CHAPTER TWO

Days passed and police were still completely floored over the Queens murder. It was sensational news, of course, considering it was a child who was murdered. Most of the boys were thrilled to have such easy selling days, but a murder with no leads was stale news after a few days.

I was frightened, even if that made me the only one. I'd heard some chatter from some of the girls that shared my worries, but the boys didn't seem to be phased. Not even Silver's usually soft heart held up, just as happy as the rest of the boys to milk the news for money.

I'd had enough, though, and took it upon myself to venture to Queens to find out how Patch was holding up. I hadn't asked Spot specifically, but I assumed that he hadn't gone to see his friend in the last few days and that was abhorrent to me. Big picture or not, friends counted; they mattered.

Then again, I was pretty sure the only person he really trusted was Silver. Friend meant something different to Spot Conlon than it did to me.

I parted ways with Wicked and Joker that morning as usual, wishing Joker luck on Race's "hot tip" down at the tracks that she agreed to bet on with him. They were headed down to the tracks now to sell with the scrappy Italian, and hopefully make some extra dough. I hadn't seen Spot all morning and he wasn't in the yard when I came with the girls to buy my papers, which honestly was just as well. I didn't want to have to lie to his face.

Selling papers had become second nature anymore, easy as breathing. It was at least more honest money than picking pockets, but at least picking pockets was instant gratification. I was lousy at business, usually stealing other "improved truths" I'd heard from others. I wasn't nearly as creative as some of my peers, much as I tried.

I enjoyed the walk to Queens, like I always did, though I cheated a bit and hitched a ride on a streetcar. Queens was massive like Brooklyn, but much more diverse culturally. It seemed that the influx of immigrants had all migrated to Queens for some reason, but it made for an eclectic mix of different worlds that all blended together. Being an Irish immigrant myself, of course, I felt as if I appreciated the differing cultures a little more. I knew what it felt like to be an outsider, so to speak.

The Queens Lodging House was a hulking thing in the middle of Kew Gardens, a fairly decent walk away from my home in Brooklyn Heights. I was just thankful that the cable car workers didn't always check to see who had paid and who hadn't.

Deciding I would be kind and grab some lunch to split with Patch and his girl, I crossed the intersection and headed towards a street food vendor down the block. However, on my way, I noticed something quite peculiar.

A boy about my age was moseying along, hands in his pockets. He was currently stopped in front of a storefront, gazing into the window at one of those fancy knick-knack stores. He clearly had no use for them, or a lot of money, judging from the way he was dressed.

A well-to-do man exited the store then and the boy jumped into action. He tucked his head down and strode with purpose towards the affluent man, intentionally colliding with him quite hard. The boy was quick with apologies, of course, but I noticed his hand reach deftly into the man's pocket to relieve him of his wallet. He was gone in a flash, turning down a side alley to make his escape. The man noticed nothing and continued on his way.

I was shocked. He was actually quite good for a rake, rivaling those that I knew that were talented in the art of thievery, including my favorite twins in top hats and even myself. I was, of course, no longer picking pockets, but the fact remained that I was actually impressed.

I headed up the street and down the alley I'd seen the boy walk down, but found him nowhere. I put a hand on my hip and frowned, but figured I'd been distracted enough for one day and decided to resume my original mission of finding lunch and talking to Patch.

When I turned around, however, I found the boy standing right behind me, casually leaning against the side of the building. "Lookin' for me, lass?" he asked me. I noted the Irish lilt of his voice and smiled despite myself.

"Not entirely," I said, though it was partly a lie. "I saw what you did, though."

He smiled, slow. "Oh, you did, did you? And what exactly did you see?"

He was playing dumb and I didn't understand. "You picked that man's pocket."

"Did I?" He pretended to be shocked and then smirked again. "How would I have done that?"

I was becoming impatient. "I saw you. You ran into him and took his wallet. It's classic but an overdone method, really."

He tilted his head thoughtfully and then shook it. "Must've been someone else. I don't recall any of that." With that, he turned and began walking away, but I wasn't done talking.

I walked double time to catch up to him, falling in step beside him. "Are you gaslighting me right now?" I demanded. "I saw what you did. I was there."

"Well ain't that a two-bit word! A real educated lady, are ya?" He eyed me, his gaze slowly sliding from my face down along my body, making me blush with anger. "An educated lady dressed like an uneducated lady."

I huffed. "I am an educated lady, if you must know." I pinned him with a glare. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Oh, I know all about you, lass," he said, laughing. "You're the queen of Brooklyn; Spot Conlon's girl. They call you something cutesy, don't they?"

My face flushed with annoyance. I hated when people referred to me like that. "Angel, not that its any of your business," I informed him, which made him laugh. "And I am not Spot Conlon's girl. I don't belong to anyone." I frowned. "Who even are you?"

He snorted. "You're a little far from your birdcage, aren't you, Angel?" He said my name in a way that sounded as if he was mocking me.

I couldn't think of a damn thing to say to him and it worked out that I hadn't because the boy turned abruptly and entered a building. It took me a moment to realize it was the Queens' Lodging House. The boy headed up the stairs and I was left gaping in annoyance, though not for long. Felicity, the queen of Queens, came from the kitchen area with an apron tied around her waist.

"Angel!" She looked happy to see me, but she looked kind of a mess.

Her usually classy Gisbon girl hairstyle, that always looked best with her natural chocolate curls, were instead unpinned and fell down her back completely. Her hair looked as deflated as she did; I noticed the lines on her face much more now, despite the fact that she was only two years older than me.

"How are you holding up?" I asked, reaching out for her hand. She let me hold it, but only for a moment before she pulled away from me.

She seemed embarrassed to look so distraught. I was acutely aware of the scattered others in the foyer with us, small groups of newsies just relaxing and talking after a long day of selling. Felicity seemed to notice the boys as well, and I wondered how many of them were listening to our conversation.

"We're doing just as well as we can," she said, and I noticed how carefully she chose these words. I felt bad for embarrassing her, knowing how much I tried to save face in front of other people when I was upset.

"Well, you know that Spot and I are here for you. Even if he won't come all the way here and tell you that himself," I told her.

That seemed to soften Felicity a bit. She smiled. "He's quite pigheaded, isn't he?"

"That he is," I agreed, smiling myself. "Do give Patch my love, and know that I'm thinking about you both. You two always have a home in Brooklyn."

"Thank you, Angel. Truly." Felicity reached for my hands this time, squeezing them affectionately. "Let me send you home with something, please."

In the end, I agreed to let her give me a loaf of bread she'd baked, wrapped up tight so we could put it into the icebox in the Lodging House so it wouldn't spoil as easily. I snuck onto a trolley heading back to Brooklyn, getting shooed off the thing only when I was a few blocks away.

Summer was creeping upon us, so the sun stayed stubbornly in the sky for as long as possible. This meant that the boys were still roaming around the dilapidated docks, pushing curfew for as long as they possibly could. I found Silver and Spot sitting together, sharing a cigarette. Smoking was something Spot did only when he was upset. Both boys looked up when they heard my footsteps approaching.

"Would one of you be willing to walk me home?" I asked.

"Your hair looks better down," Spot said, but he didn't look at me.

"Pardon?" I said, since that wasn't the answer to the question I had asked.

"Your hair. It looks better down. I hate when you put it up."

He took another drag of the cigarette. I was getting tired of his moodiness as of late. I'd done nothing to warrant it and I couldn't empathize if I didn't know why he was being this way. However, I untied the scrap of fabric that I'd used to tie up my hair in the first place, letting it fall down my back.

Silver smirked at me. "I'll walk you home, Angel," he volunteered. It didn't not escape my notice that Silver knocked his shoulder into Spot's on his way to getting up. Spot made a noise of annoyance but did not say anything or look up at either one of us.

Once we got far enough away, I had to ask. "What's eating him?"

"The Bulls came sniffing around here earlier, asking questions. It didn't escape their notice of our civil war a few months ago." Silver frowned. "The Bulls don't bother with our street rat squabbles. They're just as happy to let us kill each other. Less work for them, I guess."

"So why's that upset him so much?" I pressed.

"Because the Bulls think one of us did it. Because of the whole situation last year with the Bronx," Silver explained, and then sighed.

"What happened to just letting us kill each other?"

"Guess the kid's dad is looking for someone to blame. Can't say I blame him. If my boy got cut up like that, I'd want some damn justice, too." Silver stopped outside the Girl's Home, leaning against the doorframe.

It wasn't fair that a young life got cut short so quickly. I could empathize a bit with the child's family. About a year ago now, one of my dearest friends had taken her life, suddenly and without warning. Sometimes I cannot think of her because it aches in my chest so much that I cannot breathe. She hadn't been murdered, but it had still been unfair.

"He's trying to protect everyone, you know, Angel," Silver continued, after a moment. "He's stretched thin, and he's worrying like hell. Give him a little slack?"

I nodded, smiling. "I am, honest. I can kind of see where he's coming from anyway. I think."

Silver smirked again and then leaned in, pressing his lips to my cheek. "Sleep well, Angel. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I nodded. "Sleep well." I watched Silver melt into the shadows again and then let myself into the house for the night.

Author's Note-

Wow, what's going on with Spot, yeah? Oh wait, I all ready know! Being a writer is awesome. I'm currently writing the next chapter and also the rewrite of Blue Eyes. If you wanna see either, let me know how I'm doing with a review! I want to post the rewrite very soon...

Thanks as always to my biggest supporter, Joker, my sweet guest, and the insanely talented coveredinbees14! You three made my day; thank you!

Carryin' the banner!

xx Wicked