Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 88: Spot Conlon's Turf
The door to the landlord's office opened, and Sadie looked up to see Davey letting himself in.
"Sorry I'm late, Chare," he apologized, setting his schoolbook and slate down at their usual spot and practically dropping down into the seat beside her. "It was a long day."
"Were the headlines bad?" she asked sympathetically.
Davey shook his head. "The headlines were fine. I just had a little adventure today."
"An adventure!"
"It's not really that exciting."
"That can't be true - not when you've used that word deliberately!"
"I wasn't thinking, Sadie." Davey rubbed his face, clearly exhausted by the day's events. "I didn't mean to make it sound all that interesting. I just…" he trailed off, trying to come up with the words. "I went to the Bronx today," he said finally. "It didn't turn out to be what I was expecting, that's all."
"Was it your first time going into that part of town?" Sadie asked, intrigued.
He nodded. "Despite the fact that my family's moved so much, there are still quite a few parts of New York that I haven't seen."
"And what did you think of our neighbors to the north?"
He gave her a wry smile. "They're not the most friendly. At least, not the newsies - they're the only ones I interacted with, and I didn't stay long."
There was obviously more to the story than what was being said, but his persistently brief answers to her questions seemed to indicate that he really didn't want to talk about it.
"Well, you've certainly had the more exciting day between the two of us," Sadie offered, deciding to go along with his desire to drop the matter. Her curiosity was piqued, but she wasn't going to press him about his trip if he wasn't inclined to elaborate. "Despite your kind suggestion that I ought to do something ridiculous if the lesson this morning proved tedious, you'll be happy to know that I, in fact, spent the entire day at school being uniformly sensible. I applied myself in class, only daydreamed once, and somehow even managed to score highest in our class on our weekly exam, something that's never happened before."
"Chare, that's great!" Davey grinned, the pride evident on his face. "See, I told you you were smart."
"Maybe your intelligence is rubbing off on me," she quipped.
"It was always there."
"So you say. But if you're going to insist on attributing any impulsive tendencies you've picked up to me, I certainly have the right to attribute any academic inclinations I've recently acquired to you. I never paid much attention in class until we started these tutoring lessons. Papa will vouch for me," Sadie added as her father walked through the door.
"Vouch for you how?" he asked, coming over.
"By confirming that I've only just recently begun to give any thought whatsoever to my school work," Sadie answered.
"That's true," her father smiled. "I think David's been a good influence on you in that way."
"You see, Davey?"
"That doesn't negate your inherent intelligence," he insisted. "I'm sure your father will agree with me on that, too."
The landlord chuckled. "I came over here to fetch a hammer and some nails, not to get caught up in a debate!" His eyes were merry. "But I do concur with David's assessment, Sadie. You might have only begun applying yourself lately, but you've always been bright."
Davey didn't say anything, but his expression was decidedly smug.
"Anyway…" Philip Becker stepped away from the table and made his way over to the supply closet in the corner of the room, "I'll let you get on with your lesson. The screen came loose on the Millers' window, so I'm just here to pick up a few things to fix it, but then I'll be heading over there."
"Actually, Mr. Becker, while we're on the subject of the tenement," Davey broke in suddenly, "you wouldn't happen to have any projects I could do for you tonight...would you?"
"Tonight?" the landlord echoed, looking surprised. "It's nearly eight-thirty, David."
"I meant something that I could do at home - sorting or organizing or anything like that," Davey explained. "It's no problem if you don't, and I'm sorry for asking so abruptly...I just...I thought I'd check."
Philip looked thoughtful, and Sadie could tell that he couldn't think of anything he needed done right off the top of his head, but that was trying - for Davey's sake - to come up with something.
"Aha!" he snapped his fingers. "Actually, there is something I could use your help with, David. It's the end of the month, which means that it's time to make sure all accounts are settled before we head into December. Most of the tenants have already paid their next month's rent, but I haven't heard from a handful of them even after stopping by to remind them, and now I'm going to need to give them notice in writing of their delinquency for record-keeping purposes. Is your penmanship any good?"
Davey quickly scribbled down a sentence on his slate and held it up for the landlord's perusal. "I'm not sure if this would pass muster, but here it is, sir."
Philip glanced at it and nodded. "That'll do nicely. If I draft out a notice, could you make eleven copies of it for me by tomorrow evening? I'll provide you with the writing implements and letterhead."
"I'll have it done by morning," Davey promised. "Thank you, Mr. Becker," he smiled. "I appreciate it."
"Your family's not in any trouble, are they?" the landlord inquired kindly.
"No, sir, they're not. I just didn't make as much money today as I was hoping to," Davey admitted. "But this will help."
"Well, you'll be doing me a service," Philip clapped him lightly on the back. "I'll put everything together and leave it over here on the table so that you can take it with you when you leave tonight." So saying, walked over to the corner of the office, stopping to exchange a few words with Abby who was reading in her chair before he opened the supply closet and walked inside to rummage through it.
"Sorry for the tangent," Davey murmured, giving Sadie an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to hold up our lesson."
"There's nothing to apologize for," she assured him. "But I'm sorry to hear that it was a difficult day for selling."
"It was mostly my fault," he shrugged. "But thanks to your father, maybe I'll break even."
"We'd better hurry and get on with it, then," Sadie said, opening up her book and beginning to leaf through it. "You've got another job to get to, and it's already late."
"I don't mind," he said.
She gave him a confused look.
"What I meant to say...is that you don't need to hurry - on account of me," Davey clarified. "It's already been a really busy day, and I've been rushing from one thing to the next...it's actually kind of nice to be able to rest for a moment." He gave her a small, tentative smile before adding, "I suppose it's not really restful for you, though, since you're the one doing all the work. I just get to sit here and listen to you. That's the easy part."
"You make it sound like it's a pleasant diversion!" she joked.
He looked a little embarrassed, but didn't drop his gaze. "I mean...that's not entirely untrue."
The statement hung in the air for just a moment before he hurriedly reached for his own book and opened it. "I shouldn't hold you up, though - you've probably got other things to do, and you're right, I should be more mindful of the time." He began flipping through the pages, glancing over at her book to find the corresponding chapter before saying quickly, "Ready when you are."
Sadie gamely went along with the abrupt segue, launching into a recap of the lesson from earlier that morning and talking through the material with ease. Davey remained focused and attentive throughout the entire time, and didn't say anything more about his unusual day or his unexpected disclosure...
But after he'd thanked her and left for the night, taking along with him the letterhead and writing implements that Philip Becker had set out on the table, Sadie found herself musing on the exchanges they'd had that day and wondering why Davey seemed to be so scattered. He'd stumbled over his words that morning when she'd politely remonstrated his concerns about her safety, had teased her a bit at the schoolyard gate before abruptly drawing back and taking off for the distribution center, and just this evening had let slip the startling admission that he actually enjoyed their tutoring sessions, something that he seemed to be equal parts earnest and embarrassed about.
He was as much of a conundrum to her as he'd been on the very first day that they'd met, and while Sadie would contend that she knew him far better now than she had then, there was still so much about Davey that she couldn't even begin to wrap her mind around.
He was probably just preoccupied with whatever business it was that had taken him to the Bronx that day, she decided. Clearly it was something that troubled him, even though he'd tried to minimize its importance, and he had his family's financial concerns to think about on top of that. It would be enough to drive anyone distracted, and Davey was certainly entitled to his moments of capriciousness...even if they were somewhat perplexing.
Getting up from the table, Sadie slowly gathered her school supplies and pushed in her chair before calling over to her younger sister who was still engrossed in her reading.
"Come on, Abby - it's getting late. We'd better head back over to the apartment."
Race's eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself blearily staring at the boards of the bunk bed above his own. The lodging house was nearly dark, only the faintest hint of early dawn filtering in through the curtained windows, and he could hear the ambient sounds of the other newsies shifting in their beds, but his mind was foggy, and something felt off somehow…
As his eyes adjusted, they were drawn to the unfamiliar carvings on the wooden boards above him: a poorly-rendered drawing of a bird of prey directly overhead, a heart with a pair of initials off to the side...and over in the left hand corner, just barely decipherable phrase: 'Time to Go Slumming.'
Wait - this wasn't his bed. This wasn't the Manhattan lodging house.
Race pushed himself upright and immediately regretted it as a spasm of pain shot through his body. Biting back a cry of dismay, he eased his way down onto the mattress, his heart pounding as his mind cleared and he began to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there.
He was in Brooklyn.
The boys sleeping in the bunks around him were Spot's gang of newsies.
They'd found him (he couldn't remember when, or how he'd even managed to make it all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge), had brought him into the lodging house, helped him up the stairs, and then, under Spot's direction, had settled him into a bed and tended to his injuries as best they could by the light of a handheld lamp. Race couldn't remember all that had happened after that, but he knew that after completing their ministrations, they'd eventually retreated to their own bunks, leaving him to rest.
He'd spend the next day drifting in and out of varying degrees of consciousness, aware of Spot and a few of the other newsies occasionally tending to him, but mostly sleeping or staring blearily at the wall, trying not to think about the pain or what had caused it. The Brooklyn newsies, true to form, hadn't asked any questions, and Race hadn't volunteered any information, so no one knew what had taken place the night before, halfway across the Bridge.
He hadn't felt up to stomaching much, but he remembered Spot bringing him dinner - just some watered-down soup and a crusty bread roll - and commanding him to eat before he drifted off to sleep again.
That must have been several hours ago.
Race's head throbbed, and his body ached. His thoughts were still a bit hazy, and he couldn't seem to remember anything clearly, only snatches of images and words flitting through his mind, vividly real and yet somehow ungrounded and out of reach. It was a disorienting feeling.
Exhausted, he let his head drop back down upon the pillow.
When he finally awoke again hours later, it was sometime in the early afternoon, judging from the angle of the sunlight streaming through the lodging house windows. The bunk room was empty, and Race was surprised that he'd again managed to sleep through an entire newsie contingent's morning preparations, but he'd forgotten again that this was Brooklyn, not Manhattan. Mornings under Spot's command were far more orderly than Jack's.
Groaning, Race massaged his temples, carefully avoiding the swelling over his left eye that was probably shaping up to be a first-rate shiner. His head felt a little clearer after all the sleep, and as he looked over to the side of his bed, he saw that a jug of something - probably water - and a plate with a small sausage and a chunk of bread had been set there. A note was sticking out from underneath the plate, and Race, with some difficulty, reached down and managed to pick it up.
Most of us is heading to Coney Island to sell today, but we's gonna be back tonight. Eat and don't do anything stupid.
Race let the piece of paper flutter to the floor. Spot rarely left notes, and when he did, he never bothered to sign them, but Race could tell even from the few words written on the paper that the Brooklyn leader was slightly concerned, though he must have considered Race stable enough if he'd left him to fend for himself while the rest of the newsies went out to sell for the day.
Finding himself thirsty, Race forced himself into a sitting position, cursing a little under his breath at the sharp pain that accompanied the movement. He reached over and tentatively unscrewed the lid of the jug, then raised the bottle to his lips and drank. The tepid water soothed his dry throat, and he gulped down nearly half the contents of the receptacle before replacing the lid and then reaching down to pick up the plate.
He wasn't very hungry, but he knew that Spot would ask him if he'd eaten the rations that had been left behind, and it was futile (and ill-advised) to lie to Spot Conlon.
Nibbling on the sausage, Race surveyed the bunk room, memories filtering back to him as he took in the familiar sight of the long, narrow room with its rows of bunk beds. He could see the clothes chute that led down to the basement where the laundry facilities were, and the orderly line of stools set up against the far wall, stowed neatly beneath a shallow ledge upon which he'd played many a card game with Bo or Eggy or sometimes even Spot himself.
Nothing, apparently, had changed since he'd left Brooklyn. It was an oddly comforting thought.
Deciding that he needed to pay a visit to the washroom, Race finished his small meal, then eased himself into a sitting position. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bracing himself against the bunk's sturdy frame, then got to his feet.
The wash room was located in the basement, and it took Race nearly half an hour to get himself down the stairs, washed up (and slightly more presentable), and back to the bunk room. By the time he'd completed the circuit, his head was throbbing, and he was ready to lay down again, so he eased himself back down onto the mattress and stretched out slowly, placing his hands behind his head.
An indeterminate amount of time passed as he lay there, his thoughts drifting and the pain eventually dulling a little as he slowly dozed off towards sleep. Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard the sound of the door downstairs opening and clicking shut and footsteps ascending the stairs.
"...found him lookin' pretty roughed up. He'll be fine in a few days - just needs a little rest - but I'm warnin' ya, he don't look so good."
It was Spot's voice, and Race, not really wanting to deal with the Brooklyn leader's bluster at the moment, was about to close his eyes and feign sleep, when another familiar voice reached his ears.
"I don't care how bad he looks. Just knowing that he's all in one piece will be good enough for me."
"All right, but don't say I didn't warn ya, Mouth…"
Race twisted around, trying to look over his shoulder without having to get up. Sure enough, there was Spot, stalking calmly into the room, and right behind him was the owner of the second voice, the last person Race would have expected to come looking for him in unfamiliar territory.
"Hey, Spot, what's this bummer doin' on your turf?" Race joked weakly from his place on the bed. "Didnt'cha tell him he's supposed to be sellin' on the other side of the Bridge?"
Davey immediately turned towards him, his eyes widening in concern as he rushed over and knelt down beside the bed, giving Race an anxious once-over.
"Race, where did you go? We couldn't find you! Are you okay? What happened?"
"Hey, settle down, Mouth," Spot urged, appearing at Davey's shoulder and pulling him back just a bit. "Give him some room to breathe, all right? Like I said, it ain't a pretty sight, but he's healin', so lighten up, all right? Nobody died."
"Yeah," Race scoffed, "it's gonna take a lot more than a soakin' to get rid of me." It was meant to be a joke, but the words came out sounding hollow.
"You got soaked?" Davey asked quietly.
"I didn't exactly get these bruises trippin' over my own two feet, Dave."
"Well, yeah, but…" the other boy sounded almost distressed, "...who would soak you? And why?"
Race turned away, suddenly finding himself reluctant to answer the seemingly-earnest questions as unwelcome memories came flooding back. In his surprise at seeing Davey, he'd momentarily forgotten the impetus that had driven him to Brooklyn in the first place: the galling realization that Davey could be possibly stealing from the Newsie Fund, and the thought's embittering implication: that Davey, who'd seemed so trustworthy and honest, who'd stepped up to lead the strike when Race had been desperate for help, who'd quickly become a part of the newsie family (and someone Race considered a friend), in all likelihood wasn't as trustworthy and honest as everyone had thought.
He'd sounded so sincere a moment ago when he'd been nearly tripping over himself to make sure that Race was all right, but maybe that was all an act, and maybe it had all been an act from the beginning. It didn't seem likely...but Race had been around long enough to have experienced his fair share of folks not turning out to be what he'd thought, and it wouldn't have been the first time betrayal had reared its ugly head in the lodging house.
At any rate, Race wasn't in the mood to answer Davey's questions right now.
"It probably ain't the best time to talk about what happened," he muttered, hoping that he sounded weary enough to get the other newsie off his back. "Maybe after I've had a nap."
"Okay…" Davey said slowly. "Okay, that's...sure, that's fine. We don't have to talk about it now. Not if you don't want to." Race could tell that the concession was difficult for him to make, but that he was trying very hard to be agreeable. "I'm just glad you're okay. And the rest of the newsies will be, too."
"They come with you?" Race asked indifferently, still staring at the wall. His head was beginning to hurt again.
"No, I came alone," Davey said. "But they're all worried about you, Jack especially. He was going to sneak into The Refuge tonight to see if he could find you."
That surprised Race almost as much as the fact that Davey had come to Brooklyn unaccompanied. He knew how much Jack still feared The Refuge.
"Anyway, I'll let you rest now," Davey said, and Race could hear the sound of him getting to his feet. "I'll come back to check on you later."
Race grunted in response but didn't say anything, his body too weary and his mind too conflicted for any other response. As he listened to the retreating footsteps of Spot and Davey, he heard the latter say quietly to the Brooklyn leader, "Thank you...for taking him in and caring for him when we couldn't. I know you said that you aren't sure what happened...but I'm glad your boys stepped in."
The two of them left the room and headed down the stairs, but Race caught the words of Spot's reply just before the conversation faded out of earshot.
"It goes without sayin', Mouth: Brooklyn always takes care of her own."
A/N: Our missing newsie has finally been found, but the mystery of the stolen money continues to linger. A frank discussion between Race and Davey awaits in the upcoming chapter, but in the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this one! Your feedback is always greatly appreciated. :) Thank you!
