Brooklyn Baby | Spot Conlon ¹

Chp. 1: Newsies

I run past people walking to work, children going to school, and merchants selling products. I run down the cobblestone street, my muddy brown hair flying in the wind. I hold my cap to make sure it doesn't fall off.

"It's Kenny!" I hear Racetrack yell.

"Ken!"

"Wouldja calm down? Don't tell Jackie I'm here," I said, nudging Kid Blink.

"Too late," Someone says. I turn to see Jack, my older brother, crossing his arms. "Where ya been, Kenny?"

"Jersey," I shrugged.

"What you's doin' in Jersey?!" Race yells.

"Dunno. I went where the train took me." I smirked, slugging him in the arm.

"Stay in 'Hattan, sis. It's betta than Jersey." Jack slings an arm around my shoulders, grinning down at me.

"Dear me! What is that unpleasant smell?" Race says, and I see that Oscar and Morris Delancey have approached us. They aggravate us all. "I fear the sewers got backed up last night,"

"Nah, too rotten to be tha sewers," I add.

"It must be the Delancey bruddas," Crutchy says. He's standing behind Jack and me, and we're at the front of the group.

"Hiya boys!" Race says sarcastically.

"In the back, you lousy little shrimp," Oscar says, throwing Snipeshooter to the ground. Jack helps him up, while I glare at Oscar.

"You shouldn't call people lousy little shrimps unless you's referring to the family resemblance in your brudda here," Jack says, all of us laughing.

"5-1 that Cowboy skunks' em. Who's bettin'?" Race calls. His second nature was betting. He spent his life doing it.

"That's right. It's an insult. So's this," Jacks snatches Morris's hat and runs for it. The Delancey's chase them around the Square with the rest of us cheering him on. Jack runs into a boy and his little brother, but quickly moves away from them to escape tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum.

Morris tries to swing at Jack, who is unfazed and dodges it easily. He grabs Morris and pushes him to Oscar, who was throwing a punch at Jack, but accidentally hit his brother. The whistle then blows, beckoning us towards the stand. We walk over to get our papes. Oscar and Morris, sulkily walking to their uncle, spoke to us:

"See you tomorrow, Cowboy," Morris says.

"You as good as dead, Cowboy, you and ya sista," Oscar adds. I roll my eyes and scoff.

"You said that yestah-day," Jack teases. He walks over to the counter and calls over Wisel, or 'Weasel' as we call him. "Mr. Weasel," He calls out happily.

"Calm down, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Weasel shouts.

"Didja miss me, Weasel? Huh, didja?" Jack says. He loved to tease Weasel to no end. He took his hundred papes, and stepped aside. I jump up to the counter and place my hands on the bars.

"Howdy, Weasel. How are them headlines?" I ask, looking over a pape. Nude corpse is a good one, and the other's are the same as yesterday's: trolley strike.

"How much you want, Jack Junior?" He asks, bored. He didn't like me too much, he didn't like any of us, really.

"The usual,"

"Hundred papes!" He calls. Oscar shoves me my papes with a glare. I smirk, tip my cap mockingly, and walk over to Jack. Race gets his papes and follows.

I also see Crutchy get his papes, and hobble over to us. Race is talkin' Jack up about some horse shit, to my disinterest. If Race wouldn't waste his money on the races...

"Kenny, check out page five," Race tells me, nudging my side. "Baby Born with Two Heads...must be from Brooklyn,"

I laugh, shaking my head. No one really knocks Brooklyn, they just don't. I ain't ever been there, which is crazy. I've seen almost every part of this lousy state, from Harlem to the upper West Side. Sometimes, I just hop on the caboose of the train, and see where it takes me. Jack always gets angry when I leave, but I always come back, don't I?

"You accusin' me of lying, kid?!" Weasel yells. I glance over to see the boy Jack ran into earlier.

"No, I just want my paper," The boy says. I knew Weasel wasn't going to give it to him. Jack walks over to the boy and Weasel, starting to count the stack of papes.

"Beat it," Morris threatens.

"No, it's nineteen, but don't worry about it." Jack says. "It's an honest mistake, I mean, Morris here can't count to twenty with his shoes on. Race, spot me two bits?"

Race hands some over to Jack, who puts them on the counter. "Another fifty for my friend,"

"I don't want another fifty," The boy says. Morris hands over the papes, ignoring the boy's protests.

"Sure you do, every newsie wants more papes." I say as Jack puts the fifty in the boy's hands. I tug Jack along, holding my papes in one hand. Race starts to walk off with Crutchy when the boy speaks up.

"I don't want your papes! I don't take charity from anyone. I don't even know you, and I don't care to."

"Allow me to introduce me-self, then. I'm Kenny," I stick my hand out with a big 'ol smile. "And that's me brudda--"

"Cowboy, they call him Cowboy!" The little boy that clung to the older boy's side spoke. He was cute, a little glimmer in his eyes.

"I'm called that, and other things, including Jack Kelly, that's what me mudda called me." He bent down to the little boy and smiled. "What do they call you, kid?"

"Les, and that's my brother, David. He's older,"

"No kiddin'." Jack says. Les walks with us, and David reluctantly followed. "How old are ya?"

"Almost ten,"

"That's no good. If anyone asks, you's seven." I told him. "Younger sells more papes, and if we gonna be partner's, then--"

"Who said anything about partners?" David finally spoke up.

"You owe me two bits, right?" Jack asks."Consider it an investment. We sell together, split seventy-thirty. Plus, you get to observe me 'n Ken, no charge."

I smile smugly. Jack and I are the best at selling in the Manhattan newsies, but I mean, I'm not bragging or anything, but it's true. We make the most money after a day of selling.

"You's gettin' a chance of a lifetime, Davey." Crutchy cuts in. "You learn from the Kelly's, you learn from da best."

"Well, if they're the best, how come they need me?" David points out. I roll my eyes, and Jack speaks up.

"We don't need you, pal, we need ya cute little brudda here to front for us,"

"With this kid's face, and our God-Given talent, we could sell a thousand papes a week." I add. "What do ya say, Les, wanna sell papes with me and Jack?"

"Yeah!" Les shouts. David looks uneasy.

"It's gotta be at least fifty-fifty."

"Sixty-forty, we forget the whole thing." I bargain. The newsies agree, and shout out some reassuring comments. David sighs, and holds out his hand. Jack spits in his, and holds it out, which David pulls away.

"What's da matta?"

"That's disgusting!" David said, pulling a face.

"Nah, we all do it."

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Hope you liked the first chapter :))