I recognized the group of boys from the other day when I got back to the lodge house. My clothes were dripping everywhere and all the boys were snickering at my increasingly common state of being . . . drenched.
I found a change of clothes and went to the bathroom to change when Le Maitre stepped up in front of me.
"Do you need help, mademoiselle," his bright eyes glanced at my wet clothes.
"No," I replied curtly pushing past him.
Duke cocked his head. "Wassa matta, Goil?"
I felt my eyelids droop from exhaustion. Everything was the matter. I wanted to tell him this but was cut off.
"Erin!" My reaction was slow but I turned to face the voice that called me.
Spot was smirking from the doorway, with his arms crossed.
"Wha'?" I mumbled feeling very tired. His eyes were almost mocking me.
"I'se got a special mission for you."
I groaned, rubbing my eyes.
"Name it, I'm ready." A yawn escaped my mouth taking Duke, Le Maitre, and Flames by surprise.
"I'se hoid beahs make dat sound," Duke exclaimed.
"Dere ain't any beahs in New yoik!" argued Flames.
"Suah dere aw! Not in da city paht, dough."
Spot shook his head. "I need you to rest for the day."
I looked up confused.
"Rest? That's my mission?"
"Aw you arguin' wid me?" His eyes flashed in a threatening way.
"Errrr . . ."
"Get ta bed!"
Sighing I dragged myself to my cot and crashed into it.
"What da hell!" Spot walked over and flipped me onto my back. "Wassa matta wid you?"
"Hi, Spot," I sighed tiredly.
"Yeah, you need rest."
"I'm not sleeping more than an hour . . . maybe two."
He said something else but I was already out.
When I woke I was surprised that it was dark out. I sat up and looked around. Everyone was probably out eating dinner. I was surprised when I saw a figure emerge from the shadows.
Spot was leaning against the wall and was now approaching me.
"Spot?"
"I'se thought you might be worried if ya woke up alone. So bein' da gent dat I am, I'se decided ta stay heah."
I stretched and looked back at him.
"Thank you."
"No problem." He sat down next to me facing the wall.
"So, who's Peter? And Torrence and Shane?" His voice was full of curiosity and . . . something else.
"My brothers." My head began pounding and I heard a familiar sound in the back of my head. Suddenly I was on the ship again with my brothers. The hot stuffy room, the water crashing around outside.
"Erin!" I looked up and saw Spot with an annoyed look.
"I asked you a question."
"Sorry," I laughed weakly.
He sighed shaking his head. "Listen, aw ya hungry?"
"Not really."
"Good, come wid me."
I followed him out on the cobblestone streets. there was no rain but some lightning. He was walking with his special business stance. His shoulders were squared, his chin slightly upturned, eyes narrowed, and cane over shoulder like a solider.
"Spot, where are we going?"
His eye quickly stole a glance at me but then went forward again.
"I'se checkin' sumtin' an' I need me a good helpa'."
"What do I get to do?" I was surprised at how excited I was. So far, all of Spot's special jobs almost got me killed.
"You'se got to shut yer mouth and pay attention. We'se gonna see if one of me 'friends' is on my side."
"Alright."
We walked to a corner of a street. "Okay," he whispered. "Dis is da hawd paht. Once we cross dis street we'se trowin' awselves in danger."
"I've got my eyes open."
He grinned down at me, but because of the lighting, he looked sort of malicious.
We stepped at the same time.
Almost instantly I heard footsteps.
"Watch yerself!" Spot called. He pulled up to fists, so I copied his actions. A group of boys began to close in on us.
"Well looky heah! A couple of trespassers!" Gee, that sounded familiar. New York was ridiculously obsessive with territory.
"Hey Tommy, dese is Spot Conlon." They all grunted and stepped back.
"What're ya doin' heah, Conlon?" the gruff voice demanded.
"I'se gotta have a littul tawk wid Spencer." Spot voice was very business like and serious.
The boys turned to each other, sharing whispers.
"Okay but yer frien's gotta stay."
"What?" Spot stepped right into the boys face, eyes ablaze.
The boy looked uncertain but continued speaking with a frightened voice.
"Y-y-you hoid me."
"I don't take ohdahs from nobody, an' if dat don't suit ya I'll soak ya!" I was scared but re. Everyone could see Spot meant business.
"Right dis way." A boy said after a long silence.
We followed them down the street saying nothing. Spot's face was full of determination.
Finally we stopped in front of a fire escape.
"Goin' up!" A boy gestured to the railing and allowed Spot to start climbing. I followed keeping an eye on the boy behind me.
Once reaching the top we saw a large group of boys talking, smoking, and playing poker.
They all looked up and froze. Suspicious frown covered each of their faces.
"Spot!" a voice called. It was a child's voice.
A young boy shoved older boys aside to come to us. He was acting arrogant for a group of teenage boys, but they all stepped aside respectfully.
"What brings you heah, me old mate?" The boy's voice was cool but serious.
Spot spat into his hand (to my surprise) and extended it to the child. I thought he would make some comments, but instead copied the action and joined their hands.
"Buisness cawls, Spencer," Spot replied focusing on the lad.
"Who is this inexperienced friend of yours?" the boy spoke in my language, nodding his head to me. I raised an eye brown but made no comment.
"Don't be quick to judge," Spot replied, "he knows a lot more then you might think."
The boy simply shrugged.
"Come into me office, boys." He turned around and walked like a general. I didn't like his attitude.
We followed him to the corner of the roof. The boy lithely climbed down so he was holding the ledge and swung himself down into the top window. Spot looked at me in concern. "I'll go foist," he said, "and if ya fall I promise I'll catch ya"
"What if you don't?" I asked nervously.
"I neva' break a promise." With that he slid down and swung into the window. I crouched down and unhappily lowered myself over the ledge. I swung my legs into the window and let go of the ledge, but the top have of my body was still outside. I was ready to scream before plummeting to my death but two arms reached out and snatched me from the air.
"Told ya," Spot whispered. He lowered me and then turned back to Spencer. He watched us carefully making me self conscience.
"So," Spencer began, "What gives me da pleashah of havin' you in me presence, Spot?"
Spot smirked, seeing that Spencer was trying to warm up to him.
"I'se just wonderin' if you'se had any involvement wid Bronx activities lately."
Spencer looked up with a flash in his eyes.
"Aw you accusin' me of helpin' do'es street rats?" His voice was rising and sounded more like a child throwing a tantrum.
"You an' youh boys aw known for yer craftiness . . . and your knives." Spot's hand was resting innocently on his cane, rubbing the golden top.
"Well, dat is true." The boy pulled out a dagger from his shirt pocket. It looked in good condition. "Heah, why don't ya look at dis up close." Spencer handed it to me delicately. It was a nice wooden handle that was smooth and was easy to grip. The blade was a shiny metal that had elegant carvings. The letter "S" was engraved in the handle. "Me boys find scraps and make tings. We'se good at makin' tings." The boy looked proud of himself. He took the knife back and smirked at me.
Such a small boy with such a big ego. Then again, Spot showed similar qualities.
"Well, ya still haven't answered da question!" Spot was getting impatient.
"Spot, I would neva' hand one of those airheads me precious tools. Dey ain't even got da brains ta use 'em!" The boy started to sound offended. And his eyes burned at Spot angrily. "I could soak ya for accusin' me!" I looked up at Spot to see his reaction to this comment.
He merely smirked and raised his chin. "Sorry, Spencer. Dark times in Brooklyn. Hawd ta tell who's a friend."
Spencer nodded his agreement.
"Spot, ya gotta loin ta trust udda people."
"I have." Spot sounded sincere. He even spared me a quick glance, though this didn't miss Spencer's eyes.
"I'se gotta have me a tawk wid dis friend a yours one day, Spot. Anyone Spot takes wid him on meetin's like dis must be special." Spencer scanned me carefully.
"Dere ain't anytin' you'se need ta know 'bout him dat ya didn't know befoah." Spot's voice was suddenly more alert and protective.
"Well see if dat changes." The boy grinned wickedly, like he had a secret that we would find out later.
"See ya lata' Spencer. An', uh . . . sorry about da confusion."
"Shuah, Spot."
We walked down the rotted stairs silently. Spot's eyes were distant and thoughtful, so I just followed him.
"Spot?" I asked after walking down the streets for a while.
"Wha'?" he looked like he just woke up.
"Where are you going?" I realized after a while we were walking the wrong way.
"Wha? Erin! You was supposed ta tell me we was goin' ad wrong way!" He sighed in annoyance and grabbed my wrist. He began to march the other way in frustration.
"Who's doin' it, den?" he muttered to himself. "Who?"
I wish I could answer. I wish I could make his problems go away. But, this is Brooklyn.
That just isn't a reality.
