One roll of the dice, One flip of a knife

Chapter eleven: Planning

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!

Fans of 'For Brooklyn'. The third story is up, with one chapter so far. Just letting you all know. -grin- don't kill me?

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"STOP HIM!" An angry, adult voice made Spot's head jerk up in shock. He hadn't done anything! ...Had he? Honestly...his grip tightened around the cane at his side, but he loosened it upon realizing he was not the one being told to stop.

That was a first. Usually it was him.

Silver-blue eyes looked on curiously as a tall, dark haired teen wearing a large dark jacket, slid along the ground with a grace he found himself admiring, right ahead of the merchant he had taken the food from.

Leaping up, one handed, the stranger grabbed a hold of a shop's overhang, using it as leverage to get over a covered cart in his path, hitting the ground on the other side lightly, before taking off again.

'He moves like liquid.' Spot realized in slight awe. The thief didn't so much as run as he flowed across the ground, pausing at the corner to look back briefly, eyes half-lidded as he took a decent bite from the apple in his hand.

Before smirking and disappearing into the crowd.

And Spot would swear the other looked right at him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

There was a reason why Ace was named Ace.

And it was not because he had a knack of getting out of cages.

Growling in frustration, the teen slammed his fists against the bars, eyes a touch wild and teeth biting hard on his bottom lip. What a mess this was. He had shown up to help his friend, and now he was behind bars, and Race was god-knows-where.

Letting his forehead touch the cold metal, his eyes flashed a deep blue, ice running through his veins. He knew what greed did to men, he knew what could happen if Race was left alone with that snake of a man, Owens, for too long.

And he would be dammed if he saw his friend broken.

Backing up, Ace took a look around the room again, eyes narrowed and calculating. There had to be a way to get out of this room. Everything had a weakness, you just had to recognize and find it.

Barren walls, a small cot, the barred door. Even if he could manage to find something to pick the lock with, there was no guarantee he could get the door open. He wasn't the most experienced lock picker, and the lock itself looked old.

However, old was good. Old was very good. Because there were ways to weaken it, until it broke or he could pull something loose. It was worth a shot at least. Rearing back, he gave an experimental kick to the door, close to the lock. That presented him with a throbbing foot, and he congratulated himself silently on his immense amount of wisdom.

But he wasn't about to give up. Not by a long shot.

Yes, there was a reason why Ace was named Ace.

And it was because no matter what the situation, no matter what was going on...Daniel Cardoni was always a step ahead. Even when you thought he was down, he always managed to surprise you.

He always had an ace up his sleeve.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"I assume there was a reason for that." Jack said dryly as Red finished off the apple, tossing the core over his shoulder, and pulling the brim of his cap down over his eyes. "Or do you just like havin middle-aged merchant men chasin ya down the street?"

The ex-leader chuckled, stretching his back and peering at Jack with sparkling emerald eyes. "You know me, Cowboy."

"Yes I do."

That had been why he asked.

"Of course dere was a reason." He shrugged, trying to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. He wasn't a kid anymore. He had to be more careful. However, after that, he said no more and just stared out at the open water, chin cradled in one hand.

"...And do I get ta know said reason?" Jack raised an eyebrow, leaning over a bit so he could see his friend better. "Or am I ta forevah remain in the dark?"

Smiling, the other gave him that wonderful shrug of his that meant everything and nothing. "Sometimes not knowing is a good thing, Francis Sullivan."

"And sometimes it hurts those we care about most, Collin Russiani."

It was silent for a moment, and then Red pulled his cap off, placing it on his lap as strands of his ebony hair fell into his eyes. Pursing his lips slightly, he looked at Jack from the corner of his eye and nodded.

"All right, Jack. You have me there. I'll tell you what im planning."

Satisfied now, the Manhattan leader sat up straight, all ready to listen to his friend, when Red jumped to his feet, smirking down at him with that annoying, cocky as ever, Brooklyn smirk.

"That is, you can see for yourself if you can keep up."

And for the second time in one day, Red Russiani had someone chasing him.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Spot sighed, leaning back to stare up at the starless and dreary sky. The moon was waxen and dull, sending no light, no warmth into his soul. It was just as he was deep inside, cold, and dead.

Now that Brooklyn was cut off, now that no outsider could dare step onto the bridge, now that all of that had happened...He no longer heard Red's soft voice, no longer heard Race laughing as he won yet another hand at poker. His land felt empty, his men meek and quiet.

And Race and Red...They had been Brooklyn boys, were Brooklyn boys. He had had no right to kick them out of their home...But he had anyway.

"What do you think you are DOING! You HAVE to stop this!"

Spot bit his lip, head bowing over his chest as his fingers gripped his hair, pulling on it so hard it hurt. How could he do this, what was wrong with him! His family, his friends...

Race.

He felt around in his pocket, frantically searching as he finally pulled the glittering watch in his hand. Pooling the chain into his cupped palm, running his fingers over the engraved cover, letting it soothe away his sorrow, much like Racetrack used to do.

He had to stop, but he didn't know how. He had made such a mess out of things, he had no idea nor clue where to start to fix it. Flipping the lid with his thumb, his eyes fell on something odd, something he had never noticed before.

The watch's hands were stuck at 11:58.

He frowned, realizing for the first time, that it had been this way even before it had landed in his possession. He could remember its frozen hands when he was a child. But what did that mean?

Hadn't Race's foster father died at noon?

Angry tears bit at his eyes, threatening to spill over and arch down his face in hot lines. He had been so cruel to the other boy, so ruthless and cold, a monster. He had sworn once to never end up like those he hated.

And he had become that which he hated most.

He had even turned his back when Race had needed him more then ever, leaving him there in that jail cell, dashing his hopes and betraying his trust. Spot had looked back only once, in time to see those eyes shatter into thousands of glittering pieces that could never be put back together.

"God, Red...I cant do this...I need your help...I've been such a fool.." One silver tear fell down his cheek, rolling across the skin before catching and holding, reflecting the dim light.

"Well...at least you've finally caught on."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Sorry about the delay you guys! School, ya know how that goes.

But how was the chapter?

And anyone venture to guess why the watch is stuck like that?

-doubts anyone will be close-

and do I have to ask who the person at the end of this chapter was?

-grins- make sure you all leave me a review!