Part II, Chapter V

April 10, 1902

Brooklyn, New York

Piercing, slit blue eyes locked their position between two, small wooden pegs. He reeled his right arm back, the familiar sound of stretched rubber band filling his ear.

"I ain't done nothin''!" the Crown Heights boy whimpered helplessly, crouched down with his arms bound at his back. "I swears!"

The pathetic, sobbing victim was in the direct line of fire for not only Spot Conlon, but Spot Conlon's slingshot. He pressed his lips together and furrowed his eyebrows, thinking.

"Then why'd we see yer sorry ass runnin' like hell when we got up to the street, Johnny?" interrogated Bolt, who stood with his back against the only light pole within distance at the docks. As he cupped a hand over his match, lighting a cigarette, he added, "Explain that to us."

"I was--ARGH!"

Spot fired a warning shot mere inches from Johnny's face. The marble ricocheted off the wooden plank and into the dark, murky waters of the Hudson.

"Jesus! Jesus Christ, you almost shot me in the eye, you crazy bastard!"

"Shut the fuck up. Remembah who you'se talkin' to, Crown Heights."

Spot, who always kept two marbles in the nook of his fingers to reload in a hurry, placed another marble and shot once more at the dock near Johnny's trembling body.

"CHRIST!"

Johnny stumbled over and rolled onto his back, squirming like a dying cockroach. He panted in between curses, and closed his eyes tight facing the night sky.

"Calm down, Johnny, we ain't gonna kill ya," reassured Spot; though the cold, deadened tone of his voice sounded as if he meant the opposite.

"Yeah, we'se gonna have a little fun first! Right, Conlon?" laughed Bolt.

Spot ignored Bolt's crack and grabbed the collar of Johnny's shirt, jerking him upward. Johnny remained in a coiled position with his eyes still shut. Spot carried the boy's scrawny, wiry frame hovering above the ground a few inches while he dragged him toward the bridge.

"Wh-What're you doin', Conlon?" asked Johnny frantically.

His feet kicked the newsie's legs so hard that his entire body writhed to break free. Spot, who was undeterred, dragged Johnny to the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Don't do it! I can't--I can't swim!"

Spot ignored the request and, in one swift movement, hoisted Johnny over the edge of the bridge. The boy from Crown Heights kicked and squirmed for his life, shredding any dignity and composure, dangling dizzily high above the menacing black water below him.

"Please! Bring me ovah! I'se done nothin'! "

With his knuckles white and splitting from holding Johnny only by his collar, Spot spoke so close to the boy's face, he could feel heat from the sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Johnny, you got balls tah call the cops on me! An' even though I might have respect for punks who do some crazy shit, you was just a dirty rat!"

"I already told ya! I don' even know Sonny! Why would I wanna get 'im shut down? Oh Christ…" Johnny turned his head and looked down.

"'Cause you an' yer Heights boys knew we was gonna be there last night! Guess how many 'a my boys is locked up because 'a yer little stunt last night, Johnny. Go 'head, guess!"

"Oh God, I don' know, Conlon, I don' know! Four, five…!"

"Twelve! Twelve, Johnny!"

Spot leaned forward, dipping Johnny lower from the edge of the railing. He looked into the boy's face, which was twisted with genuine terror and fear. After letting him hang a moment, Spot pulled him over the edge and tossed him to the ground where he, again, scrunched up into a ball like a cockroach.

Spot disregarded his thankful yet pathetic sobs and walked toward Bolt.

"Do we pitch 'im?"

"Nah," said Spot as he looked at Johnny, "I think we should lock 'im up fer a while."

Ten minutes later found Johnny bound and gagged wriggling within the arms of Spot and Bolt, who had carried him by his arms and legs . They dragged him up the stairs and into the bunkroom, where many of the boys turned to watch. Once they realized it had been Johnny, the boy who they had been discussing all day, the boy who had gotten the cops to bust Sonny's underground speakeasy the previous night and landed a dozen of them in jail, a few of them even spat in Johnny's direction.

They followed them to the furthest corner of the bunkroom, where a utility closet was located. As Spot tossed Johnny to the ground, Bolt set up two chairs outside. He scoped out the entire room of not-so-eager boys, since it wasn't anyone's favorite job to keep watch during the night whenever they brought home a captive.

"A'right, let's see what we got…"

The boys looked around the room, at each other, at the ground, anywhere except Bolt's scanning eyes. A few older boys in the back even dropped out and tiptoed back to their beds.

"I saw that! McCroy, Diggins, what, ya think I was born yesterday?" shouted Bolt.

A sigh of relief settled over the bunkroom. Spot slammed the door with a resounding bang and locked the door. He approached McCroy and Diggins in front of the entire group, and handed them the key to the closet.

"No one goes in there unless me or Bolt say so, a'right? Got a problem, wake one of us up. A'right? Got to bed."

Long into the night, as McCroy and Diggins stood guard, there came a quiet rustling outside the window across the bunkroom, past the showers, and close to the utility closet. McCroy pounded once on the closet door, warning Johnny to be quiet or else.

"Fuckin' rat."

The noise sounded once more. McCroy stood up and opened the closet door.

"I said, shut the fuck up!"

In the dark, it took McCroy a moment before he realized Johnny was sound asleep. He hadn't moved an inch since Spot threw him in there, and he was even snoring. McCroy looked around, searching for, perhaps, a real rat.

"Just punch 'im in the face, that'll make 'im shut up," suggested Diggins in a groggy voice.

McCroy shut the door. As he sat back down, Bolt entered the stall next to them. He asked how everything was working out, and Diggins answered, "jus' fine." McCroy's eyes shot to the window now, as the sound of slowed steps creeping up the fire escape.

"Bolt. Think someone's tryin' to break in," whispered McCroy harshly.

After flushing, Bolt walked out and peered out the window. The night hid the intruder's face well, and Bolt grabbed the nearest weapon he could he find: a loose board in the corner of the room. McCroy shook Diggins awake, and he asked if he should get Spot. Bolt shook his head, and moved to the wall away from the window.

The prowler made no hesitation in reaching for the window. As it slid open, very slowly, Bolt turned quickly and grabbed the intruder's collar.

"Not so fast! What the hell d'ya think you're--"

The only light in the city fell upon the intruder's face.

"Want me to get Conlon?" asked McCroy.

"No!" reacted Bolt fiercely. "No…They'll go in the closet fer now."

"Ya sure?"

"Positive." Bolt nodded and exhaled deeply. He stared, astonished. "Holy shit…"