Part II, Chapter IX

April 11, 1902

Brooklyn, New York

Lucky poked his head around the corner of the warden's office. His shaking hands made the soup on the tray he was holding spill a few drops over the rim of the bowl. The warden Reynolds looked up through glaring eyes at the noise of the rattling tea cup just outside his office door.

"Well, don't just stand there, boy, I'm hungry!" he snapped.

Lucky felt a nudge from behind him and he walked into the room. He stared at the soup. Swiftly and without making eye contact, he set the tray onto Reynolds's desk, and turned on his heels.

"Hey!"

Stopping on the dime, Lucky spun back around. Reynolds pointed to his soup and the trembling newsie felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Forgot my spoon," finished Reynolds with a condescending tone.

Lucky nodded and rushed out the door. As soon as he turned down the hallway, he was faced with a spoon. Three of the Brooklyn boys who had been arrested at Sonny's stared at him with a combination of encouragement and earnestness. Lucky swallowed his heart down his throat and grabbed the spoon, which one of the boys had given him, to return it to Reynolds, who sighed with impatience.

"It's been twenty minutes, he's gotta be out soon," commented Eyes. He squinted as hard as he could from the top of the staircase into the small window of Reynolds's office door. The warden sat at his desk, scanning the account book and thumbing through bills and coins.

"Tricks, ya put it in there, right?" asked Eyes doubtfully.

"Yeah, I put in double what ya told me!" answered Tricks, crouched behind him.

The dozen boys who were captured that night had had their eyes glued to the warden's office, waiting, as if it were their last hope. Then, Reynolds stopped moving. He stared in front of him, his eyes glazed over, slowly slumping forward onto his desk. His eyelids fluttering, he lost grip of the money and his head hit the surface with a thud, and he was unconscious.

"He's out, he's out!" cried Eyes, leaping up.

"Twist, go!" called Tricks.

The small boy ran towards the window; daunting, black bars quartering the inmates inside were nothing but a task to Twist. He took his screwdriver and twisted the heads of the nails around at lightning fast speed.

"Don't get flustered, he'll be out a good hour at least," said Tricks.

Twist did not listen and worked quickly and efficiently, undoing the nails fervently. He caught the structure of bars and set them on a nearby bunk so as not to make a noise dropping it to the floor. Twist leaned his entire body out the window and gave a thumbs-up to the rooftop.

"A'right, we're dropping down the ropes!" called Spot in a loud whisper.

One by one, the dozen Brooklyn boys shimmied down the side of the building holding onto the ropes. Bolt stood waiting to greet them when they got to the bottom. He stood next to the entrance to the jail with his arm outstretched at the ready for anyone to exit.

"Hope yer stay was nice, boys!" said Bolt as the first boys dropped down. "Welcome back to freedom."

Bolt watched each newsie who landed on the street with a sigh of relief. He looked up at Spot, who was safe from hearing distance, and waited for one boy in particular to drop down.

"Eyes…c'mere a second…"

Bolt explained to the fifteen-year old--who had acquired his own seedy apartment with a group of other boys who worked in factories around Brooklyn--that he needed a favor. He told him his sister was visiting him and that there was no way he was going to let her stay in the bunkroom. He would pay for her board; he just wanted to keep her safe.

"Yeah, 'a course, no problem," answered Eyes.

"She's at the lodging house right now in the utility closet in the bunkroom."

Eyes looked puzzled and somewhat shocked. "What…Why?"

"Don't ask questions, I don't got time to explain, a'right? I need you to get back to the lodgin' house an' take 'er home with you. Don't tell anyone what yer doin', and if they ask just tell 'em yer doin' me a favor. Okay?"

Eyes looked suspicious and agreed hesitantly, "Okay…Can we talk about this more tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, yeah, just go!"

Bolt pushed him down the street toward the lodging house where the rest of the captured had already started running.


Emma felt her stomach lurch with hunger.

"I can't believe they do this to people like you," she said to Johnny, whom she could not see in the pitch black space of the cramped closet.

"People like me?"

"Yeah, I mean, you had to have done something to be treated like this. What, did you not sell enough papers or something?" Emma breathed a cynical, pathetic laugh and shook her head.

Johnny sighed helplessly and replied, "No. They all think it was me who called the cops on 'em when they was at Sonny's the night it got shut down."

"What? You got Sonny's shut down?" Her voice rose slightly with feeling.

"No! That's the thing. I was in the neighborhood but I didn't do nothin' like that."

"So why'd they kidnap you and throw you in here if you didn't do it?"

"'Cause I was in the neighborhood when it happened and I'm from Crown Heights. Why would they believe me?" said Johnny with a tone that suggested she was slow to pick up on the concept.

"Yeah, I got that, but didn't you tell 'em it wasn't you? No offense, but it doesn't seem like you'd be the type to piss off Spot Conlon or any of his boys…"

"Exactly, I'm not! I would nevah get myself mixed up with a guy like Conlon. Ya know the reputation he's got? He'll kill ya soon as look at ya, an' if anythin' happened to 'is boys, yer definitely dead. Frankly I think I'm gettin' treated like royalty."

"Royalty? You've gone out of this closet only a few times in almost a week, and they're not even feeding you. They're treating you like some kind of prisoner--"
"You don't know Spot Conlon! Ya know, I can see why they'd think I called the cops. Spot's got a long list 'a gangs on 'is bad side, it's only fittin' he'd scope out the first person he saw that night and try to take 'em out. Not to mention, Spot don't like Crown Heights 'cause it ain't his, an' I really think they'se just keepin' me heah to prove somethin', not that his sterling reputation needs any improvin'."

Emma heard Johnny loud and clear. Spot was just trying to prove something by holding Johnny captive. The familiar feeling of anger slowly trickled into her stomach as the memories of young Spot rising to power filled her mind. She always tried to keep him in line--she hated when he got too cocky. It disgusted her. She could only imagine what the older, more powerful Spot Conlon would be like now.

"I'm sorry, Johnny. Believe it or not, I know how you feel," said Emma solemnly.

"Uh, how could ya possibly know how I feel?"

"Because I know Spot better than anyone. I was there for his beginnings. I've seen him fail. I've seen him be human. You said Spot was trying to prove something--I know exactly what you mean by that."

Johnny paused and shifted around on the floor.

"Who exactly are you?"

"My name's--"

"Emma?" asked a new voice with a knock on the door.

She rose hesitantly and answered, "Yeah?"

"It's Eyes."

"Who?"

"Bolt sent me to get you."

Eyes opened the closet door and half-smiled. He motioned toward the window and told her to keep quiet. Emma waved goodbye to Johnny and stepped onto the windowsill. As they started down the fire escape, Eyes pulled her back and looked at her appearance. He adjusted her hat so that it dipped lower down her face and you couldn't see her eyes.

"Bolt said to keep ya hidden. Yer stayin' with me. You'se got one protective brother, that's fer damn sure," said Eyes.

As they jogged along the street in the dead of night, Eyes asked her curiously, "So, where ya from?"

"Brooklyn."

"Really?"

"No. Philly," corrected Emma, remembering Bolt insisting on protecting her identity. "Born here, raised in Philly."

"Raised? Bolt's got parents?"

"Uh, yeah…By 'raised,' I meant…orphanage."

"Ah. I see. Any reason why Bolt's got ya all protected an' shit? He seemed pretty serious when he asked fer the favor."

Emma shook her head. "That's just Bolt."

They arrived at the apartment building. Emma was amazed at how much of an immigrant she felt like, being tossed into a new Brooklyn. Her heart beat rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. She followed Eyes up a creaking staircase, leaping over a drunkard and avoiding a few missing steps. Eyes lived on the last floor at the end of the narrow, humid hallway. The door had no lock. Eyes opened it and immediately called to the rest of the apartment, "It's me, Eyes, an' my favorite food is pickles."

"A'right, c'mon in," answered a male voice.

"Welcome back!" came another.

"Damn, Conlon took a while gettin' you out, didn't he?" said the third.

Eyes opened the door to a one-bedroom apartment where four mattresses lay in a square in the bare living room. Three boys looked up to see their last roommate had returned and greeted him with handshakes and jokes. They each took one look at Emma and fell silent. Emma smiled awkwardly with her cheeks and took off her hat, as if wearing it inside wasn't polite.

"Guys, this is Bolt's sistah, an' she's gotta stay with us fer a while," started Eyes. "Bolt's payin' fer her board and he don' want 'er stayin' at the lodgin' house."

"Yeah, all those boys gettin' lonely shackin' up with a bunch of other guys…I see why Bolt's hidin' her," said one of the roommates jokingly.

"What's yer name, goil?" asked another.

"Emma?" asked the third.

She snapped her head to the direction of the speaker. Sitting up near the kerosene lamp in the middle of the room, Thompson stared at her, wide-eyed and mouth agape. She stared right back, and, strangely, she felt the corners of her lips curve upward. Thompson smiled back.

"Oh, goodness, Thompson!" she cried, falling onto his mattress in a hug.

Emma wasn't particularly close with Thompson when she knew him years ago, but he was the only one in Brooklyn who seemed happy to see her. His embrace was close, meaningful, too.

"What're ya doin' back heah, ya crazy goil?" he asked, laughing. He pulled her into a hug again, but only to speak secretly in her ear, "God knows you ain't Bolt's sistah, what's goin' on?"

"I'll tell you later," she whispered back. She pulled away and felt her eyes well with warm tears.

"A'right, everyone, this is Emma," said Thompson more formally to the group. "Ya heard what Eyes said, keep this one safe! Lord knows what Bolt would do if anythin' happened to 'er."

Thompson winked and Eyes showed Emma his mattress in one of the corners. It was directly under a window, and when Emma laid down she could feel a warm breeze on her face. Eyes had given up his bed and she gave him her pillow and one of the blankets.

Before the lamp burned out in the room, Emma looked around Eyes's corner. It was wallpapered with newspaper clippings of places out West and pictures of famous girls he had evidently found attractive. There was a picture of four young children, one of them looking like a young Eyes, and two parents. There was a nail sticking out of the wall, and dangling from it was a necklace that looked very feminine. She was eager to find out the necklace's origin, but Eyes had already dozed off; but after thinking about it, she found it wasn't the story behind it that made her curious. The fact that Eyes kept small things and trinkets near and dear to him, and called this place home filled her with a sense of comfort. She smiled, made herself more comfortable, and waited for the lamp to die out before shutting her eyes and falling asleep.