One roll of the dice, One flip of a knife

Chapter two: An adventure

By: Ambrlupin

Rated: M

Summary: Race has gotten himself in way over his head on the wrong side of the bridge. Can Spot Conlon get him out of it? Or will Manhattan blood be shed on Brooklyn soil? (Friendship or slash, however you want to look at it)

Disclaimer: if I did own newsies would I settle for not making money of it? Nuff said.

A/N: Second newsies fic! Hehehe, this is what happens when I read too many Spot and Race centric fanfics. -smile- hope ya like it!

For those of you who read 'For Brooklyn' there might be cameo appearances from the ever wonderful Docks, Shorty, and Ace...we'll just have to see. Red IS in here, though.

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Spot Conlon.

He was the leader of Brooklyn, a person whose name brought a shiver down most men's spines, made them sit up and take notice, his very presence ceased voices, froze the bravest of the brave. He commanded with an iron fist and used it to back himself up. Everyone listened to him, respected him.

Except for Racetrack Higgins.

There was no real reason as to why Spot thought of him now, hadn't seen him since the strike, actually. The annoying kid made it a habit to pop up every now and then for a poker game in which all the men involved lost to him, but he hadn't been around in a while.

Race had once been a fellow newsie of Brooklyn, a while ago when Red had still been leader, but he had left them for Manhattan. Didn't say a word to anyone, just packed his stuff and left. Even Red hadn't known what to make of it.

Turns out he had just switched sides.

Tapping the end of his cigarette he frowned, leaning back and watching the smoke drift toward the lazy afternoon sky. It was overcast, giving them all a reprieve from the week's heat. Clouds promised rain, it seemed like, and soon too.

Pulling the brim of his cap down he watched the docks as more and more of his men came home ragged and weary. Brooklyn wasn't for sissies. If you were going to sell papes here, you had to work for it.

A small smile of pride touched his lips, then. His boys were the best of the best, each seasoned and worth his wealth. Spot couldn't have been happier being their leader. Oh, he didn't like it all the time, particularly when one of them decided they wanted to have a turn as head-honcho, but overall it wasn't bad.

He still had to go out and do his share, of course, but he always got a little under what he knew he could sell, just to make sure he was home in time to relax and watch the others come home. He was always watching, always on guard.

He had learned that lesson well.

Shrugging his shoulders a little he sighed, puffing the last on his cigarette before throwing it over the side of his perch. He propped his leg up on the ledge in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.

He felt uneasy, and hadn't a clue why.

The youth hadn't truly felt like this in quite a while, all bunched up, waiting for something to fall upon him like a bat out of hell. He couldn't get comfortable, couldn't relax no matter what he did. He had tried reading, had tried sitting by himself and thinking. So far none of it was working. He needed adventure, he needed a challenge.

Only one thing to do.

He stretched his back as he stood, bracing one hand on the wall as he jumped it, catching a hold of the wooden framework that ran up a few feet from the building, scaling down it with the ease of a master. He had done this a lot, it would seem. He had barely touched the ground before a voice halted him.

"Goin' somewhere, kid?"

There was only one person who could call him that and not get snapped at because of it. He turned, a smile on his face, "Maybe. Why, gonna miss me, Red?"

Red grinned at him, leaned back against a beam, "As always," He placed a hand against his chest, his red hair falling into his eyes. "My heart will ache because of your absence."

He snorted, a hand laying lightly on the head of his cane, not because he was afraid or on edge, just because it was how he usually stood. "You're full of it."

Red had basically raised Spot, taken him in, trained him to be a newsie and future leader, molded him into becoming a honorable man, a man worthy of Brooklyn. He hadn't done a bad job, all things considered, and Spot would trust him, had trusted him, with his life.

"Yeah, I know." His hand went behind his head as he leaned back. "So, where ya headin'?" His sharp emerald eyes pinned Spot down without even trying to.

The younger shrugged, he was used to the gaze, "Around, tryin to take my mind off things. Maybe down to the track or whatnot."

The former leader raised his eyebrow, "Still gettin those headaches?"

It was a code they had worked out. His headaches were his feelings, and Spot nodded to tell him he had guessed right. "I shouldn't be gone long. Get the bois in if im not 'ere, its gonna rain tonight."

After some more playful banter the leader left on his walk, hands in his pockets, the golden end of his cane glinting in the veiled and dying sun. He was taking the trip to stop thinking, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

He was finding it quite difficult to stop thinking about Race.

It had hurt a lot when the other had left, especially since he hadn't said a word to his best friend, leaving him there to stare at the empty bunk, wondering what had happened. Why he would leave right when business was booming, why he would leave...him.

Spot had gotten over it, of course, but when he had seen Race one day, selling papes on the edge of Brooklyn, he couldn't stop the feeling of betrayal, couldn't keep it from spreading to every edge of his being, out and out and out...

He still didn't know what had made Race leave, come to think of it. He wanted to ask, every time he saw the poker player, but he couldn't. It brought up so many memories, some happy, some not, but all of them painful.

Betrayal was one of the highest crimes to the newsies of New York, and in Spot's mind, Racetrack Higgins was guilty of it, no matter how many times he laughed and joked with him, he was a betrayer. And that was something the leader of Brooklyn would never forget.

What he wanted to forget, however, was that he had ever cared about Race.

But then, why was he going down to the Sheepshead Racetrack, hoping to run into him?

Cursing at himself he turned to go home, after all, what good was the walk doing? When he heard it, the commotion coming from the racetrack. Frowning he paused and looked back over his shoulder. What in the world was going on?

Making his way down the road he came to the corner and his eyes nearly doubled in size. A large crowd of people were pouring out of the gates, some waving clubs and others fumbling for knives. Never, in all of his life, had he seen such a sight.

But, somehow, he wasn't surprised to see the very person he was thinking about in the middle of it all. Race looked frantic, and for good reason, those people looked ready enough to commit murder. And why not? It was Brooklyn, after all.

He waited until the other newsie was close enough to hear him and then, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping, he demanded. "What are you doing?"

"Runnin!" He cried, reaching out and grabbing a hold of the other's arm, "Come on!"

Spot was so startled he couldn't do anything but keep his feet under him as he was drug all over his territory, eyes still wide as the mob continued to follow them, their voices crying out for the other to stop and give up. Dear lord, what had Race DONE!

However, he couldn't help the thought that crossed his mind, laced with dry humor and sarcasm. 'I wanted some adventure. Guess I found some.'

Now the only question was why?

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There ya go, ya rabid Spot fans. A chapter centered all on him! -smile-

NOW I expect lots and lots of reviews! I got this up early for you peeps!

Click on the 'submit review' button on the bottom left of your screen!

GOOOOOO!