Part I, Chapter VIII
June 17, 1897
Brooklyn, New York
The following days passed like a blur for Spot. He traveled with Oliver and Catch up and down Brooklyn and went to places he had never even known existed. Brooklyn was, apparently, much greater and larger than he anticipated. They made stops along the way to talk with local youth gangs and Spot hiked through more alleyways and underground meeting houses than he cared to see. They slept on the streets at night, ate twice a day, and walked until their legs gave out.
Catch made little conversation with Spot, and Oliver kept silent most of the time. When Spot had asked why they needed to talk with so many boys, Oliver simply looked at Catch to answer, who in turn spat back, "Why ya gotta ask so many questions? You'se just heah fer the experience."
Spot cursed him scathingly under his breath, to which Oliver laughed at and nodded in agreement. One thing was for sure, he thought, Spot would never let his second-in-command have this much authority, if ever he would rise to become leader.
After three days, five meetings, and feet so sore they had become numb, Spot stopped behind Oliver and Catch five blocks from their own territory. They stood in front of a small, Italian-owned diner named Mama's and he recognized it vaguely though he had never been inside. If he squinted while looking to his left, he could clearly make out the docks near the lodging house.
"Ya mean ta tell me we walked three straight days just ta end up heah? Make a complete circle from where we started?" asked Spot at the point of exhaustion.
"Bettah toughen you up, kid," cracked Catch. Placing a cap on his head which dipped below his eyes, he entered the restaurant.
"Leadahs don't just sit on their asses all day, Conlon," said Oliver, in a less insulting tone. "Ya gotta know this place and these people like the back 'a yer roughed up hand."
Moments later, Catch exited the restaurant, followed by three more Brooklyn boys. Cricket, Roller, and Dodger were the oldest newsies in the lodging house and Spot had rarely encountered them. They were all taller than him (that was for sure) and were by far much stronger. Spot put the addition of the three intimidating boys and the meeting with Thayer Street together, and he could see with Emma had been concerned.
Oliver spit shook with each of the boys and made quick conversations about their journey. He told them Hatterfield had been having problems with Thayer Street as well, and if they should need any support, the newsies had theirs. Red Hook had been difficult to decipher, though with enough persuasion, they swore their allegiance to them. Corker Bay and Miner's Alley desired to remain entirely neutral, while Jackson Street dismissed their proposal altogether. After replaying all the information, Spot felt dizzy.
The six newsies returned to Mama's. So this is Thayer Street, eh? thought Spot as he looked outside the window. He imagined where the gang dwelled in this area, and he thought of a dark, narrow alleyway littered with rats and trash. He imagined the leader sat like a king in his alley with a makeshift throne and subsequent, younger boys to carry out his dirty work.
So, it came as a surprise when Oliver told them they would be at Mama's for a while, and Spot put Thayer Street in this restaurant in his mind. It was late for lunch at Mama's and no customers sat in the dining room. Spot could hear shouts and laughter of a crowd of boys from the lower level.
"What can I get for you boys today?" A waiter appeared at the table, notepad in hand and pen prepared to write quickly. "Any late lunches I can get you?"
"Yes," replied Spot thankfully. "I'll have—OW!"
Before Spot could finish his order, Roller had dealt a deafening smack to the back of his head.
"What the hell was that?"
"We'll take six waters. Thanks," resolved Oliver.
The waiter paused and turned on his heels.
"Rule number one: Don't evah be served any type 'a food er alcohol in another territory, especially if you ain't s'posed to be there," scolded Roller.
"Yeah, ya nevah know who spit in yer pasta or took a piss in yer soup," added Cricket bluntly.
Spot sighed and put his hand over his stomach. "What exactly are we waitin' for?"
"Ask some more questions, why don'tcha, Conlon?" snapped Catch with a roll of his eyes.
"Hey," Oliver jabbed Catch in the side with his elbow. "Kid's got a right to know what he's gettin' into."
"Yeah," agreed Dodger. He leaned over the table and examined Spot with careful eyes. "Especially if you guys packed 'im with two knives an' a pistol, when I heard all he carries is a slingshot. No offense."
Spot's skin crawled with goosebumps in the places he had been keeping protection. He had had no use for the weapons yet, but the barrel of the gun suddenly crushed into his hip bone; the smooth side of the blade froze his ankle; and the pocketknife felt a pound heavier than before. The bell above the doorway chimed and in ran a scowling young boy in tattered clothing. He stopped in his tracks and glared at the six newsies in front of him. Spot made eye contact with him and the boy tore off toward the basement. Spot opened his mouth to speak, when a knowing Catch gave him an icy stare.
Just as the waiter brought their glasses of water, the basement door opened and in walked a short, rough-looking boy no older than Oliver. His face was round and mean with lifeless brown eyes and ever-present knitted brows. A small congregation of boys from below began filing into the dining room and the employees of Mama's disappeared conveniently into the kitchen. Oliver and Catch stood up and approached who Spot assumed to be the leader of Thayer Street.
Cricket, Roller and Dodger sat casually in their seats with suspicious eyes and Spot's hand gripped his water tightly. He felt a kick in his leg and Cricket made a face at him.
"Relax," he advised, "yer nerves is written all ovah yer face."
The Thayer Street boys filled the dining room in random places, sitting in the booths and at empty tables. They simulated a swarm of insects about to pester their prey as a whole. They stared down the newsies with threatening eyes. One boy pulled a chair on Spot's side of the table, and though he didn't look at him, Spot could feel him glaring. The boy took hold of Spot's water, hocked back forcefully, and spat directly into it.
"Thanks fer that," responded Spot sarcastically. He slowly let go and put his hands in his pockets. He looked behind him and, through the swarm of boys, could see Catch speaking with animated gestures to their leader.
"You boys ain't lost, are ya?"
A tall and lanky Thayer Street boy placed his hands on the backs of the chairs of Cricket and Dodger. He resembled a hawk the way his long arms stretched over the boys and his dark choppy hair greased atop his head.
"No, we're good, thanks," replied Roller with a fake smile. He chugged his water and wiped clean his mouth as though he were thoroughly satisfied.
Moments later, the leader of Thayer Street resonated throughout the dining room with a forceful punch to the table surface. He, along with Oliver and Catch, rose from their seats. Spot looked back and saw the rival's leader cross his arms over his chest when Oliver held is hand out to shake. The Thayer Street ruler watched coldly the backs of Oliver and Catch as they walked away. Cricket, Roller, and Dodger got up and Spot nervously followed suit.
Spot felt calmer once he tasted the fresh air just outside the door, until Oliver said to them in a fierce, low voice, "Run."
"What?"
"Run!"
A marble shattered the window of Mama's beside them and missed Spot by an inch. The newsies took off down the street like a crack of lightning. They ran into bystanders, shoving them violently aside, and sprinting as though the devil were on their heels. Spot looked back for an instant and saw a group of hollering boys chasing after them. He tried his best to keep up with his newsies, even when they scattered the street in a hurry.
Spot had fallen behind after coming to barriers in his way; merchants, women and children, vendors with products on their shoulders. He watched Catch, the leading sprinter, dozens of yard away, rounding the corner. Suddenly, Spot felt a tremendous weight collide fall into his back and he collided with the ground. A ruthless boy had him pinned down with his face crushed hard to the dirt. Spot reeled back his elbow and blindly shoved it into the boy's face, feeling the Thayer Street boy's teeth colliding with his arm. He started to pull the pistol from his waistband and the boy sliced the flesh of Spot's cheekbone, tearing the flesh open in one fluid motion. Spot belted out a painful howl and let go of his weapon.
As he held his bleeding face, the weight of the boy lifted and Spot was hoisted up to his feet forcefully.
"You all right?" panted Oliver quickly.
Spot nodded, retrieved his pistol from the ground, and they continued running. They had rounded the corner a great distance from Mama's, and just when Spot thought they had lost them, he looked back and saw one of the boys had stopped to aim his pistol directly towards them. Spot called for Oliver to get back and he yanked him aside into an alley. The crowd between the boys had parted with the sound of the bullet slicing through the air, and Spot pulled the trigger of his gun.
He was unsure if he had hit the boy or not, but Spot knew his aim was usually dead-on and he rarely missed with a slingshot. Exhausted, he leaned his entire body against the alley as the caught his breath. His hand tingled with an exhilarating sensation from the force of the pistol.
"Nice goin', Conlon," said Oliver in between breaths. He doubled over with his hands gripping his knees. "Ya okay?"
Spot brought his hand to his face and smeared the warm, scarlet blood onto his fingers. "Yeah…I'm fine."
"Good to know ya go my back, kid."
"Yeah. Same heah."
The shrill cry of the police whistle was heard in close proximity. The boys bolted down the alley and out of sight back to the lodging house.
