Part II, Chapter XVI
April 14, 1902
Brooklyn, New York -- Crown Heights
The line of boys stared directly ahead of them. There was only a candle burning in the center of the room on the floor, so all they could look at were flickering shadows bouncing across the walls. They could look out the window if they wanted -- but they would have had to squint through the small holes in the curtains to see anything at all. They couldn't look at each other. They were too embarrassed.
Twist felt his wrists become more and more raw every time he moved them. His hands had been bound behind his back with rope, and he could feel his skin starting to break. His ankles were bound in front of him, too. He glanced to his side to see the other four pairs of ankles bound together as well. Every time he looked at them he thought he could find something new, something different that would help him figure out a way to get them all out of this mess.
"Man, I gotta piss…" said Mick, who sat closest to the door.
"Don't even think about it," snapped Scratches, who sat next to him.
"Mick, I got's no problem with that," said Twist, who was at the opposite end of Mick. "Piss away, my friend."
"I'll cut yer dick right off if you'se thinkin' I'm gonna live with that smell," warned Seamus. "Cramped already in heah…"
"Things ain't gettin' any bettah, Seamus, he might as well," quelled Lucky, who sat in the middle of the five Brooklyn newsies who had been captured by Crown Heights and were being held hostage in a cramped room in an unknown building.
"A'right, I'm goin'," warned Mick.
Scratches groaned and let out a round of curses under his breath.
"Christ, they ain't even openin' the damn window," stated Scratches, burying his nose into his shoulder.
Seamus wrinkled his nose once the smell hit him and he started shaking his head and biting at his shirt collar to pull it up around his nostrils. "Goddamnit, Mick!"
"When ya gotta go, ya gotta go!"
"I can't stand this…" panted Seamus suddenly, his chest heaving in and out, and his body started thrashing around, hitting the wall his back was propped up against, and trying with all his might to break free from the ropes. "I can't fuckin' stand this! I gotta get outta heah!"
Twist sighed and closed his eyes, pretending he was elsewhere. A moment later, the door to the room swung open and banged against the wall with force. Jinx, the gutsy leader of Crown Heights, stormed in, and Seamus paid no heed to his entrance. He continued to thrash around with more vigor. Silently, Jinx marched over to the insubordinate newsie. He crouched down and placed his spread out hand atop Seamus's head. With his other hand, he took out his pistol, flipped it around, and struck the butt of it down onto Seamus's face. Twist winced and looked away. Seamus calmed his shaking and stopped, blood dripping down the side of his face.
"Not so tough, now, are ya Brooklyn?" said Jinx hatefully. He straightened up and as he spoke, pointed his pistol down the line as if a father were scolding his children. "That goes fer all 'a you'se guys! Second I heah someone makin' a whole lotta noise, I'm comin' back in heah and it ain't gonna be pretty!"
Scratches blatantly ignored Jinx's threat, hocked back forcefully, and hurled a loogie as high as he could. The spit landed inches from Jinx's face as he ducked out of the way. He pointed his gun directly at Scratches and cocked the trigger. Scratches stared right back with the same expression of malice etched all over his face.
"You don' got the guts, Crown Heights," he said in a low voice.
Jinx scoffed. "Don't I?" Without breaking his glare at Scratches, he threw his arm behind him and shot a bullet through the window, shattering it.
"I'm ovah heah, dumbass, yer pistol's pointin' in the wrong direction. But thanks fer crackin' the window there, my boy Mick here's been havin' some bladder problems."
Jinx merely shook his head, scoffing to himself. He placed his gun in his trouser band. "I didn't shoot ya 'cause I ain't done with ya."
"Good, I was just gettin' cozy." Scratches moved his hips around and relaxed his back onto the wall behind him.
With a hard, clenched jaw, Jinx marched out of the room and slammed the door on his way out. He turned directly to his right and walked into the room next door. Johnny, now a free boy, sat facing the wall, casually lounging in a cushioned chair with a beer bottle in his hand. The wall was the thin barrier between him and their hostages. There were five holes at the very bottom of the floor, all lined in a row, where the rope from the boys' bound wrists fed through. Tied to each rope was a rock that hit the wall whenever one of the boys started moving around quickly.
"Was he the only big problem we'se been havin'?" asked Jinx, motioning to the hole which indicated Seamus's position in line on the other side of the wall.
"Yes, sir. That one's been movin' around pretty much the whole time they'se beem there," Johnny pointed to Twist's rock, "so ya might wanna watch out fer him. Might be tryin' to escape."
"A'right, Johnny boy, good work." Jinx patted him on the shoulder proudly. He stepped out of the room and walked down the hallway. His walk was more of a strut--his shoulders were broad and square, and he had a smirking look on his face that resembled that of Spot Conlon himself. What Scratches said to him stuck to him: You don' got the guts, Crown Heights. He shook his head; how much he wanted to prove Scratches wrong. He approached his second-in-command, Bones, who promptly jumped up from his seat.
"We still got surveillance on Conlon, right?" asked Jinx.
"Sure do. He didn't go with his boys, he's stayed at the lodging house and left after that. They'se stayin' at an inn a few blocks ovah. We'se just waitin' fer them to make the right move, they'se waitin' fer the right time," responded Bones dutifully with pride.
"Good. Just as long as they bring 'im to me in person."
"There is one thing, Jinx. What're we gonna do with the girl?"
"It's a she?" said Jinx, surprised. "Well, I guess she's comin' along fer the ride too. I ain't leavin' this place until they come back."
Jinx strode down the hallway and descended the staircase. It was dusk, and when Jinx stepped outside to take a look at the sunset, he lit up a cigarette. He was steady from outward appearance and despite the calming sky at the horizon, he kept hearing the comment Scratches had made: You don' got the guts, Crown Heights. Jinx inhaled deeply on the cigarette. Nobody wanted to touch the Brooklyn newsies. Why? No guts. He stamped out his cigarette after he was done, digging his shoe into the ground hard, refusing to believe he didn't have the guts to take out Spot Conlon, because to Jinx, he absolutely did.
Quick chap., more of Spot and Emma are coming up, don't worry! I'll give you holiday presents (to be PC) if you review...
