Part One

“So tell me, Spot, what exactly is the story behind that key of yours?” Louisa wondered, tugging the rusted key Spot wore on a shoelace around his neck.

“It’s jus’ somethin’ my stepdaddy needed in ‘is search for somethin’.” Spot shrugged. “Dunno for sure why it was so special, but when I run away, I took it with me t’ keep ‘im from finding whatever it was ‘e was looking for.”

“I see.”

“So, when’ll ya be comin’ back?”

“I’ll be gone for a month. You’d better be good while I’m gone.”

“I’ll be as obedient as a dog trained t’ your service.” He grinned and bowed to her.

Giggling, Louisa tipped his head upward and kissed his cheek. Then she turned and left, leaving Spot with an odd grin painted on his face. Louisa made him feel different whenever he was around her. Being one of the most sought after newsies in New York, he hadn’t felt this way around many women. He knew that Louisa was going to be someone special.

Now that she was gone, he headed home for his lodging house, ignoring the giggles and chatters of female admirers he passed. Once he arrived, he located RJ with orders about his seeing women.

“From now on,” he instructed, “don’t let any girls come ‘ere wantin’ t’ hook up with me. I’m gonna give it a shot with Louisa.”

RJ’s expression was that of a sudden Christmas present had landed in his lap. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean we cin hook up with ‘em instead?”

“Go right ahead, if they go for ya.”

Cheering, RJ went to tell the good news to the rest of the newsies. Then Spot headed for his bedroom when he was stopped by another newsie, Dix.

“Hey Spot,” he said.

“Hey Dix. Got some news for me?”

“Kinda. There was a girl ‘ere this mornin’, said she had some important info to discuss wit ya.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Dix, din’tcha hear what RJ’s whooping about?”

“No, what?”

“I ain’t takin’ no more girls. I’m stickin’ with jus’ one for now.”

“But Spot-”

“Not buts. I not yer muddah, ya know.”

Dix shrugged. “Alright. Suit yourself. So if she comes back, do I jus’ tell ‘er ya ain’t seein’ girls?”

“Right.”

“Okay. She said she’d come back t’morrah. I’ll tell ‘er off then.”

* * *

It was a Wednesday afternoon, the day that Spot visited Manhattan for weekly updates and gossip that Jack’s newsies had picked up. Using the secret route he used to avoid running into hormone-crazed girls, he arrived shortly at Tibby’s where he and Jack usually met.

Once he arrived, he was greeted by all of the Manhattan newsies, who apparently were all present here. He greeted them back, then spotted Jack’s table and seated himself there.

“Mornin’, Spot.” Jack muttered, crushing a lit cigarette in an ashtray.

“Mornin’, Cowboy. Heard anythin’ juicy lately?”

“Pretty much jus’ what’s in th’ papes. Didja hear ‘bout that museum auction that’s goin’ on in two weeks?”

“No, what about it?”

“It’s gonna be at Greenwich for people who have treasure in their homes t’ get it auctioned off by guys who own museums. They cin get up t’ a million dollars there!”

Spot whistled in interest. “Sounds like a way t’ get rich fast.”

“Ah, too bad I ain’t got no priceless jewelry ‘r’ anythin’ like that. I certainly wouldn’t mind gettin’ rich.”

“Same ‘ere.”

Jack mouth curved. “Oh yes, I did ‘ear somethin’ that I’d like to ask ‘bout.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned forward with his hands folded together. “I heard that ya’ve sworn off women.”

“Jus’ cuz I’m tryin’ t’ work it out with one girl.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. With yer reputation, that won’t last a week.”

“Ya willin’ t’ put money on that?”

“I would!” Race exclaimed, eavesdropping.

Race reached into his pocket and slammed a pile of coins onto the tabletop. He counted out two silver pieces and five coppers, then scooped the rest back into his hand and into his pocket.

“Two bits says Spot can’t handle it. No offense, pal, but it’s hard for a guy like you t’ walk th’ streets without some girl tryin’ t’ hit on ya.”

Spot scowled. “Don’t remind me. It’s hard ‘nough for me to commit to one woman.”

“In that case,” Boots said, entering the conversation, “I’ll take Race’s bet.”

He slammed twenty-five pennies onto the tabletop, then spit into his hand and extended it to Race. Race did the same and they shook on their bet. Then Boots reached into his pocket and pulled out several marbles and held them out to Spot.

“Found a couple more shooters you could use.” He offered.

“Thanks, Boots.” Spot accepted the marbles. “Well, I gotta be heading back to Brooklyn now. Got stuff to do.”

“Same time next week?” Jack inquired.

“If nothin’ comes up b’tween then.”

“Alright. Go back t’ Brooklyn!”

Spot nodded and left the restaurant, saying goodbye to the rest of the newsies. He strode back through his route, then headed toward his lodging house. He was tired by the time he reached the building and swiftly decided to nap before dinnertime.

As he drew near, he could hear footsteps behind him, matching his pace. Oddly enough, that person seemed to be following him. Assuming it was a girl, he stopped and turned around to stop this person. He was rather shocked to find a man there instead of a girl.

This man was short and stocky, dressed in somewhat fine attire. His red hairline was receding quite a bit, and there was an enigmatic grin on his face.

“Who’re you, ‘n’ why’re ya followin’ me?” Spot demanded, reached for his slingshot.

“That information is not for you to know.” He replied, his voice sounding like his throat was clogged with phlegm. “And you know why I’m following you.”

Spot arched an eyebrow. “No, I don’t. I’ve never seen you before.”

“Let me warn you. She’s mine. Don’t even think of going near her. And don’t believe a word she says to you. She’s a greedy, unscrupulous she-wolf who will devour you.”

“Look pal, I don’t know who you’re talking about. And if ya don’t leave me alone, you’ll soon find half a dozen other men at my side. Do ya understand me?”

The man snorted. “If you team up with her, she’ll only take what she wants and leave.”

“RJ!” Spot called.

“Never mind your reinforcements. I’m leaving.”

And sure enough, the man left. RJ and several other newsies arrived shortly afterward, wondering what all the commotion was about. Spot explained to them and wondered if any knew what he was talking about.

“Not too sure.” RJ replied. “But I saw that girl I was tellin’ ya ‘bout yesterday. She was hangin’ ‘round here quite a bit. When I went t’ tell ‘er t’ go away, she was gone.”

“Alright. But if that guy comes ‘round ‘ere again, tell ‘im t’ go away.”

He went inside the house and hurried to the bedroom his had for his own. Being the leader of the most powerful newsies in New York, he had the luxury of sleeping in his own room. This was a privilege that not many leaders received.

Once he entered, he instantly noticed that something was different. For one, the window was opened. His window was always shut, even in the hottest of weather.

Tossing his cane aside, he went to the window, closed it, and latched it so that it would not be opened again. Then he noticed a slip of white paper on the pillow of his bed. Frowning, he took the paper and unfolded it. In tiny, cursive handwriting, there was a barely legible message for him.

I have information regarding your stepfather’s death and more important information I would like to present to you. Meet me in the line-and-tackle shack at the fisherman’s wharf around nine o’clock tonight.

The first sentence had caught him completely off guard. So his stepfather had kicked the bucket? It was certainly about time. The gold-digging tightwad was always cruel and Spot had run away from him after his mother had died. Taking the key with him was sure to have set his hair afire, for he had heard that it was supposed to unlock a great treasure.

As for the rest of the note, he was unsure of whether or not he should go. He cared nothing of his stepfather, nor should he know. But there was that gnawing in his stomach that urged him to go. He debated it with himself for several minutes before making his final decision.

‘Alright, I’ll go.’ He thought. ‘But if this is another ruse some dame’s trying to use to get me out of the house, she’ll be sorry.’

* * *

It was eight forty-five. With a ten minute-trip to the fisherman’s wharf ahead of him, he gathered a coat, his cane and slingshot and readied to leave. Opening his door, the first thing he noticed was the odd smell in the bunkroom.

He looked around only to see a quick leap of flames in the air, only for it to disappear and quickly as it had appeared. He then heard voices and laughter close to the floor, and another quick rush of flames appearing and disappearing. The laughter grew from there. Spot scowled and went toward the laughter.

Sprawled on their backs with their legs tucked behind their arms were RJ, Tex, Swoop and Crow. And in each of their hands was a box of matches.

“Ignitin’ your flatulence again?” Spot inquired.

RJ nodded. “Why? Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“An’ you guys wonder why th’ girls all go f’ me ‘n’ not you. This’s really attractive.”

“Look around, Spot.” Swoop spoke up. “See any dames?”

“No.”

“What they don’t know ain’t gonna keep ‘em away from us!”

“That might be right, but what they smell should keep ‘em all in Queens jus’ t’ get away from that odor.”

“Yeah right.” Swoop muttered

“Hey, I got a big one comin’!” Tex announced. “Quick, hand me a lit one!”

Spot felt that now was the time to leave. Once he was outside, he had to shake his head. He may be the most sought after and respected newsboy in New York, and most newsies assumed that his crew was just as powerful as Spot was when in fact they were no more mature than twelve-year-old boys.

‘Don’t they ever listen to me?’ he wondered. ‘The reason why I get all the girls and they don’t does have to do with looks, it’s gotta do with superiority and maturity! I don’t light my farts, I don’t try to hit on women, and I try not to involve myself in those childish habits the other guys do! Belching and spitting is not attractive to girls!’

He wished his crew could be more like Jack’s. Most of the Manhattan newsies had better manners and behavior than the Brooklyn goons. Yes, the Brooklyn goons rivaled when it came to strength and fighting capabilities, but the Manhattan crew had better based mannerisms and had nothing to fear about allowing girls to join the ranks.

Since the strike ended over a month ago, two girls had become newsies in Manhattan. This was proof enough that Jack trusted his newsies not to embarrass him or the other newsies in front of these girls. Spot, being one who loved women, wouldn’t invite any to become newsies in his lodging house. He’d refer them to Jack first.

Still pondering ways of how to force his newsies to grow up, Spot finally reached the line-and-tackle at the fisherman’s wharf. At first, it seemed rather suspicious. If someone was to meet him there, why wasn’t there a light slowing in the window? It was too dark. Was this an ambush by a rival group of newsies?

Lately, newsies from Coney Island had grown a little hostile toward Spot’s crew. Could a group of newsies from Coney Island be trying to jump him? He shook his head. Though these newsies seemed hostile, they knew better not to mess with Spot or his crew. He entered the shack where the line-and-tackle was sold.

It was completely dark inside, so Spot left the door open to allow some light to come in. There were hooks, lines, bait and several other types of fishing gear in this shack, but it seemed like no one was inside. Fumbling inside his pockets, Spot searched for his box of matches.

Just as he realized that it was his matches that RJ was using back at the house, the door shut, and the shack was enveloped in almost complete darkness. Spot shuddering slightly, then heard soft sounds of someone moving around. He drew his slingshot from his back pocket and loaded a large aqua colored marble. He spotted a moving figure on the other side of the wall and sent the marble flying toward it.

The marble hit its target, and almost instantly afterward, Spot felt blows coming from both sides of his body. Because it was so dark, he couldn’t see who was attacking him, nor the moves they were making. He did his best to block the blows, then retaliated.

Part Two

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