Part I, Chapter IV

June 1, 1897

Brooklyn, New York

"I'm tellin' ya, Oliver, it's too risky…"

Spot Conlon entered the bunkroom of the lodging house late in the evening of a warm spring day. Interrupting, the Brooklyn leader, Oliver, and his second-in-command, Catch, stopped conversation and looked to the direction of the doorway. Spot stood still for a moment staring back. Catch stomped past him and down the staircase.

"What'd ya hear, Conlon?" asked Oliver in an exhausted tone of voice. He lowered himself to his mattress and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Nothin'," replied Spot, "'cept Catch sayin' it's too risky." He made his way over to his bunk and pulled a wooden box from underneath. Taking a seat on the bed, he pulled a small handful of marbles from the box and placed them in his pocket.

Oliver let out a tired sigh. He was only two years older than Spot, making him seventeen, but often times he carried the weight of a middle-aged man running an underground crime ring. He was the reigning ruler of Brooklyn and no part of that job was restless. He looked at Spot from across the room.

"Well, I might as well tell ya, then," the older boy said. "You'se be hearin' about it sooner er later from the boys."

"What's goin' on?" Spot looked up from his bunk.

"Thayer Street. That's what's goin' on. They'se got this gang ovah there that's causin' a whole mess 'a trouble. Now, I ain't one to stand in the way 'a some group 'a guys gettin' together an' messin' around a lil' bit, but they startin' to pick fights with us and crossin' our turf too much."

Spot nodded dutifully. He had heard about Thayer Street recently. They made a habit of pulling pranks and then turning in the newsies whenever they got caught. Just one week before, a group of Thayer Street boys started a fire on one of the sets of the theater and before anyone else could get to the police, Thayer Street told the cops that Patches, one of the younger Brooklyn newsies, was the one who started it. Patches got taken away to the refuge and nobody had heard from him since then.

"Catch thinks we shouldn't do anythin' about 'em 'cause they'se got more boys," added Oliver. He looked intently at Spot for a moment and asked sternly, "Whadda you think?"

The younger boy thought for a moment. Oliver had confided information in him like this before, so it was no surprise when he asked for Spot's input. After all, after declaring himself the most intimidating and bravest newsie in Brooklyn, Spot's opinion only added to a confidence which increased with every covert Brooklyn operation he had heard about. Oliver had taken a liking to the Irish fifteen-year-old.

"I gotta disagree with Catch," answered Spot. "I mean, what're ya gonna do if somethin' else happens? Ya gotta let 'em know they can't mess around and get away with it so easy. I say ya go in and show 'em whose turf they on."

Oliver nodded in agreement. "Yeah, yeah, exactly. God, Catch is gettin' soft lately. Ev'ry time I get woid 'a some group 'a boys that might be a threat, he gets all 'they'se bigger than us' and 'they'se got more weapons!' Turnin' into a goil."

"Turnin' into a pussy, is what is he is," blurted out Spot without reservation.

Oliver blinked. "Uh, yeah. Pussy. Yer right."


"So, guess what's happenin' on Thayer Street," prompted Spot. He hopped down from a crate box and caught his balance on an overturned pole which lied on the dock.

"Some newsies are holdin' up a bank and you're all gonna be rich when they get back," guessed Emma. She knocked a broken glass bottle from the top of a barrel and hoisted herself upon it. She watched Spot with skeptical eyes as he tried to stand up on the side of the cylindrical pole.

"Nice try." Spot hunched forward, then back again, trying to keep the pole from rolling out from underneath him.

"You're gonna fall and crack your head open and then I'm gonna have to explain to Oliver why you're such a dumbass," warned Emma.

Taking her advice, Spot stepped off and sat on a wooden crate box. He replied arrogantly, "I coulda stayed on fer longer. Just didn't feel like it. Anyway, Thayer Street's startin' to gang up on some 'a the newsies, Oliver's sayin'. Catch doesn't wanna get involved. Psh. Figures. "

"What d'you mean? 'Figures'? If Catch doesn't think it's a good idea, he might have a point. He's pretty much one of the leaders anyway." Emma looked to her right and flicked a pebble into the dark, murky water of the East River.

"Oliver's the one who makes all the decisions, Em. He asked what I'd do 'bout it, so I says ya gotta let 'em know who's in charge in Brooklyn. Maybe we'll go take 'em out er somethin'…"

Spot looked pensive as if hoping that would in fact take place. It didn't take a genius to figure out Spot was just plotting ways to become the most respected newsie in Brooklyn, no matter who got in the way. Emma rolled her eyes and hopped down from the barrel. She had heard him talk like this all the time and in some ways, it amused her.

"So, how're you gonna go about doin' that? Takin 'em out?"

"Simple. I just got a hold 'a some new shooters today." He jumped down to the dock and dug around his pocket, pulling out three marbles. He scoped out a row of glass bottles he had set up that afternoon on a wooden beam and retrieved the slingshot from his waistband.

"Showin' off again?" teased Emma.

"Nah. I don't gotta impress you."

Emma furrowed her eyebrows and looked at him sternly. "What's that mean?"

Spot glanced at Emma, at the bottles in the distance, then back at Emma again, who was making the offended face she always made. He had come to know that face very well in one and a half years they had become close friends. She wasn't truly upset, he could tell, but she was always hard to persuade.

"Uh, I just mean…" stammered Spot. "Yeah."

He also knew Emma well enough to know time healed almost everything with her. No matter how angry she could get over something, trivial or monumental, time would work against her and she would end up forgiving and forgetting. When the two of them had gotten into arguments, neither of them would back down. They were both as stubborn as they come, but Emma always managed to let things go more often than Spot. The quality contrasted directly with her stubbornness.

Emma rolled her eyes and walked over to his side, shaking off the comment. She picked up a marble and looked at it closely. Spot watched to see how she would handle one of his most prized possessions. Emma closed one eye and lined up her shot. She pulled back the rubber band and let go, and Spot watched the marble shoot through the air to shatter one of the glass bottles. Oblivious to her skill, Emma let out a "hm!" and set down the slingshot. Spot said nothing.

"Well, it's gettin' kinda late. I should get ya home," said Spot after he noticed how low the sun was setting in the distance. Emma fluffed off the idea she needed an escort and walked herself out of the docks as he kept up alongside her.

Spot knew they were only friends. They had been friends ever since he had located her key and tried to get it back to her. She had conveniently bumped into him more frequently and a bond grew out of it. Of course their relationship was strictly platonic, for Spot often treated her with the similar demeanor as one of the boys. But lately, he had been struggling with walking her home. He did fine up until they made it to the door to say goodbye.

"So, you're not getting in over your head with this Thayer Street business, are ya?" inquired Emma as she pulled a long, golden lock of hair to her fingers to untangle.

Spot paused. "What's it ta you?"

Emma knitted her eyebrows and made a face. "What d'you mean, 'what's it to me?'"

He shrugged and looked around to avoid her eyes. They had been tantalizing him recently. He never truly noticed just how green they were. When he looked back at her, he found himself moments later brushing back a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear when it fell into her eyes.

Emma hesitated. She looked up at him and pressed her lips together. "I have to get inside."

Spot dropped his hand and started to walk away. "Right. I'll, uh, see ya tomorrow."

"Spot." She waited until he turned around to face her. "You'll be okay, won't you?"

Without a word, he nodded his head. He committed the way she looked right now to his memory, for he felt the moment had to be saved somehow. Her face was flushed and her eyes full of concern, but still so agonizingly green. She walked inside and he made his way back to the lodging house.