Nickels (Spot Conlon x reader) {Completed}

8

"Y/- Nickels." Jackie corrected himself, "'Aven't yous heard? Spottie got 'imself in da Refuge."

"W-What?" I stuttered, my voice cracking slightly. I felt frozen, but knew that everyone was waiting for my reaction. Hell, I couldn't let them know why I was so distraught. I swallowed hard and attempted to lowering my voice back down.

"And how the hells do you know?!" I spat at Jack.

"Race saw him bein' dragged in by da bulls."

I felt my nostrils flare out. I whirled back to the crowd of Manhattan newsies, "Which one of yous is Race?"

A short, dark-haired, Italian kid with a cigar stuck between his teeth stepped forward. "I'se is."

Even though his voice was even, his eyes flew from me to Jack and back again. I looked him up and down. This was a kid who acted tough, and fought with his words. He had a razor-sharp tongue, but left the actual fist-fighting up to Jack.

"I'se need yous ta tell me what you saw." I said, clenching my teeth to keep the tears at bay. Everyone had heard of the Refuge, and I had even been there for a couple of days. I remember the cold nights, lack of food, and the cracked ceilings. It was hell. And I couldn't imagine Spot being there, all alone. Shouldn't his boys have picked him up by now? He's the fucking King of Brooklyn for goodness sakes!

I realized I had spaced out and I snapped my eyes back to Race.

"Uh... well," He started, " I'se was walking back 'ere last night, and all I saw was a big burly guy draggin' along Spot. 'E den disappeared inta da Refuge. Dat's it! I swears." He talked real fast, moving his hands all around.

"And whys didn' you 'elp 'im?!" I practically growled.

"What do yous tinks I'se gonna do?!" Race said defensively, "Go inta da Refuge?! Plus, 'e's da King a Brooklyn. 'E can take care of 'imself"

I rubbed my temples and took a deep breath to keep myself from soaking this idiotic boy.

I looked back to Jack, "We's gotta get 'im out."

Jacks head went side to side, not really nodding, but not shaking his head either. (Does that make since?)

"Hey." The kid Race said, taking his cigar out of his mouth and pointing at me with it, "Whys you care 'bout Spot so much anyways? Yous Nickels! Yous only take care of yourself. Dat's what Jack says anyways."

I glared at Jack before saying, "I'se need ta talk ta 'im. 'E... owes me, you could say."

Race nodded his head, "Money?"

"What?"

"Does 'e own ya money? I knows a couple a guys who owe me some big bucks."

A kid with an eye patch spoke up, "More like yous owe dem a dollar or two!"

"Shuttup Blink!" Race said shoving a couple of guys. Laughter and chuckles broke out.

I smirked, "Nah. 'E owes me time."

"Huh?"

"Time." I repeated, "We needs ta talk."

***

Jack, Race, and I stood on the roof of the Refuge. Jack held a rope.

"You knows da drill?" He asked us. We both nodded.

Race tied an end of the rope around his waist and tugged on it. It held.

"All ready!" Race went to the edge of the roof as I got behind Jack and grabbed the rest of the rope.

Jack and I slowly fed the rope and Race was lowered down to a window of the Refuge.

I hear a couple of taps and whispers, but I focused mostly on my burning muscles and not letting Race fall. As the minutes passed I could feel the stinging of the rope burn start to set in.

"Dat boy betta hurry up odder (other) wise I'se droppin' 'im." I muttered. Jack grunted in agreement.

Suddenly, the rope was tugged twice, the signal to pull Race back up. Jack and I started backwards, pulling Race up behind us.

After Race collapsed on the roof, Jack and I lowered the rope again, panting slightly. Who knew that underfed teenage boys weighed so much?

Just then, the rope tightened again and the three of us hauled Spot up over the roof.

"Spot!" I cried, forgetting that others were there.

I dropped the rope, ran over, and hugged him tightly.

When he groaned in pain, I released him and looked him over. I gasped at what I saw.

Spots body was littered with bruises and cuts. His lip was split open, and he had a black eye. And as he hunched over in pain, I could guess that he had a bruised rib or two.

"Who did dis to ya?" I snarled and I swore I saw red. My hands curled into fists and I wanted to bust into the Refuge right then and kill somebody.

But I knew that the bigger issue was whether Spot was okay or not.

"Let's get yous 'ome." I muttered as Jack helped me lift him up.

Hey everyone! Two updates in three days! What is that- a record? Thank you for reading, and I would like to apologize if the "newsie talk" isn't consistent all the time. Again, thanks for reading!