a little, and he gave me a slight nod. "Alright."

At that moment the man came with the two ales. Verge leaned back and paid him. I didn't take my eyes off Verge, not about to allow him to suddenly change the subject or get side-tracked. But my worries were unfounded as, once the man left, he took one sip of the ale and plunged right into his story.

Apparently this is how it went.

A couple of years ago, a smooth-talking gang leader known as Duke appeared in Brooklyn and started spending time around the Brooklyn slums. Newsies and gangs never mix, because it almost always ends up in violence. Spot, who was just starting out as a leader, made sure there was never any involvement with Duke's gang. At this time, there were only ten to twelve newsies in Brooklyn, and Spot was just establishing himself in.

Verge flicked out a cigar dispassionately. "One day, Duke meets up with Conlon, asks him to take his gang in as newsies. Says Conlon can be da leader and he'll will be second in command. It was a mutual agreement. Spot was lookin' for some recruits. Duke's boys were thinnin' out, what with da cops on their trail and the refuge becomin' more established.

Plus, territory meant lots to both of 'em. Joinin' together helped ensure da entire borough be theirs."

(This was why Brooklyn's more like a street gang than the other boroughs. Verge told me, after seeing the look on my face, that Brooklyn only had some elements of a street gang, like the mob factor. I forced myself to admit it: we did have a mob factor. We did have the whole violence thing going on. Except we had a legal job.

Unless Spot was an infamous crime lord? The thought made me laugh, but I said nothing. I wasn't about to interrupt Verge, not when he was willing to talk.)

"Duke and Spot, dey hit it off right from da start. Conlon likes him a lot, likes his ideas, his ambition. He especially admired da way Duke stopped at nothin' to get his way. But Conlon's still da leader, and Duke is too smart to challenge his authority. He knows da Brooklynites respect him. If he chose to go against him, da newsies would just split into two again: Brooklynites and Duke's street members.

So nothin' happens for about a year. Brooklyn grows, and at its peak, there had to be nearly 50 newsies in all, not including Duke's gang. It's da most powerful borough in New York, and Spot's reputation for being a forceful leader is backed up by da fact dat he and Duke manages to keep 'em all together. Brooklyn controls more than its territory, and it meant a lot if you ran with dem.

It's around dis time, when dey were at da top of their game, when Duke starts trying to win da newsies over. Every command Conlon makes, every direction, every opinion, Duke works his brains to think up a better one. He makes Conlon look inadequate. Like I said, he was a real charismatic guy. Everyone listened to him as much as dey listened to Conlon, and everyone knew he had helped Conlon keep Brooklyn together as well. He's been a leader longer than Spot too, so he knows how to work da strings.

I'm sure ya know how dis makes Spot feel. He takes loyalty pretty seriously. He gets real mad, and when Conlon's mad, he doesn't stop. Da things he did was pretty ruthless. At dat time, Duke's got a girl, a real looker. Spot never looked twice at her, knowing she was with Duke, but then now Spot makes as though he's got a thing for dis girl. He starts talkin' to her and flirtin', right in front of Duke."

I gritted my teeth and nodded. You can imagine how I felt. Verge gave me a careful look, but then continued on.

"Next thing ya know, dis broad leaves Duke and goes over to Conlon. Well, Duke loved her, no matter how dim she was in da head. Spot knows it, so he uses her, and den dumps her, breaking her heart."

I sucked in a quick breath. It was ridiculous for me to feel so affected, since I had told myself over and over before that Spot had done this sort of thing before. I knew he had always been a player. But I guess knowledge never really is enough. "Okay."

"So things are already right out in the open. One thing leads to another, sides are switched, switched again, and things get messy. Some of Spot's own newsies turn against him, like Fire. Some of Duke's join Spot, thinking he'd win out in the end. By then, it was all about self-preservation. Things got so bad that some of us even left Brooklyn altogether."

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked, interrupting him. "What do you mean by 'us'?"

He took a swig of his ale and gave a careless shrug, "Some of us…including me. I was with Duke's gang."

I gawked at him. "You mean you were with Duke? You were on his side?"

He smiled faintly. "What a face you're makin'."

I scowled. "You failed to mention that bit. Stop laughing; I didn't know."

"I know you didn't know, darling," He chuckled and said quite matter of factly, 'Yeah, me and me brother were da youngest kids in his gang then. He took me in when we lost our sister and parents."

I tried to hide my surprise the best I could. He had said it so clearly, so bluntly, with no trace of sadness or regret. There was a lot I did not know about Verge. And didn't expect.

He went on, "I didn't agree with his methods, but I didn't want to join Conlon's side and look like a traitor to all my friends. Plus Conlon was gettin' out of hand too. So I just up and left."

My head felt as though it was all spinning. All this intermingling, all these connections. "Who else," I asked tentatively, "Who else was on Duke's side?"

"Well…let's see," He raised his eyebrows in thought, his thumb playing upon the rim of his jug, "I know Jackal and Pithon, dey were also da original gang runnin' with Duke. Dey were with me. They wanted me to join Spot instead of just leavin'. But I never liked bein' tied down to things. Switching sides just meant switching leaders."

I looked at him. His sharp, defined features looked young, perhaps my age, but at the same time those assessing blue eyes were much more mature, and I realized for the first time that perhaps he was a lot older than he looked. Or experience and life had forced him to grow older faster than he deserved. He always looked as though he was on the verge of laughter with his twinkling eyes, and I wondered whether it was because he desperately wanted to be carefree. That was how it was with a lot of people who had lost something in their lives, I thought sadly. They joke, they laugh, they try to be happy, but inwardly they know nothing was ever going to be the same again. They just become experts at hiding from the world whatever they truly felt, because their mask becomes their only security.

Hadn't I felt the same when my brother died too? Verge and I were on the same boat life had put us in, and I felt a surge of sympathy for the young man sitting across from me.

"How did you become Harlem's leader?"

His smiled widened and he lifted his jug in my direction. "Dat is a story for another time."

I felt myself smile back and let it go. "Alright."

He took another swallow of ale. "Anyway, you know da rest. Things boil up until Brooklyn's split back into two again, Dis time though, a lot of Spot and Duke's boys had changed sides. Spot had Jackal and Pithon, for example. Duke got Hound and Lance. Lot of accusations flying around about sell-outs and traitors, but either way, dis was somethin' neither of da two leaders accounted for. Dey didn't think there would be any issue with loyalty. Instead, there was a lot of back-stabbin' going on," He smirked, "Am so glad I was out of it."

I rolled my eyes. "Aren't you so superior?"

He smirked.

"Those two kept puttin' off havin' a fight to finish it all. First of all, dey knew it wouldn't settle things because of de fight had gone all da way to their followers. It wasn't just dem; even if Duke lost, his boys wouldn't honor da fight, and neither would Conlon's. It's a real standoff. So Duke suddenly disappears, for a month.

No one believed he left for good. Sure enough, he turns up again. Dis time, he's actually become da leader of another borough. And yes, it's Queens. Dat's probably why he's holed up dere now. He has lots of connections dere. It's become an all out newsie war. No one was safe walkin' da streets alone. Real, vicious fights were breakin' out everywhere, and some people got seriously hurt, even killed. Not a pretty time.

Dis goes on for an entire year, da longest newsie brawl ever. Finally, it becomes clear dat da only option for it to end was for Spot and Duke to fight it out. Dere was so much casualties going on, and Conlon asked for da fight. He was da one who came to his senses to finally realize dat dose who shouldn't be involved were bein' forced into becoming involved. He lost some good kids…"

I don't want to see anyone getting hurt…Will you try?

He had agreed. Was it because he remembered what had happened when he hadn't cared about others? I winced, disconcerted all over again at the thought of Spot being responsible of such things…even though I knew it, just knowing thingsnever really did much for people did it?

"Now…you've never been in a real fight before."

I resented his matter of fact assuming tone. As though just seeing my scrawny self made it so obvious.

"No bricks, chains, stones. It's just you and your hands. But both Spot and Duke got knives on them, and their boys are all ready to pounce if anything dirty happens. Duke pulls his knife first, and he's a real good knife-fighter. Spot ain't half-bad himself, but he knows he's in trouble. He gets his out, and I remember this clear as day: Duke starts playin' with Spot, gets too cocky after drawing first blood. But Spot tricks him into lowering his guard, and Duke gets hurt real bad. Da fight's over, it's won as fairly and as equally as it began, and Conlon's on top. Queens drag Duke away, half-dead, and everything just falls flat. People thought he really died; he got scarred up and everythin'."

He gave me a wry shrug. "Until now, at least. I mean, he ain't no superhero, but he's got some mad system in him to have survived."

All I could say was: "Oh."

I'm not sure what bothered me more. The fact that some of the Brooklynites I knew had actually been on Duke's side made me feel uncomfortable. The fact that Spot was responsible for some of his boys' deaths made me uncomfortable. The fact that he practically slaughtered Duke too, made me uncomfortable. The fact that he seduced and then hurt a girl Duke truly loved made me truly uncomfortable.

Or was it the fact that I was uncomfortable making me feel uncomfortable?

I'm thinking in circles.

Did it mean that I didn't love Spot enough because right now, I wasn't readily forgiving him, accepting everything he did in the past, understanding that he wasn't the same. In fact, I felt quite sick. Was this shallow of me? Was I in fact, judging him right now?

For some reason, the word 'judge' made things suddenly very, very clear in my head. I relaxed, calming down. I was not being judgmental. Everyone would react the same way if they learned that the boy they loved had done awfully terrible things, that is, if they found out such specifics. But I didn't plan on changing anything. I wasn't going to go home now, and tell Spot that I planned on ending our relationship. There was a difference with recognizing things for what they are and judging people…

He was different now. He said it himself, and since that certainly wouldn't have been trustworthy, I have to add that everyone else had been telling me too. Spot had changed, and although I wasn't pompous or smug enough to say that it was all because of me, things had caused him to change, and I suspected one small factor very well might have been me. No matter what people like Philip said about change, it does happen, and it did. Why should I be skeptical of something I myself had professed to exist? Change existed in people, and it had happened in Spot. And who was I to deny it from him?

I looked up and once again, there was that sharp, unflinching, almost hard gaze trained on me. I met it evenly. "What is it?"

Verge wrapped his hands around his jug of ale. "Now," he replied firmly, "Now, I've told you everything. I've told you da whole messed up tale of Brooklyn's darker times."

I smirked at his elaborate words. No matter what you thought of Verge, you have to admit he had a knack with words despite his thick accent and bad grammar. "Yes?"

"Now," he repeated, "I want to know what you plan on doin' with dis information."

I opened my mouth to say something nonchalant, like, "Nothing at all," or even something very courageous, like "To fight this fight with a clear mind," but it just didn't work. I closed my mouth and once again, I saw that there was a hard, assessing glint in Verge's eyes. What was with that look? Why did he suddenly look so suspicious all the time?

Suspicious.

That was what that look was. It was suspicious, through and through, and not only was it suspicious, it was wary and analyzing. My eyes widened and I abruptly realized within the space of two seconds what Verge had been up to all this time.

He suspected me.

That was why he had looked so surprised yet amused when I had voiced my own suspicions about him. That was why he actually agreed to talk to me in the first place. From the very start, I had been wondering at his willingness to just spill the entire story to me with nothing in return. I barely knew him. And he barely knew me, and he had been trying to guess where my allegiance lay.

Where my allegiance lay. What drama!

"Ace?"

He was waiting for an answer. I stifled an absurd giggle. The thought of someone suspecting me of being a traitor was horrifically ridiculous. But I could see Verge was not about to laugh. He had given me the information. That assessing look had kept trying to read my expressions, my answers, my wording throughout the story. I could only assume and hope that he had realized that my intentions were purely innocent. It was up to my reply now to confirm it.

And waiting around to answer certainly wouldn't make things better.

"I'll head home with a better understanding of it all. And even though I may or may not have much influence on anything going on around me, I will do my best not to let anything like what happened two years ago happen again."

Verge's face was serious. "Good answer."

Author's Note: Kind of a slow chapter. I've got bunches of twists written out for later on. Things are going to pick up pace from the next, and I'm trying to keep it as real and not as melodramatic as possible. Let me know any suggestions you have, any criticisms, whether the pace is too slow (though, like I said, it will pick up pace), and whether characters are in character or not. It's so hard to pick out one's faults by oneself, and I'd appreciate it if you guys spot any, to let me know. Love you loads!