Spot Conlon: To the Top [1]

Chapter 8: The Truth

Spot groaned. His head hurt, and he felt like he hadn't slept in a week. He was aware of the fact that he was in something moving, but he didn't care. He just wanted to go back to sleep. 

Suddenly, it all came back to him. He and his friends had pretended to be taking Reptile hostage. They had taken him to Carl's house where they had been tricked, knocked out, and must have been loaded into a police wagon. He opened his eyes, closed the, and then opened them again. He was sitting up next to Race and Jack. Tunes sat across from him. David had, apparently, been allowed to go, still pretending to be a reporter. Reptile wasn't in the wagon. 

"Wese thought youse was dead." Tunes said. Race kicked the boy's leg. 

"Where's Rep?" Spot asked. His voice was hoarse. 

"Don't know. Maybe they threw 'im in anodda wagon." Jack said. He had a stream of blood coming from his head. 

"Ya bleedin' ya know." Spot informed him. 

"Ise know dat, but not as much as youse. When dat police knocked ya ta de ground de foist time, youse head started bleedin' den youse got hit in de head like de rest of us. Youse bleedin' bad." Jack scoffed. 

Spot found that his hands weren't cuffed behind his back this time, but in front of him. He lifted his hand to feel his head and immediately touched something wet and sticky. When he pulled his hand away, blood covered his finger tips. 

"Ise guess wese goin back ta de refuge?" Spot asked. Jack nodded. 

"An' de man takin' us dair is none odda dan Snyda 'imself. 'E's up dair, driven de wagon. Wese gotta be careful wid 'im" Race said. "'E's got dis cane thing that could pack in a pretty hard wallop." 

Spot noticed that Race wasn't smoking a cigar. He must had lost it when he blacked out and than had his pack taken away. Spot sighed. He was tired and didn't feel like doing anything, just sleeping. 

"Ise, sorry, fellas. Ise shouldn't have dragged ya inta dis. Ise shoulda jus' had it been me and Rep. Woulda been safa." Spot moaned, leaning his head back against the walls. 

"Hey, it was our choice, not yours." Jack said. 

"Yea, wese de one who chose ta help. 'Side, ya wouldn't have been able ta meet Tiga if wese hadn't come." Race joked. 

Spot ignored him. He didn't even feel like being mad at anyone, not even if they teased him about Tiger. 

"Whoa." Race breathed. "Ya must be real upset 'bout dis. Ya didn't snap at me like you usually would." 

"Yea, Race. Ise is upset. Ise led ya all inta danga, my head's bleedin' like cray, Ise got a poundin' head ache, and Tiga an' 'er boys are pobably tryin' ta figure out some dangerous plan ta get us outta here, David too. Reptile's probably out dair somewhere facin' life long jail time foi somethin' he ain't done, an' de bois at my pape station are all ova New York. All in two days. Dat ain't normal, in case ya haven't noticed." Spot sighed. No one said anything. 

Finally, they pulled up to the refuge. When Spot stood up to leave the wagon, a guard had to help him out, he was so dizzy. He was taken to the kitchen where a woman cleaned his head and wrapped a bandage around it. Then he was thrown into a room with Jack, Race, Tunes and about twenty other boys. 

"Spot, ya good?" Race asked as Spot stumbled into the room.

"Yea, Ise good." Spot remarked. Race dragged him to a bed and forced him to sit down. 

"Ise said Ise good. Don't need any one takin' pity one me." Spot snapped. 

Race smiled. "Spot's good, folks." He walked away laughing. Spot stood up and walked over to the window. He peered out and stared, standing there for about ten minutes. He was aware of all eyes on him, but he didn't care. He just wished that he hadn't led his friends into trouble. He wished that he was still selling papes with the boys. And he hoped with all of his heart the Tiger was okay.