Brooklyn Baby | Spot Conlon ¹

Chp. 9: Court

I woke up to the sun shining on my face through the window of Spot's room. I blinked a couple of times, and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I looked over to see that Spot was still asleep. He looked so innocent, laying there, clutching the pillow. He almost looked...adorable.

I stepped out of bed, and pulled the covers over the bed so it looked somewhat tidy. Not that Spot would care if it were tidy or not, but it was the polite thing to do. I clipped my suspenders, straightened my button-down shirt, and slipped on my shoes. I stood next to where he was sleeping, and looked down at him. His chest rose with every breath he took. His thin blanket was halfway over his chest, and he was sleeping on his side. His pants were not pulled up completely, so checkered boxers were visible. I smiled, stepped over him, and walked outside.

The Brooklyn newsies were already up, sitting on the dock or jumping into the river. I saw some familiar faces, not that I knew their names, but I'd seen them here a couple of times.

"You's tha goil Spot was with," One said to me.

"He brought me he-ah 'cause tha Bulls was afta' me," I said.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Guess it's 'cause I's apart of tha strike,"

"You's Kenny, Jack Kelly's sista," Another said.

"That I is."

"Spot's told us 'bout ya a couple times," The first one said.

"They's lyin'," I heard. I turned to see Spot, in a dark blue button down (unbuttoned to his chest as usual, and his red suspenders. He was securing his slingshot in his pocket, walking over to us.

"Don't ya listen to a word they say," He continued, shooing the two boys away.

"And why not?"

"Spot! Spot!" A boy came running over. He was small, maybe around eleven years old. "Jack Kelly's in court! It's startin' soon!"

"Thank ya, Fetch. Let's go, doll face,"

We start to walk off the dock, a few boys saying goodbye to Spot, or just tipping their hats. We get to the bridge when I finally ask him who Fetch was.

"Fetch is like a messenger," He says. "A lot of tha boys have a special job, like Fetch. If anything needs to be said to me or if I need something to be said to someone else, Fetchy does it."

"That's useful," I say.

"Yeah. He ain't old enough to be a guard or a spy, and he ain't good at sellin' papes, so we give him somethin' ta do,"

"Spy?"

"Yeah, we got spies. They usually just sit around unless they's needin' ta be watchin' something." He says. "Or someone,"

"Ever sent ya spies on us?"

"Yeah, when I's tryin' ta see if you all were serious about goin' on strike, he went to observe ya behavia',"

"I had no idea,"

"Ace is a very good spy," He replies. "Neva' been seen,"

"We don't have any of that, just sellin' papes."

"Well, no one messes with Brooklyn fa' a reason," He says, sounding all tough. I just chuckle and keep walking.

We walk all the way to Manhattan, where we find the newsies, Skiddy, and a newsie sent from Queens, all gathered in front of the courthouse.

"Heya, Kenny, we was waitin' for ya," Race said.

"Spot too," Boots added.

"Then let's go," I said, all of us walking into the courthouse. I noticed that everybody was a little dressed up, in blazers or dress pants. I, however, was wearing the same outfit as yesterday. The same faded jeans, white button down rolled up and tucked in.