Spot Conlon 1882 to... 2009? Chapter 3, The Kill
Spot's POV
Wednesday July 1st, 1899
Morning came quickly for Conlon, and of course, he was up the earliest for more than one reason; one, to get away the thing sprawled across him. Two, so the Manhattan newsies didn't see him like this and tease him, and three, so he could get back to Brooklyn where his newsies probably wondering where he was.
So Spot carefully maneuvered himself and untangled Golden from him and set her carefully on the couch, hoping the movement wasn't going to wake her up; he didn't want her flinging herself across him, begging him to stay like last night.
Quickly, he grabbed his shirt, put it on, buttoned it up half way, put his suspenders over his shoulders, made sure he had his golden tipped cane and made his way to the door. Before making it, however, he heard a soft groan. He contemplated running, but instead turned to see Racetrack look groggily up at him from the table, a pool of drool where his face had previously been.
"Leavin' so soon?" Race asked, his words slightly slurred. His eye lids drooped and he looked like he was having a hangover.
He was.
"Sorry Race, but I gots papes ta sell." Spot said with a smirk before turning the knob and walking out into the fresh air. The cool air felt amazing against his sweaty skin, having been blanketed by Golden all night long.
Spot easily found his way to the Brooklyn bridge, having lived in Manhattan a couple of times during the newsies strike. It took a while to cross, seeing how big it was, but once Conlon made it across, he knew his newsies would be up. But if they weren't, soaking would have to be issued.
Although his newsies knew that their leader was gone didn't mean that they wouldn't follow his orders every morning. They knew he had people watching them always.... and they had grown used to it and not always felt like their leader was a maniac for sending spys.
Once Spot opened the door to the abandoned warehouse where the newsies slept, he smirked. Almost every bunk was deserted. Almost.
Pick Pocket sat on his bunk, staring at the wooden floor boards bellow.
"Eh Pick Pocket; what'cha still doin' heah?" Spot asked strolling into the warehouse.
Pick Pockets' head flew up and he almost prepared himself for a soaking, but luckily, Spot didn't feel like it this morning.
"I was waitin' for youse, Spot. Mouse told me ta wait for youse so youse could teach me hows to be a newsie." Pick Pocket said, standing in front of his leader, leaning his head back to look in Spots stormy gray eyes.
Spot nodded, half a smile across his face.
"Sounds good kid. Youse ready ta go now?"
But before Pick Pocket could answer, Spot was already heading for the door, not really caring if Pick Pocket was ready or not.
Today he chose his attitude very carefully; get the day over with.
Last night had been late and the couch wasn't as comfortable as a bed. His back was sore and he just wanted to sleep... But he had money to make and someone to teach.
After grabbing a bite and buying the papes, Spot and Picky went to Spots usual corner near the bridge.
Spot went through his lessons, telling the kid what to do and exactly how to do it, but today wasn't such a good day to be teaching the kid how to sell papes; barely anyone was about. It was slightly chilly, but that wasn't any reason to stay inside. It actually baffled Spot, but he decided moving around would probably pay off more then just standing in one area. So they walked off, Spot teaching Pick Pocket all kinds of different techniques he'd either come up with over the years, or learned from other newsies from the past.
"K, kid. Shows me what'cha got." Spot said, finally shoving a pape to Pick Pocket and pushing him towards a pretty lady who was strolling past them.
"B...Buy a pape?" Pick Pocket said quietly and nervously.
The lady only gave him a sneer before walking off, her gown flowing behind her.
"Na, kid! Youse got to be loud! Try dat guy." Spot said, pointing at a gentleman walking buy.
"Buy a pape, sir!?" Pick Pocket asked, racing up to the guy, hand and paper in the air.
But before Picky could reach the man, he stepped in a puddle. At least it was a puddle before the cold air had frozen it.
Picky slipped backwards, landing on his back and accidentally kicking the guy in the groin.
The man let out a groan of pain, glaring at Pick while falling to his knees.
Picks eyes widened but Spot grabbed him, yanked him up and pulled him off before the guy called the copper.
"Wut was dat for, kid!? You coulda got youseself arrested!" Spot snarled, dragging the kid behind him.
"It wasn't my fault! I slipped on ice!" Pick Pocket retorted, throwing Spot a glare.
Spot stopped and faced the kid, his gray eyes filled with electricity.
"Don'ts you eva talk back ta me like dat again, ya hear?" Spot said fiercely, his voice dripping with venom.
"But it wasn't my-" But Pick Pocket was cut off when Spot slapped him across his cheek, grinding his teeth.
The kid looked terrified that it would become worse before his cheek could even become red.
"Come on, Pick. Lets head back." Spot hissed, turning around and heading for the docks.
"I'm really sorry, Spot... I..." Pick didn't finished his sentence, but instead rubbed his cheek, trying to get some feeling into it.
"Hey you!" Some one yelled from behind Spot and Pick. Both boys whipped around to see an all too familiar face. It was the guy that Pick Pocket was trying to steal from the other day when Spot had found him. But he wasn't alone; a few other rich looking gentlemen stood behind him, along with a good twenty cops. Not good.
Spot grabbed Picks arm just above the elbow and took off before Pick even knew what was happening. Spot had had some other newsies get caught pick pocketing, but never in his years of being a newsie had this happen. Sure maybe a cop or two would chase after them, but they would have soon gave up. This was different; this was deep.
Spot raced around the corner, calling, "NEWSIES!"
Spot didn't like calling for help, but no matter how fast he ran or all the hiding places he knew of, he'd need the help of his newsies this time.
In a flash he was surrounded by some of his newsies who helped him drag Pick along. The newsies around him consisted of Ash, Flinchy, Flint, History, Indy, Scout, Thunder, Storm, Hawk, and the Brooklyn newsies only girl, Pepper. Pepper grabbed Pick from Spot, which was a relief to him since it was hard enough running, let alone dragging a boy behind you.
"Wut should we do, boss?" Pepper asked, clutching the kid to her back.
"Scout." Spot yelled, racing through the allies to try an loose them, "You run and get de Hattans. Tell dem we're in a mishap and needs some backup."
The young kid ran off before Spot addressed the rest.
"We're going to da piers, got it? We can loose dem dere. We needs ta slipt up, so meet me theah." Spot commanded, soon running out of breath.
All his newsies ran in different directions, only Ash running off with his sister to help with with Pick.
Who knew this could ever happen, but Conlon was worried. He was experienced with running from the cops, but this seemed to be more than just running. He could feel something in the pit of his stomach, something that hadn't been there until he started running. It was the adrenalin, he'd experienced that before now and knew it was a completely different feeling. Something amazing and life changing was about to happen and he didn't even know why. He would have liked to know, though. He would have liked to be prepared for what he knew was coming, although he couldn't have figured anything in the safety of his Brooklyn piers would happen like this. But it would... and he was scared.
In a matter of minutes, Spot had made it to the pier, a couple of his newsies appearing behind him. The rest were waiting, including the ones that hadn't been running with him, like Blaze, Mouse, Steele, Shark, Brick, Boxer, Ace, Chance, Muse, Stone, Timber and Dale.
Spot stopped in front of his newsies, leaning over to try and catch his breath.
"Did we loose 'em?" The young Mouse asked, looking to his leader for confidence.
Spot didn't have to answer; the sound of hundreds of foot steps behind them on the pier answered for them.
A whole crowd of cops a rich gents were walking towards them, but the thing that surprised the newsies the most was that the gents weren't those old fat men who loved to count their money all day, but they were fit, and one, the one Pick was trying to steal from, had a pocket knife shining in his hands.
Spot stared at him, his cold eyes glaring and his chin high.
The cops and gents stopped a few feet away, their eyes going over the ragged "children" as they would probably call them.
"What do you want?" Spot asked coldly.
"We're tired of you children" See? What did I tell you? "Stealing from us! We're finally ending it! I suppose you're their leader?" The gent with the knife asked, pointing it at Spot. The guy didn't sound like he was from New York; most western. Probably Californian.
"Yeahs, so what if I am?" Spot snarled, his right hand going for the gold tipped cane in his belt loop.
"You've been causing all this trouble! Three days ago you told that child to come steal my wallet!" He accused, his knife pointing straight at Spots throat.
"I tolds a child ta come steal from ya? Na, I didn't know da kid at duh time, but he jus joined." Spot murmured, his eyes as cold as ice.
"You liar!" The man lunged forward, but Spot was reading and the man missed, stabbing at the air.
"Well what are you waiting for!? Get them! But leave their leader to me!" The man hissed to the other men and cops behind him who rushed forward to seize his newsies. But Spot knew he wouldn't have to worry; they'd show them they weren't just "children", but that they could fight back. Hard.
And they did. Boxer took a swat at one of the cops face and hit him in the cheek, sending him back, falling into the cold ocean water. The smaller kids, Mouse, Muse and Pick Pocket to be exact, leaped at one guy, bowling him over. Pick Pocket sat on his legs, Mouse on his chest while Muse gave the guys face what for with his fists.
Spot was so involved in watching his newsies fight like men, even Pepper, that he almost forgot about the guy with the knife.
The knife just barely missed his throat, but although Spot could be killed, he laughed. Even though he was his newsies were out numbered, he laughed.
"That all you got, ole man?" Spot asked, his gray/blue eyes dangerous. He pulled his cane out, holding it in a fighting stance.
The man chuckled, swiping the knife at Spot again, only to have it be stopped by Spot's cane.
"You really think and bunch of kids will make it out alive up against us?" He asked, a smirk across his pale white face.
Spot blocked his attacks, all the while stepping backward.
"Oh, this ain't all of us, mistah." Spot smiled, deflecting him once again.
The man gave him a confused look, his eyes slightly widened.
"MANHATTAN!!!!!!!!!"
A loud roar boomed farther up the pier, and the Brooklyn newsies cheered them on as Jack, Race, Mush, Crutchy, Blink, Boots and the rest of the Manhattan newsies charged.
Spot smiled, raising his arms high, cane in hand.
That was his mistake.
The man saw his opportunity and plunged his knife into Spots stomach.
All time froze.
All the newsies, Brooks and Hattans, stared when they heard Spot's gasp of pain. All eyes were widened in disbelief.
Spot Conlon made a mistake, but he wasn't dead yet.
His eyes became furious storms, and he ground his teeth so hard it hurt. Lowering his hands and putting his cane through his belt loop, he looked at the knife handle that stuck out of his stomach. Gingerly, he grabbed it between his hands and then slowly, and painfully, pulled it out. Once the knife was out of his stomach, he put his left hand over his wound and glared at the man that stood in front of him.
"You messed wit duh wrong newsies, pal." Spot snarled before plunging the knife, red with his blood, into the mans throat, his anger driving him to kill.
The man fell back, dead, and all the newsies cheered as the rest of the cops and men gave up and the sight of the dead man, although the cops tried making it through the crowed of newsies to try and arrest Spot, but they pushed him back from their leader towards the others who uslessly gave up.
Jack pushed his way through the crowd, ready to congratulate Conlon.
"Great fighin' Spot. Ya nevah die, do ya?" And almost reaching him, stuck his hand out and spit in it.
Spot went to do the same, but before he could he fell back, falling off the pier and into the cold water.
And that was the last Conlon felt before he black out.
NO ITS NOT OVER SO DON'T STOP READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's just starting to get good, so DON'T! I'm going to get chapter four put up as soon as possible so you see that it's NOT over! I just needed a good three chapters in New York so you see how different it us for Spot when he wakes up.... REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And I don't own Newsies, although all of Spots gang, 'cept him of course, I made and the guy who ends up dieing just now... not that I want him =P You can keep him ^^ HOPE YA LIKE IT SO FAR!!!
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