One roll of the dice, One flip of a knife

Chapter nine: Capture

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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"What do we have here?"

Ace's heart was in his throat and he gripped Race hard as he backed up, eyes never leaving the face of Mr. Owens, current owner of Sheepshead. He was a greedy man, not small by any means, and was known for cheating customers of their money.

The Bronx leader could bet anything he was also the one who had started that mob the other day at the track. This wasn't good. Not good at all. "Nuttin." He said calmly, hoping ignorance would get them through this. Maybe he didn't know who Race was. "What is a distinguished gentleman like yourself doing out here?"

"Cut the polite act and give me the kid." Owens snapped, taking a step toward them.

Well...it had been worth a shot at least.

On to Plan B.

"You really think im that stupid?" He asked as he took a sharp stab at Owen's knee, hearing it pop under his foot. "How about you cut the crap and call your men out!" He snapped as he shifted Race in his arms, and ran.

"AHH! GET THEM!" Owens shouted as he fell to his side on the concrete, clutching his knee in pain. "GET THEM!"

Men jumped off the surrounding rooftops, trying to cut Ace off before he could get out into the marketplace streets. But no one had ever said Ace wasn't fast. Dodging the first man, he leapt on top of a cart, kicking another man in the jaw.

A hand closed around his ankle and he stumbled, twisting his body around so Race was above him, protected. He hit the cart hard, a crack sounding as his arm was jammed between. He yelled out in shocked pain and kicked at the hand holding him.

Free, he half fell, half jumped off the cart and knew before he even tried, he wasn't going to be able to support Race with his newly broken arm. But that didn't stop him from trying. Ace Cardoni didn't give up.

He got a few more feet before they caught him.

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"Are you sure about this, Red?" David asked for the tenth time since Red had first started to put his plan into motion, wringing his hands, which were slightly stained a light gray. "I mean... it's a good idea...but what if he catches you?"

Red snorted, looking in the glass and turning so he could see himself. "Do you really think he would attack me, Davey?"

The silence that met his question made him turn around.

"...We're just worried, thats all." Jack said gently, "Spot...aint himself, Red. Its not fair to ask you to risk your life when we wont."

"Risk my life? Spot's my..well, he's my son. Jack, you should know he would never..." The ex-leader's voice faded out. His heart was telling him one thing, his mind was telling him another. "He wouldn't, all right. He wouldn't."

"If you say so, Red."

"Don't mock me, Blink." Red snarled, his anger threatening to come to the top. "You don't know him like I do. Don't act like you do."

Blink held up his hands, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry, sorry. But I agree with Jack. You shouldn't be going alone, no matter what. Take someone with you."

"I'll go. I need to go." This was from Munch, who was in the back, not at all pleased with what little information the others had been able to give him. His eyes were shards of ice, piercing through them.

"No, you need to go back to Bronx. Without Ace there, you're leader." Jack wasn't saying anything the other didn't already know, but it needed to be said. Munch needed to be there; Bronx couldn't go without a leader. "...I'm goin."

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Spot was in no mood to listen to his newsies.

That was the first thing that the other noticed when their leader had come down to eat. He didn't look at them, except to glare, he didn't talk to them, except to yell. When Spot Conlon, who, by far wasn't as hypocritical and mean to his men as many made him out to be, lashed out silently as his boys...

There was a serious problem.

One would think the attacking of said newsies would have been enough to classify a serious problem, but that wasn't true. Spot had always been physical, as was most, if not nearly all, of Brooklyn itself. They had been confused and hurt at the attacks, but they understood them.

This they didn't understand. Not at all.

"Im goin out." Spot snapped when he had finished eating, grabbing his hat and plopping it on his head. "Dis place bettah be neat when I get back."

He slammed the door behind him as Shorty and Docks exchanged identical looks of an unreadable emotion. "Well..." Shorty said carefully, picking up a plate. "...Guess its time to start cleanin, eh?"

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Brooklyn always could make him feel better. No matter what happened, if he could walk down his streets, it wasn't that bad. He would travel the same route over and over again, from the lodging house, to the church steps, to his bridge, to...

Pausing, Spot sighed, a soft breath easing from his lips. It was funny how much could change in so little a time. Years ago he had lived in a slum, with a father who hated him, and a mother who didn't even know he existed. His sister had been the one to convince him he needed to go on with his life. To excel past their parents.

But how does one do that, exactly?

Staring down his old street, Spot felt his anger rise up. Bending down swiftly, his fingers found a rock and he pitched it as far as he could. He didn't have quite enough strength to reach his old home, however, and he turned away, disgusted.

At himself...At them...Maybe a little bit of both.

"Matthew, why don't you listen? Just listen for once! You cant live your life alone...It just doesn't work that way. You need friends, so they can help you, pull you through the rough times, keep you from falling. You cant do this alone. You just cant." Caroline pleaded with him, her eyes identical to his own.

He hated those eyes.

"Stupid sistah. You don't know what you're talkin bout." Spot snapped, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "I don't need anyone."

Not now. Not ever.

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Ace groaned when they tossed him into the cell, rolling over a few times before he stopped, clutching his arm to his chest. Eyes full of pain and fury, he moved to his knees, just as they slammed the door hard in his face.

Growling, he slid up against the wall, breathing harsh. Moving his arm he bit back a snarl as pain lanced up his entire left side. Carefully slipping out of his shirt, he tore at the material with his teeth, able to get a few decent sized strips from it before he threw it to the side.

Carefully maneuvering around - this was not a feat that should be tried with only one person - Ace fashioned himself a sling for his arm, making sure it wouldn't move too much. When he was satisfied, he got to his feet, wobbling a little unsteadily.

He had to get out of this cell.

Because they had Race.

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-sighs- im sorry you guys. School online sucks, and I had vacation...and then I finish this, and it sucks. Im sooo sorry. -hugs- please forgive me?