Strikes and Ladders

Chatper One: It's finally over, and it has just begun.

After the strike, David sits and thinks. He watches Newsie square from a perch Jack had shown him, knowing that being newer to the group may be a bit overwhelming. As he watches the newsies celebrate their victory, not caring that they have to sell tomorrow, he zones out to the noise. So much so that he doesn't hear someone climb up to where he is sitting, sit down next to him, and tap his shoulder with an all too familiar cane.

He startles and looks back with a slight yelp. Spot Conlon stands behind him with a wolfish grin on his eyes that, if he had known Spot just a little bit less, would have seemed predatory. As it is, the familiar face forces him to take a breath and let out a small laugh.

"Geez Spot, you scared me," He says as his new companion sits down, dangling his feet off of the edge where Davey is sitting cross-legged.

"You gotta be more aware of ya surroundings, Mouth." There is something in Spot's eyes that Davey suspects is the effects of alcohol.

"You know I hate that nickname. And I usually am there's just. . . something about tonight that's making me spacey."

"I know what it is," Spot told him, a familiar smirk on his face.

"Oh? Do tell, oh all-knowing King of Brooklyn." Davey rolls his eyes at Spot's expression, but they then catch on to Jack Kelly, who has jumped up on a table and given his usual cowboy hat to Les, who is sitting on his shoulders. His face softens from his sarcastic smile as he watches the two guys.

"See? It's Jack Kelly. Starin' at him is what's makin' ya all weird."

Immediately David's hackles are up. His back straightens and he scoots just slightly farther away from the other boy.

"What are you insinuating, Spot?" His voice is colder than Spot has ever heard it, so he raised his hands in surrender.

"Woah, calm down Dave. I ain't insinuatin' nothing that ain't true about me too." A pause as they thought this over. "Ya like him though, don't ya?" He asks more softly than Davey thought he was capable of. Against his better judgement, he trusts him.

"Yeah," he mumbles, muffled by his hands over his face.

"It's alright. We've all been there. In more ways than you think. I think over halfa the kids in this city have been sweet on Jack Kelly, and he usually likes 'em back, if they're his age." Sensing Davey's hopeful look, Spot shakes his head. "For a while. Then, he gets bored, and they get hurt, and that's one less kid with a crush on him. Be careful, alright?"

David is silent for a while, watching Jack interact with Les and the other newsies like he was born for it. Maybe he was. A deep sigh leaves his mouth and he abruptly falls back, lying facing the mostly starless sky.

"Thanks Spot, but I know. I've seen how he is with Katherine, and even my sister , and how everyone looks at him. I do. . .like him, but I won't go after him. I can't afford to get my heart broken by someone who is undeniably my best friend at the moment. I won't do it. Jack doesn't deserve it, Les doesn't deserve it, I don't deserve it." He closes his eyes and feels the cool metal through his shirt, having abandoned his vest and tie in Jack's penthouse.

"Ya really don't, Dave. I don't know ya all that good, but I've got good instincts for people. And you're good. From what I hear, which is everything, most everything good that came outta that strike was your idea."

"Hey, give Kath and Denton some credit, they came up with the children's crusade." Spot lets out a laugh that feels much too childish for a boy that had been beating up cops just yesterday with the very cane he held tightly in his hands. "Exactly, Dave! You's are the smart ones, Jack's just the guy whose face everyone knows. We're leaders. We've gotta know what to do when things go to hell, and you do. You stayed. All the boroughs watched while the great Jack Kelly scabbed, just walked away, but you? You've been with us from the start, and you were with us 'till the end. That's what's important. Not how long you've been a newsie, or how good you are at sellin'."

Another silence. David turns his head and stares at Spot as he lays down next to him.

"You. . . really think that?"

"'Course I do. You'll learn that I don't say things that I don't mean."

"Yeah, I think I picked up on that." A pause. They both turn their faces to watch the sky, the ever-prevailing noise of the newsies below cutting through the night. "Uh, thanks. By the way."

It's Spot's turn to be confused. "...For what?"

"Showing up. Supporting the strike. If you hadn't, the other boroughs wouldn't have shown up either, and the Lower Manhattan newsies? Well we'd be in the refuge or dead. So, again, thanks."

"No problem, Mouth. To be honest? If it had just been Jack, I wouldn'a joined. I didn't think he was serious enough about it. Just a dumb kid who was gonna get my kids killed. Then ya showed up and talked some sense into both of us. So don't thank me, thank yourself."

Davey grins into the open sky. "Y'know, I think you're nicer than you let on, Spot."

"I'll give you that one, but just know that if you was anyone else, you'd have a cane in your jaw."

"Not Racetrack. He messes with you all of the time and if you look off of this platform, you'd find him playing poker. Jaw intact."

"Yeah, he's Racer though. You can't expect me to whack him for being who he is."

"And he sells in your territory, doesn't he? Sheepshead, right? I remember someone saying that that's how he got his name."

"What're ya gettin' at, Dave?"

For a second, Davey doesn't know exactly what he is getting at, but then he looks at Spot's face and rifles through the information he's been given. Then, his face lights up with recognition. "You like Racetrack!," he says, probably just a bit too loud.

"Geez, yell it to the world why dontcha! Quiet down."

David laughed quietly, covering his mouth with his hands to show his compliance.

"Course you got it right away when no one has figured it out for months. Yeah though, Race and me are. . . something. You can't tell Cowboy. He'll freak out. If ya haven't noticed, he doesn't like me very much, and he would like me a lot less if he found out I was hanging with one of his kids."

"Yeah. . .I'm sure it'll be fine though."

"We'll see."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem so closed off around most other people, and I get why, but you're telling me all these things. I guess I just don't get it."

"I trust you, Dave. I don't know why, but I trust you."

Somehow, they both know that the conversation is over. They lie there together for another hour and a half, and when Spot finally gets up, stating that he needs to get back to Brooklyn, they realise that half of the newsies that had been partying below them had fallen asleep in the square, the warm summer air calming their excitement. The rest of the group had gone back to the lodge.

"I'll see you tomorrow in Brooklyn, Mouth. Union business and all."

  "Yeah," David said, and he watched Spot leave, cane in hand. He moved over and picked up Les, resigning to sleep at the lodge tonight.