"It was you? Yer the one that burned the buildin'?" Spot asked, staring at his friend in disbelief. Reptile had loved being a newsie even though he did't get paid much.
"No, it wasn't. That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya. I didn't do it. Everyone just thinks I did 'cause I was here when the buildin' was burnin' down. No one ain't listenin' to me. I need ya to help me, Spot. I'm innocent, Brooklyn's honour."
"I don't think that ya know what that means." Spot said.
"That's agains' da point. I'm tellin' ya, Spot, I didn't do nothing. Every one else jus' dreamin' through a pipe." Reptile said, starring hopefully through the bars at Spot.
Spot starred back. How could he prove that Reptile hadn't done anything? What if it had been him. He had been there when the building had started burning; he had said so himself.
"Spot, ya gotta believe me." Reptile whispered. His brows were bent hopefully and he was gripping the bars tightly. His lizard's head poked out of his pocket, looking around.
Suddenly, a police man came up from behind Spot and grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, kid. What are you doing back here? Don't you know that this kid is a criminal?" The man said, glaring at Reptile who frowned and glared back.
"He ain't no criminal. He's my friend, and if ya let me, maybe I can prove 'e's innocent. "
"Kid, I ain't got no authority over things like that. You've got to take that up with the sheriff. He may let you. He's got a soft spot for kids."
Spot frowned. Even though he was eleven, he hated being called a kid. Kid's couldn't take care of themselves for three months, running from police and riding on the top of trains and hiding secretly in the backs of wagons, sitting cramped for endless hours. But he didn't want to tell this to a policeman. That may ruin his chance for saving Reptile. Behind him, he heard the boys complaining and worrying about how they would make money now.
Maybe, he thought , I could help da adda boys, too. If they'll listen ta me.
"All right." He said. "I'll talk to yer boss. Take me to 'im." Spot said. First he would talk to the sheriff. Then he would tell the boys his plan, if he could come up with one that fast.
Spot followed the man to the front of the wagon. A older man was talking to a reporter, who was taking notes in his thick notepad.
"...and he claims to not have set the building on fire, though he has no proof." The officer was saying.
"Put do ya go proof that 'e did do it?" Spot asked. He crossed his arms, and glared. Now I see why they call police the bulls. They just charge at their vitct'ms without no proof of what happened! Spot thought.
"Well, no. But we have pretty good reason to believe that it was him. He was here before anybody else this morning. And he was seen next to a large, yet empty, bottle of gasoline. And he ran away when he saw the witness. We're taking him for questioning. I'm telling you, this is one stubborn boy." The sheriff said.
"Well, why don't you jus' let 'im go? If ya ain't got no proof that he did set the buildin' on fire, questioning won't make him say nutin'. 'Sides, I'm 'is best friend. 'E won't keep no secrets from me. An' if 'e does, an' I find out 'bout it, you'll be the first to know." Spot promised. He had a way with adults, the other boys said. He decided to think he just had a way with words. That's how he became a newsie; he had convinced the boys and Mr. Spencer to let him sell papers for their station, but he couldn't remember what he had said.
The officer seemed to be thinking about it for a long time before he said, "All right, kid. We'll let him go, but you've got to keep your eye on him at all times."
YOU ARE READING
Spot Conlon: To the Top [1]
FanfictionSpot Conlon is an eleven year old boy who lives in Brooklyn, New York. He works as a Brooklyn Newsies, selling papes for a penny each every day. Being a newsie is tough: there's never enough. Enough food, enough money, enough anything. One day, he a...