Spot Conlon 1882 to... 2009? Chapter Two, Race and Golden
Spot's POV
Tuesday June 30th, 1899
Spot had had a tough night; every little sound that could be heard out on the streets had awoken him from the light sleep he drifted into. So finally, after about the 12th time he'd woken up, he got up, put his clothes on a headed out to the docks.
It was still dark out, even though the sun would soon be rising, but Spot didn't mind. Night was cold, just like his heart. If he had one, that is. Even if it was in the middle of the summer the nights were cold. Everyone could feel it. Burglars roamed the streets at night, looking for poor children to beat and women to steal from. But who could fix that? It was New York and all kinds of trouble happened, no matter was anyone did about it. Except for what Jack Kelly did.
He had stopped Pulitzer from getting away with his price raise on the papes. No, it hadn't gone back down to the normal 2 for 1, but he'd given them a different option; they were aloud to sell back the papers they didn't sell instead of having to "eat them" as the boys put.
Jack Kelly was a brave guy… and he still was, as leader of the Manhattan Newsies, Jack had truly showed that if one had the courage, a small gang of kids could challenge the powerful.
But that day was long ago, and even though the Brooks and Hattans had remained close ally's, nothing interesting had happened lately to call for the King of Brooklyn and the King of Manhattan to meet any time recently.
News was slow and money was hard to obtain, even if they were aloud to sell their papes back. But that was life, and life trudged on as it always did.
Life. Now that was a topic to think on when there was nothing to do. Every person on the face of the planet was placed here for a reason, but what was it? And more importantly, what was his?
Spot was shaken out of his thoughts when he heard the song of shuffling feet leading themselves out side.
Spot looked down to the warehouse from the crate he sat upon, his thrown they called it, to see his newsies come out of the warehouse, all still half asleep on their feet.
Spot stood and jumped down onto the pier, looking over the newsies with a hard stare.
Everyone, on seeing Spot, straightened and tried to look as awake as they could. Even though Spot ruled over them with a cold fist, which he had for years now, they were quite used to it, and couldn't imagine life any other way.
"A'right, bois. Who's ready ta sell sum papes?" Conlon asked, a smirk spread across his face, and even lighting his eyes up.
All of the newsies gave a holler and ran off down the pier, ready for the bell to ring.
Spot smiled to himself; it made him… not happy but… there was no word to describe the way he felt when his boys were so anxious to sell papes under his rule.
A few boys slacked behind, waiting for Spot to catch up with them.
Spot sold alone, as most as good as him did, but getting breakfast alone didn't start his day well, and today, he had a good five willing to eat in his presence; one of them being the new kid, Pick Pocket, who had to be taught the ways of the newsies.
"Monin' bois; how'd youse all sleep?" Spot asked, walking up with his hand on his cane.
"I slept perfectly foine, Spot." One of the oldest boys said, half a smile across his angular face. He was one of the older guys, named Shark, or, as some of the boys liked to call him, Fangy. He had some sharp teeth, and used them very well to his advantage. He was taller then most of the boys and had pale brown hair that always hung in front of his green eyes.
"Shuh ya did, Sharkeh; snored right in ma eah, he did." His brother hissed with a glare at his older and taller brother.
"Oh buck off, Bricky." A curly red haired boy piped in, his green eyes narrowed, "S'not like youse sleep like an angel, with a that moanin'! 'Come back, baby! I wo't hurt cha!'"
Bricky glared at curly orange mop of a kid with his bright blue eyes, rubbing the back of his brown hair with his hand.
"S'not youse fight, Strawberry!"
The red head, Strawberry it seems, spit on the ground, his green eyes filled with hatred.
"Hey, now fellas', stop wit duh name callin'!" A small brown haired boy pipped in, his pale gray eyes searching their eyes for some kind of "give up" sign, although it would never happen.
"Neva happenin', Mousy." Spot told him, shaking his head at his newsies bickering, "Shark, Brick, Blaze and youse were ments to fight fur eternity."
Pick Pocket, on the other hand, walked slowly behind the others watching them carefully.
With a glance over his shoulder, Spot grabbed Picks arm and pulled him to the group as they walked down the street towards breakfast.
"Surely youse mets these heah guys already, right Pick Pocket?" Spot asked, looking down at the short kid.
He shook his head quickly, but muttered softly, "Only Mouse…"
"Only Mouse, eh? Well don'ts be shy, Picky. Dis is Shark and his budduh Brick. The red head is Blaze, althoughs everyboidy calls him Straeberry. Bois, dis heah is our new newsie; Pick Pocket.
They swapped their hellos before reaching the cheap place Spot got his food every morning. They all gulped their food down before getting their papes and heading off on their separate routes. Picky went with Mouse to teach him the way to pick a pocket the correct way; without getting caught.
Spot took his place on the corner overlooking his river, and the Brooklyn bridge and started selling the hundred papes he'd purchased from the pape guy, Smice. An all too nice guy who always gave him extra papes if he needed it. He was probably the only nice guy Spot would ever meet in Brooklyn. Brooklyn was different from the other places in New York. Everything was dirtier here, which made it dangerous for the newsies to live, but they got by, one day at a time.
Spot was probably about half way through selling his pile when he spotted the familiar face strutting over the bridge straight towards him.
"Well if it isn't Racetrack himselfs. What brings yah ta Brooklyn my pal?" Spot asked, spitting in his hand and holding it out to Race, an easy smirk across his face.
Race took it with that wide smile he was always wearing.
"Just askin' if youse and some o' your bois wanted ta come ovah to Hattan t'night for a game." Race said, releasing Spot's hand.
"I'd luv ta, but I been kinda busy, wut wit all duh bad head loines. I even gots a new kid ta train in da business uh pick pocketing." Spot said with a shrug, but then changed the topic, "Eh, why ain'ts you sellin' papes?"
Race shook his head, taking a cigar out of his black and faded yellow plaid vest, sticking it in his mouth and lighting it.
"Papes weren't ready dis mornin'. Da printin' press apparently wasn't woikin', and might not even work for dis aftanoons adition." Race said, blowing smoke from his mouth.
"Really? Ain't dat too bad… well if ya help me sell my papes, I'll give ya fouty percent." Spot told his, handing him a mound of papes.
Race shook his head, chewing on his cigar.
"I gots a bettah idea, Spot. How bouts I help youse sell ya papes, and you come ovah t'night wit a coupa o' your bois? Whudduh ya say, pal? Jus a liddle bit o' pokuh?" Race said, taking some papes from Spot's pile.
Spot looked at him with his stormy eyes, not convinced.
"Come on, Spot. No goil can resist my boyish cham! Besiods, I gots uh couple'uh goils comin' ovah t'night, includin' me own Mariabella, duh most beautifoil goil in all uh New York." Race said, the grin across his face widening.
Spot rolled his eyes.
"Foine! Jus sell de papes!" He smirked, handing Race some papes.
"Youse won't be disappointed, Spot." Race said, sucking on his cigar.
"I alreadys am, so gets a move on!" Spot snarled playfully, sending Race racing off to some girls to sell.
Indeed, a couple of hours later, Spot was impressed; all his papes had been sold and his pocket was filled with money.
"See ya t'night, Spot!" Race called over her shoulder, heading back to the Brooklyn Bridge.
"See ya Race." Spot murmured with a wave of his hand before turning his back to the bridge and starting his way back home to figure out which of his newsies he'd be taking to play poker.
Not only had Race helped him sell his morning papers, he'd also sold most of his evening ones to, saying he didn't have anything better to do, so by the time he got back, he'd have to turn around and walk back to the bridge to reach Manhattan.
On reaching the docks and piers, Spot saw a bunch of his boys sitting out front, smoking.
"Who's up for a game at duh Hattans place, bois?" Spot asked once he'd reached them.
A good six guys stood up; they were always ready to beat a Manhattaners rear.
Those who stood up were the usual group for gambling; Steele, Muse, Thunder, Chance, Ace and Boxer.
Steele was a really tall and gangly guy with cold gray eyes and black hair who never spoke much. Muse was a tiny kid, although he was one of the oldest, and he told some of the worst jokes in the history of bad jokes. Thunder was this really plump guy with really long brown hair and blue eyes who was really loud, but a really amazing fighter when the time called for it. Chance was of medium height with short blonde hair and beady black eyes that always bet on the most ridiculous things, but always seemed to win. Ace was the only African American in the Brooklyn newsies, but was a tough guy who rarely ever lost to anything. And last was Boxer; he was a huge guy with giant muscles who could not five guys over with the lightest push. He always had his hair cur real short and had bright green eyes which were crazy looking all the time.
"Well den, gents, lets get goin' den. Hattan won't waits forevah." Spot said, turning back around and walking off towards the bridge, hands in his pockets and his six newsies trailing behind him.
"Oh good, ya finally showed up!" Race called from his seat at the table when Spot and the others walked in. Around the table also sat Jack, Mush, Boots, David and Blink.
Behind them, though, was a group of about 4 or 5 girls, all dressed up in dresses and giggling to each other about the boys. All of them were pretty, but one girl, a small Italian with long black locks a delicate little face, stood out when she sat by the other girls. She was most likely Race's girl, Mariabella.
All the Manhattan boys stood up to shake hands with the Brooklyns' before the all sat around the table.
Some of the girls came around the table to watch the boys play and flirt with them, although they almost all went to Jack, which was a shame since he already had Sarah as his girlfriend. Only two stayed with others; Race's Mariabella, who kept wrapping her arms around Race's neck and whispering in his ear, making him chuckle at whatever she'd said, and a blond with big blue eyes that always wondered to Spot.
Spot thought she was cute, but nothing other then that. Like I said, none of his relationships never got serious and he wasn't planning on having a serious relationship anytime soon.
"Who wants some whiskey?" Race asked, standing up and grabbing a bottle and some cups. He poured everyone a drink, including the girls, and they all drank, continuing their poker game.
The pretty blond who couldn't take her eyes off of Spot sauntered over, whiskey bottle in hand, and asked, "Wants som'more?" In a cute little way.
So she'sa tryin' ta get me drunk, eh? It'll take a lot more den dat, sweethart. Spot thought to himself, but he smirked to her and said, "Shoir thing, sweethart. Youse have a name?"
The girl giggled, pouring some more whiskey into his and her cup.
"The names Cornelia, but everyone calls me Golden." She said, downing the whisky.
Spot downed his, "And dey calls me Conlon, Spot Conlon."
"How bouts we take uh break befores I lose all me money?" Race suggested, giving Chance a glare; the kid had a heap of coins, and most of the money was Race's.
"Good idea, Racy." Mariabella giggled, giving him a little hug from behind before she sauntered off to talk with Mush.
Race gave a slight roll of the eyes to Spot, which Spot read as: Ugh.. bad idea, Spot. She's always flirtin' wit every one uddah den me!
Spot chuckled to himself before he stood up, stretched, and then fell back onto a couch not far away.
They'd been playing for… oh, about an hour and a half, and Spots back had become stiff as rocks.
The little girl who'd been watching him, Golden was her name, came over in her pale blue dress and sat down at his side, moving closer and closer every few second.
Spot rolled his eyes; she must be drunk.
Feeling unbearably kind today, Spot took his arm and put it around Golden's shoulders.
She let out a contented sigh, leaning her golden head on his shoulder.
Since the boys didn't seem like they were play again anytime soon, Spot closed his eyes, dozing off lightly.
When Spot awoke, it was dark out and no one was seated around the table anymore. Well, except for Race who sat with his face on the table, snoring away. Spot blinked his eyes once before noticing that he was laying on the couch, with none other then Golden draped across him. And what was more, his shirt was gone.
Spot sat up, pushing Golden to the floor.
"Hey! Wuts duh big idea?" Golden asked, a wake from the sudden movement.
"Where are my bois? And wheres my shoirt?" Spot asked, stretching his arms above his head.
"Well… the bois who cames wit you left for Brooklyn and didn't want ta wake you… and I has your shoit…" Golden said, holding up the faded blue shirt.
Spot grabbed the shirt away from her, starting to put it on. Girls just couldn't keep their hands off of him.
"Where ah youse goin?" Golden asked, standing up off the floor and whipping her dress off.
"I'se going home; to Brooklyn." Spot told her, buttoning up his shirt.
Golden grabbed his hands, looking up at his with her big blue eyes.
"But its late." She argued, "Just stay til monin'."
"Look, I go-" But Golden cut him off by shoving her lips to his, her eyes closed as if it were romantic.
But it wasn't. Not for him at least, and he stood there, blinking his eyes every once in a while, and even rolling her eyes would she wouldn't stop.
Golden pulled back, her eyes wide.
Spot blinked his cold eyes at her.
"Happy?" He asked as he stopped buttoning half way and looking at her.
"Please?" She asked innocently, her blue eyes wide and wet.
Spot rolled his eyes.
"Foine! Anyting else youse want?" Spot snarled.
"Well… you could keep you shirt off…" Golden said quietly tripping over her own feet.
Spot sighed, starting to unbutton his shirt.
"Foine. Night, Golden." He muttered, throwing his shirt on the ground and laying on the couch.
A second later, Golden was at his side, her face pressed to his chest, and all Spot did was sigh and drift back into his light sleep.
This was just a chapter I put in to show how much Spot dislikes the girls... I added some characters, some that belong to Walt Disney Studios, but others that're mine... uhmm... It's going slow, but the next chapters MUCH better... this one was better then the last, wouldn'
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