"Hey guys, listen up." Jack stood on the bottom step of the staircase, waving his hands to get everyone's attention. It was a hard task, and he was failing miserably. "Hey, I said listen up!"
Racetrack, being the nearest to him, looked up and saw Jack standing there. "Hey, let's put this off a second." He nodded his head at their leader, and the others nodded their agreement. Between the players and the people watching, Racetrack had quieted half the room. The other half, hearing everything suddenly go quiet, stopped chattering.
"Thanks, Race," Jack said once it had quieted down. "So Brooklyn, as you might know, has undergone a change in management." A few older newsies snickered, remembering that exact phrase from one of the recent articles. "Spot Conlon is now their leader."
"Confound it," Race heard someone mutter. He looked around and found it was Blink, who was pulling a quarter out of his pocket and tossing it over to Mush. Mush, on the other hand, was beaming.
"I'm psychic," Mush said. Race snorted.
"So how's everyone feel about Spot's Brooklyn?" Jack surveyed. A couple of noncommittal mumbles sounded around the room, but that soon turned into heated debates. Would Dicer have made a better leader?
Race was on Dicer's side, but he didn't voice his opinion. He just wanted to get back to his poker game. "Hey, uh, guys." He prodded Swifty, but only got an irritated grunt. "Hey, guys," he repeated a bit louder. Still no response. "I'm cleaning up and taking all your money with me."
"Yah, whatever," a few said offhandedly. Race sighed. Being new to Manhattan, Race only received respect from a few of the newsies. He cleaned up the cards, but left the money, figuring they probably would need it more than him the more they gambled. Standing up, he noticed the whole room was engaged in one debate or another.
It made him feel utterly aware how much of an outsider he was. He started up the stairs, but someone blocked him. Looking up, he found Jack still stood there.
"You got a minute, Race?"
"Yah." He shoved the deck into his pocket. "What do you want?" Jack didn't say anything, he just led Race out to the roof.
"This about Brooklyn?" Race asked in attempt to get Jack to say something. Jack nodded. "Spot?" Once again, Jack nodded. Race sighed heavily, not wanting to talk about Spot, despite the fact he probably knew more about that kid than any other newsie here. He did not want to talk about Brooklyn; he had just run away from the largest civil war.
"Tell me about Spot," Jack said, and though it was not a question, it was not a command either.
"What do you want to know about him?"
"Everything. What is he like?"
"He's, well, Spot," and that, in Race’s opinion, summed it up….
"That doesn't mean anything."
Apparently not for anyone outside of Brooklyn.
"He'll get what he want if he wants it bad enough, doesn't matter what it takes. He wanted to be the best, didn't want anyone to look down on him. Spot probably got to the top because of his ruthlessness. Tell me, Jack, how's Dicer."
Jack turned away, looking at the only thing visible in the sky, the moon. "Don't know. He just disappeared. Might be dead, might be hiding."
Inwardly, Race heaved a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he frowned. He had advised Dicer to make a run for it before Spot made the final murder. If Dicer had just disappeared, then he might still be alive. "I trust Spot, Jack. I trusted him before everything happened, anyways."
"I don't trust him."
Race raised an eyebrow. "Do you trust any of the others? Midtown? The Bronx?"
Jack shook his head. "But I trust Spot least of all."
"Look at me, Jack." Jack turned, and Race examined the other's face. After a while, he said, "You want me to take Spot's place? Impossible."
"I've figured out a way to get you there."
"Jack, it's impossible."
"It's not. I have a plan. Brooklyn isn't stable. Spot doesn't have complete loyalty yet. We can get you there."
Race rolled his eyes. Jack had no idea how Brooklyn worked. "If I didn't come to Manhattan, I had a chance. If I go back now, who says I won't leave again?"
"Just listen." And Jack laid out his elaborate plan. Manhattan would give Brooklyn the little push it needed to fall into chaos, and Race would emerge from the wreckage and rebuild the glory. "It'll happen so fast, Brooklyn won't know what happened."
It was, to say the least, a very risky operation that risked Race's neck most of all. "Leave Brooklyn be, Jack. I'm not Brooklyn. Spot is."
Jack sighed. "I don't trust Spot."
Race shrugged. "I can't possibly run that army and hit the tracks at the same time."
"He's not any taller than you!" Jack exclaimed.
Race narrowed his eyes. "Is that how it is? You can go find someone else to put on the top of Brooklyn." His words had suddenly turned cold, and he turned around with the thought of going to bed.
Frustrated, Jack grabbed Race's shoulders, spun him around, and shook him. " Brooklynknows you. Come on, Race."
" Brooklynknew me," he concluded, shoving Jack's hands off. " Brooklyn won't let Spot go down to a traitor."
Disgusted, Jack turned away again. "I'll give you a week to change your mind."
"It won't change anything," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm done with Brooklyn."
"A week, Race. And then it'll be too late."
Race, continuing on his way down, shook his head. Jack simply didn't understand. Then again, no one did. Race had had a chance at the crown. It should have been him against Spot, but he had run away, leaving Dicer in the heat of things. If he had stayed to fight, he might have been Brooklyn.
Or he could be dead.