Ugh, another lousy headline. I'm good at my job, don't misunderstand; I just like it when the headlines are real enough that the papes sell themselves. Then I can sell a few extra and actually have some poker money. It looked like today was going to be another one of those dull days, though. I walked past the parked cab, noticing that the German bloke who's been a regular of mine for years seemed in pain. Back pain, it seemed. Shame—I like the fellow. He's been a consistent customer, always friendly, and he has always treated me with respect. He has a daughter who's my age, but she's really shy and has never spoken to me. She takes care of the horse, and they talk. It's cute, and to be honest, I've always been a bit jealous. I've never known a father and really haven't known a family at all other than the newsies; they just seem to be really close. He works hard; I can't remember the last time he had a day off, and that's saying something since I take very few days off myself. I could tell they don't have much money, but they always seemed happy.
I turned away to call out another headline, moving down the street to the shade of a nearby tree. People tend to congregate in the shade on warm days like today, so it seemed a good place to stand. I had just finished selling to another one of my regulars—a tall, thin man who works at the bank across the street—when the cabbie's daughter walked up to me.
"One, please," she said so quietly I could barely hear her. She stared at the sidewalk the whole time. Now, I can be intimidating when I need to be—it comes with living on the streets—but to my customers it's a different story. I'm always approachable with them; it's good for business. This girl must be really shy. I almost felt sorry for her; I can't imagine finding it that hard to talk to people. I touched my cane to my cap as she handed me the coin, but I don't think she saw me.
I hadn't even pocketed the coin when Mrs. Crowston, another regular, bought a paper. As I was trading her the penny for a paper I realized the girl had given me a dime. Now, I know most newsies, myself included, will pocket that coin. Even if it's one of my regulars, I generally pretend I don't notice. For some reason, though, I couldn't do it. That man has been a good customer, and to be honest, I might just make more money than he does. Mostly, though, I just felt sorry for a girl who tries so hard to please her father but can't even look a street rat in the eye. I could only imagine how ashamed she would be when she noticed the mistake and had to tell her pa that she'd lost some of his hard-earned money. I sighed in annoyance at myself and turned to follow the girl.
"Miss?" I called out, but she was evidently so lost in thought she didn't hear me. By now I had caught up with her. "Excuse me, miss?" She spun around and looked startled to find me so close. I backed up a pace.
"Sorry to bother ya, but you handed me a dime. Here's ya change," I said, handing her the coins.
"Thank you," she mumbled, and I saw her blushing in spite of the fact that she was staring down at the sidewalk again. I was right. This was mortifying for her. I felt another twinge of sympathy for her and was about to walk away when her father called out to me.
"Thank you for your honesty," he said, and his heavy German accent and precise adherence to grammar were striking. He had a pleasant, deep voice. "I know that most newsboys are in the habit of keeping the change, particularly if the mistake goes unnoticed." He must be an observant fellow if he knows that about us. He didn't strike me as dumb, either. I gave him some excuse about his being a regular, not wanting to tell him that I mostly felt sorry for his daughter.
"A true businessman. Well, I thank you Mr. . . ." he trailed off.
"Conlon," I supplied, touching my cap again. "But youse can call me Spot."
"Alfred Fischer," he said, though I already knew that. I pay attention, you know. "And my Katja." He wished me a good day, and I turned to finish selling my papes. It didn't take me long in spite of the headline, and I headed home content at having done my good deed for the day. I shouldn't let this become a habit.
I finished selling my papes and debated hooking up with Johnny and hitching a trolley down to Sheepshead for an afternoon of gambling and pickpocket practice—where we steal a wallet, count what's inside, and return it all without getting caught. It's mostly a game; if the bloke misses his cash, you claim to have just found it and return it all. You never keep it; it's a quick way to get newsboys banned from Sheepshead, and there's good selling down there. The idea had appeal—Sheepshead is always fun—but I dismissed it, deciding that I couldn't really spare the cash for gambling.
Besides, have I mentioned how busy I was? Scar, our leader, was thinking of moving on from newsie life. It happens to all of us—it's harder to sell newspapers when you get older, so as newsies get on in years they find new jobs. Scar was starting to consider his options and had been looking for a place to stay. I was one of the few that knew about it—along with Red and Johnny and Rut. We're some of the bigger and tougher guys, and each of us is capable of taking over for Scar. I know I have some good ideas. Red isn't really interested in running things, though, so I don't have a beef with him—well, not since he and I got into it and I proved myself to him. I think that's all he needed. It's Rut who's the problem. His idea of running things is to force younger newsies to buy his unsold papes like they do in the Bronx. I don't know that he'd do a good job running the lodging house, either. Right now Red and I were running things for Scar since ol' Mrs. Kirby is getting up there in years. Rut and I had been working on an agreement with the boot blacks over near the pier to boost profits for all of us. Their leader Hide had been difficult, though. Tonight seemed like a good night to put him in his place, especially since Rut would probably go with Johnny.
"Spot!" yelled a voice, and I recognized the kid that had showed up last week—Roller, we called him. He was one of the boys who had a home, rough though it was with just his ma and a baby and no money, and had just started selling. The poor kid was still just getting the hang of everything. He was tough, though, and loyal to a fault. I couldn't help but like him.
"Heya, kid, how's it rollin'?" I said, throwing a soft punch in his direction. He dodged it like I'd taught him yesterday, and I was pleased. I can't always be sure he'll win a fight, especially since he's only six, but I can at least help him duck!
"Hide kicked me out of there," he said, referring to a spot I had suggested for him to sell. I noticed he had a dozen or so papers still under his arm, and I grabbed them.
"Bully routine?" I asked. He grinned at me, took the papes, and took off. I gave chase, yelling about how I wanted him to come back so I could soak him for selling at my spot. He dodged me artfully, making it look good, then ducked into a corner. I made a big show of looking around for him, growling about the nickel he owed me and how I was going to soak him if he didn't pay up. He carefully stayed behind me, selling to sympathetic ladies as I pretended to hunt for him. We repeated this routine down another street, and within fifteen minutes he had sold his remaining papers. I didn't really have this kind of time, but what the heck—poor kid had been hassled.
"Let's go find Hide," I said, and we headed down to the ferry dock.
Hide was a big, dirty guy of about seventeen. Now, I'm barely fifteen, scrawny, and wiry, but I'm tough. I've been on my own for ten years, and if that doesn't teach a guy to fight, nothing does.
"Spot Conlon," Hide sneered as I neared his position.
"Hide, what are you doin' tellin' one of me boys to git lost? I thought we was tryin' to work on a deal for helping business for both our boys."
I strode right up to him, getting closer than he liked, and looked him dead in the eye. He met my gaze, as I'd expected from a tough leader like that.
"This kid was in the way of my strike zone. He moved in on the hoity-toity guys before I could. He's lucky I didn't soak him," Hide sneered at me.
"You're the lucky one, Hide. If you'd touched him, I'd be forced to soak ya." I didn't sneer at him. I smiled. It was a predatory smile, I knew. He didn't flinch; I'll give him that.
"I'd like to see you try," he growled as he threw the first punch. He'd intended it to be a sucker punch, hoping his words would distract me so his fist could hit my stomach. I was ready for it and flexed my abs, absorbing the blow. Everyone had seen it, though, and it freed me up to retaliate.
Ten minutes later he was unconscious and the boy who'd jumped in to try to help him sat to the side, his hand covering his bloody and broken nose.
"Roller, you can sell here tomorrow," I said. "But I don't know if you'd want to be around the stench."
Roller grinned at me, and we headed back to the distribution center to pick up some afternoon papers.
That evening, Rut came over to me in the lodging house.
"What the hell, Spot? Beatin' up on Hide when we's tryin' to work out a deal?" he challenged, and I looked up from the poker game I'd been winning.
"Call," I said to Lie, who flipped over his pair of sevens. I grinned, showed him my three twos, and collected the winnings before looking up at Rut.
"He sucker punched me. I took care of it," I said calmly. If there's anything I've learned over the years, it's to stay calm. Rut was anything but.
"Ya know, I don't know how you expect to take on leadership here if you can't keep your cool," Rut challenged, and I smirked at him.
"I ain't the one losing my cool, Rut," I said. Rut glared at me.
"You and me, outside," he growled, and I grinned at the prospect of a second fight for the day.
"Sure thing," I said, and we headed out.
I didn't see it coming. I was hardly through the door when Johnny tackled me from the side. Being taken off guard is one of those things I hate, so it rarely happens. It happened this time, though, and I had to work to get the upper hand as Johnny and Rut were both hell bent on beating the crap out of me. They're two of the best fighters in Brooklyn—but I'm the best, and I know it. I don't do the boxing rings, but if I were so inclined I could make a lot of money. It took some work to get the best of both of them, but I managed it. I won't say I won't be sore tomorrow, but I stood in the circle of boys holding my bruised ribs, watching Johnny try to use rapidly swelling fingers to remove his shoe and tend to his obviously broken foot while Rut lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Everything was silent for a moment, until Scar came over.
"I was going to leave tomorrow morning, but I think this is as good a time as any to make my exit," he said quietly to me. "I can spend the night at Ms. Cara's. Take care of Brooklyn." He handed me his cap, picked up a bag, and walked away. He didn't look back.
"You two have a choice," I growled at the two defeated boys. "You hold a grudge and leave now, or you leave tomorrow morning to sell papes in another borough with my recommendation. Either way you leave Brooklyn. You want to visit on good terms, I suggest you leave quietly tomorrow and accept my leadership"
Both boys nodded. I motioned to Lie, whispered briefly to him, and he nodded and took off.
"Boys under ten and these two hooligans—time for bed. Everyone else, time for some fun!"