The Queen of Brooklyn~A Spot Conlon Fanfic

Chapter Twelve: Judge Movealong

"All rise, all rise, court is now in session. Judge E. Monaham presenting." A gavel pounds against the sound block, and an old man with grey hair and a mustache with curled tips sitting in the front of the room looks at us seriously.

"Are any of you represented by a council?" the judge asked.

We all looked at each other in confusion. Scattered whispers of "What's a council?" filled the room.

"Good, that'll move things along..." The judge sighs, as if we're wasting his time. "...considerably."

Spot raises his hand, like he was in school. "Hey, your Honor, I object." 

"Really?" The judge looks at Spot like he was an insect. Actually, scratch that—he's looking at all of us that way. "On what grounds?"

"On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor," Spot replies, and we all start laughing. Ignoring Spot's joke, the judge continues.

"I fine each of you five dollars or two weeks' confinement to the House of the Refuge."

The laughter dies abruptly, to be replaced by "What?"s and "Oh no"s and "Two weeks in the Refuge?"s. 

Finally, Race speaks up. "Woah, woah, sir—we don't got five dollars. We don't even got five cents."

The judge shrugs. I'll bet if we weren't a bunch of kids, he'd be saying something like, "That's not my problem." But since we're just kids and he has to be polite, he simply shrugs, looking like poor kids being squeezed for money is the last thing he cares about. "Move along," he Says. "Move along."

"Your Honor!" A new voice speaks up. But this time it's not Spot. It's Denton, who's making his way through the crowd of newsies as he digs into his wallet and pulled out a $100 bill and a $50 bill. "I'll pay the fines. All of them." I'm pretty sure each and every one of us wanted to hug Denton at that moment.

Davey steps up from behind Denton. I'm relieved to see Davey—we hadn't seen him since Spot, Race, Jack and I ran from Snyder last night. We sort of left him there at the table. Oops. But he doesn't look mad. In fact, he looks relieved to see us, too.

"Hey, fellas," Davey greets us. Then he looks over our crowd once more, realizing someone was missing. "Where's Jack?"

Spot, Race and I glance each other. We'd all seen Jack get taken away by the bulls and Snyder yesterday. But I don't really want to tell Davey that—I don't want him to be worried. After all, I'm sure Jack'll be fine. So I just shrug. "No one's seen him," I lie.

"Pay the clerk, move along," the judge says, pounding his gavel against the sound block again as the newsies started to file out of the courthouse. But before we could make it to the door, Denton walks in front of us, blocking our crowd.

"Hey, thanks for that," Mush says.

"Yeah," Race adds. "Pretty sure we'd all have gotten sent to the Refuge if you hadn't come in there."

Spot scoffs and says under his breath, "Yeah, like you and I need to spend any more time there." I'm pretty sure he's talking to Race, but nobody hears him. Only me, because I'm next to him.

Denton quickly replies, "You're welcome," before saying, "Kids, we have to meet at the restaurant. Everybody." The newsies glance at each other in confusion. Why? "We have to talk."

Uh oh. This can't be good.

That's when I glance across the room and saw Jack walk in, his arms bound to his  back with handcuffs. Three bulls, along with Snyder, follows behind him. "Case of Jack Kelly." The judge pounds his gavel against the sound block again. (He sure likes doing that.) "Inciting to riot, assault, resisting arrest."

"Judge Monaham, I'll speak for this young man," another new voice speaks up. Snyder smirks as he says the words, looking at Jack with eyes that I'm sure make Jack want to break free of his handcuffs and tackle Snyder. But he doesn't. He just stares at the ground, not making eye contact with any one of us. "This boy's real name is Francis Sullivan." My eyes widen. That's the name Snyder told me a while ago. I remember not knowing who he was talking about. Why did I just brush it off like that? I should've looked more into it, maybe asked Jack. But it's too late now. "Mother's deceased, father is a convict in state penitentiary."

We all look at each other, eyebrows raised. I don't think any one of us knew this about Jack. He lied to every single one of us.

Jack glares at Snyder. "You son of a—mmph, mmph!" His words are cut off by a bull, who slaps his gloved hand over Jack's mouth.

Snyder looks back to the judge, without a care for Jack in the world. "Therefore, I ask that he should be returned to the House of Refuge, simply so he has someone to care for him."

"I don't need no one to care for me," Jack replies bitterly. Snyder ignores him, looking expectantly at the judge.

Judge Movealong bangs his gavel against the sound block (what is that, the fourth time? Fifth?). "As requested."

"No!" Les cries, but Davey holds him back. I just stand there, shaking my head. Jack's going back to to the Refuge.

Or should I say: Francis is going back to the Refuge.