That spring was a strange one for sure. While my control over Brooklyn's street population was pretty solid by now, I was struggling. The word on the street was that the newsies were getting rich. This was, of course, laughable, though I will say that the boys were selling better these days. We had finally made our deal with the bootblacks, selling them some of our papes each morning so that they could offer a pape with the shoe shine. People are so clueless; the bootblacks simply charged a penny more for the shine, which covered the price of the newspaper, and we were guaranteed sales—and they got more business, too. Rather than compete for customers, the newsies would simply sell to passers by who did not opt for the shoe shine. They'd be on hand to replenish the supply to the bootblacks. This meant fewer unsold papes since the bootblacks would end up buying more than they needed most days, but it also was good for their business. We all did well, and more importantly, there were fewer fights with those guys. The messengers, too, were becoming more respectful. All in all things were going well, but that did not mean that we had more money. On the contrary; many of the boys, while still contributing to the jars and saving as per the rules, were spending more money on races, vaudeville shows, women, and alcohol.
Now, don't get me wrong; I didn't begrudge the boys those things, especially since I spent money on the same. But the point was that we were hardly richer than we had been in the past. The good news was that each boy now had some fallback cash. I had a sock for each boy in my locker, and any day they had made more than 35 cents, I expected a penny in the sock. I also expected a contribution to both the sock and the jar after the first 40 cents on the third good day. When a boy moved out of the lodging house, he got his sock, often with a dollar or two in it, and when he sold poorly, we had the option to use the money to cover his night in the lodging house—mandatory for my boys in the rain or in the winter—or a meal. The group jar was always raided first, but it was also never very full. Many of the new boys used it to cover what they didn't sell or to buy the next day's papes if they had had a particularly rough day. The system meant that nobody starved or froze to death, but it was harsh leaving them with so little profit. That's why when boys had extra to spend I let them.
"Spot!" I heard Ace yelling behind me one day in March. He was running, and I could tell something was wrong.
"What's the matter, Ace?" I said, instantly clutching my cane. Damn, and I had hoped to see the Fischers that day. I hadn't seen them much lately.
"Someone robbed the lodging house!" he said, and I swore. We sprinted back to the lodging house, and he filled me in. Silver had apparently come back early and surprised the thieves, who had beaten him pretty good. He was there now. I burst into the bunkroom and found Silver asleep on his bunk. He looked a bit worse for wear, but I could tell he would recover. I shook him awake as gently as I could.
"Tell me," I said softly.
"Three guys from the wharf. You know the goon with the grey bowler and his buddy with the black sweater?" I nodded. Those two I knew, and I knew they had a third pal.
"I'll get it back," I said. "Good job, Silver. Get some rest."
I headed over to the wharf, Ace in tow. It didn't take me long to find the three guys.
"You've got something of mine," I said.
"Come and take it. We can do the same to you that we did to your friend," the guy in the sweater snarled.
Adrenaline does weird things to your body. For most people, anticipation of a fight makes them tense and nervous. For me it's a rush. I know I can win. The prospect of avenging Silver and getting our money back just made me feel alive. I grinned, a gleam in my eye.
"Fine by me," I said, and I jumped him.
Fighting three guys takes speed, but I have that. It also takes awareness, but I haven't spent ten years on the streets for nothing. These guys were big, but they were slow. They were lummoxes. My cane and I took care of business. Dodge, weave, hit, dodge, whack, spin, punch, punch, dodge, duck, hit, hit, hit . . . and it was over. I walked calmly over to bowler hat, who was laying on his back, and put my foot on his neck.
"Give me my money," I said coldly. He gagged, but I saw his hands move to his pockets. I motioned Ace over, and he reached into bowler hat's pockets.
"Three dollars," Ace said, counting the money quickly. It was more than had been taken, but I figured the difference was my fee for having to come get it.
"Stay away from my boys. Stay away from my lodging house. Don't mess with Brooklyn, and Brooklyn won't mess with you," I spat at bowler hat. He tried to nod, but my foot at his neck stopped him.
"Yes, sir," he croaked out. I nodded and walked away. My blood was up, I had a bit of extra cash, and I needed to vent some energy.
"See to the boys tonight," I barked at Ace before heading off to find Gina.