The Queen of Brooklyn~A Spot Conlon Fanfic

Chapter Two: The Chase

I tag along with Davey, Les, and Jack when they head out to sell papes. They's goin' to Town Square, where there's a lot of good customers, and besides, I wanna see how good Davey is at selling papes.

Answer: He's terrible.

"Extra! Extra!" Davey cries, waving the pape around. "Trolley strike drags on!"

Jack snatches the pape from him. "Give me that. EXTRA, EXTRA!" Jack yells loudly. "ELLIS ISLAND IN FLAMES! BIG CONFLAGRATION! THOUSANDS FLEE IN PANIC!"

"Wait. Wait." Davey grabs the pape right back. "Where's that story? Where's it say that?"

"Shut up, will ya?" Jack hisses. "I'm tryin' to help." Sure enough, people are crowding around Jack to buy the newspaper. He hands it out, along with ten more. "Thank you, sir. Much obliged to you, ladies. TERRIFIED FLIGHT FROM INFERNO! THOUSANDS OF LIVES AT STAKE! You heard the story right here."

I smirk. Davey doesn't get it. Sometimes, when it comes to pape sellin', youse gotta make up a headline in order to sell the pape. Jack's really good at doin' that. He's had to get good at it, considering it's been the same old story about the trolley strike for the past. Three. Weeks.

I turn to Davey. "Y'know, he's just trying to help ya. Sometimes youse gotta make up a headline," I explain, patting my red-haired bun to make sure it hasn't fallen out from under my cap.

He narrows his eyes. "And what are those customers gonna say once they realize the whole thing was a lie?"

I shrug. "Probably 'Oh, what a shame!'" I raise my voice an oc higher to sound like a highfalutin lady. "'But too bad, because that kid already has my money, and there's no going back now!'"

Davey frowns. "I don't know about this—"

Just then, Les runs up to Jack and I. "Hey! This guy just gave me a quarter!" He holds up a shiny round coin. It's a quarter, all right. My cobalt-blue eyes widen. "Quick, give me some more of those papers," Les continues, grabbing about a dozen from Jack.

"Wait." Davey leans in and sniffs his little brother's breath. "Why do you smell like beer?"

"Oh, that's how I made the quarter," Les replies casually. "The guy bet me I wouldn't drink some."

I don't even try to hide my laugh.

Davey gives Jack a look that says Don't make me regret working with you, so Jack quickly turns to Les and says, stifling a chuckle, "Hey, no drinking on the job. It's bad for business. I mean, what if somebody called a cop on you?"

I smirk and look around for a second, then head to some men nearby that aren't holding any papes yet. A wrestling match between two pretty beat-up looking men is goin' on in the middle of Town Square right now, and there's a lot of rowdy people rooting for either one of the men, so I have to duck and dodge between everyone. "Hey, how'd you fellas like to buy a paper?" I ask, holding it out. I bat my eyelashes, like I always do. One plus of being the only girl of the Lower Manhattan newsies: People don't like sayin' no to you, 'specially guys.

Just as one of the men is handing me a penny, I notice someone familiar looking in the crowd. Oh, no. I do a double take, just making sure I didn't see him wrong. Nope. It's Snyder the Spider, warden of the Refuge. He's after Jack 'cause he escaped from Snyder's jail a while back. I'd better go warn Jack.

I run back over to Davey, Les, and Jack. Davey's busy scolding Les about drinking beer, and Jack's watching the wrestling match, taking a break from selling papes for the moment. "Jack." I shake his shoulder.

He turns. "What is it, Red?"

"It's Snyder!"

Davey frowns. "Wait, what's going on?" he asks just as Jack leaps up and cries, "Beat it! It's the bulls!"

We literally run through the wrestling match, into the little wrestling square. I almost get punched as Les asks, "All this for one sip of beer?" Normally, I'd laugh, but right now, we have bigger things to worry about. We dash through the streets of Lower Manhattan, cutting through alleyways and bumping into people. "Sorry!" I briskly apologize. "My bad!" "Sorry, ma'am."

Finally, Davey stops running in front of a familiar-looking theater...it's Medda Larkin's! I know her! "I'm not running any further," he tells Jack.

Jack sighs. "Fine. Let's go inside. Red," he says, turning to me. I nod to him. "Can you go and make sure that Snyder isn't still followin' us?"

I nod. "See youse later tonight, Jack." And I run off.

I round a corner, then bump right into Snyder. My heart just about stops. Snyder don't know me too well—thankfully, I joined the newsies before he ever really noticed me—but he scares the crap out of any newsie.

"Hello, Mr. Snyder," I say, trying (and failing) to hide the shake in my voice.

He stares at me. Finally, he says, "You're one of them."

"One of who, sir?"

"The newsies."

"Well, yeah." I straighten my posture a bit. If I act confident, maybe he'll think I don't know where Jack went.

"Do you happen to know a newsie by the name of Francis Sullivan?" Snyder asks me.

"Francis..." I pause. I was expecting him to say Jack Kelly. Who the heck is Francis Sullivan? "No, sir," I say, and I'm being honest. I've never heard of a Francis Sullivan.

"You may know him by the name of..." Snyder pauses for effect, eyes widening. "Jack Kelly?"

"Oh, Jack Kelly!" I clap my hands, then nod. "He went that way." I point to the opposite way Jack had run. "Where you just came from. He's hiding behind the dumpster in the third alleyway to the right." He's not—there's actually a family of rats living behind that dumpster. I hope Snyder catches rabies.

Snyder, without even thanking me, rushes off in the opposite direction Jack actually went.

I brush my hands together with satisfaction as I head back towards Newsie Square, screaming, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Trolley strike enters third week! You heard the story right here!"

I don't even think twice about how Snyder said Jack was also called Francis Sullivan.

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So...I made R run into Snyder the Spider. (By the way, I know you guys are waiting for Spot Conlon. Don't worry, he'll come into the story very soon!)