***A/N: Just so you all know, this one goes out to Chronicles Bailey, cuz if it weren't for her, you folks'd never get updates, so thank her next time you see her.***

So I got 'em worked up pretty good. They were ready to hand off now. "So youse all inta dis fer sure dis time?"

"Yeah!" They shouted.

"So if we don't buy papes, den no one does. Right?" Jack asked.

"Yeah!" They agreed.

"What about dem fellas who don't listen so good?" Race asked.

"We'll soak 'em" Jack replied with a grin.

The newsies cheered, happy to beat up anybody, leastwise to have an excuse to fight. They especially loved scabs, mostly cuz they aren't all that great at fighting. I looked over at Davey, who didn't look so hot. I was thinkin' by now, he wasn't really cut out for this whole newsies business thing. But still, I had to treat the kid right for trying. "What's up?" I asked him, reaching him the same time Crutchie did. Crutchie is by far the coolest gimp I may have ever met. His leg has been broken ever since I've known him, but he never lets it get him down, and is always the most energetic out of the bunch.

"First fight?" Crutchie asked.

When he nodded I couldn't help but laugh. "Don' worry, you'll git used ta it, 'specially hangin' round da likes a us."

Davey managed a grin. I could give him points for cuteness I suppose, but I am totally not down with his attitude.

"Jus stick close ta me. I'll cover ya good enough."

We rushed the gates and stood at the base of the ramp. The first kid who came down was pretty smart and dropped his papes, joining our crowd. We look pretty big in the confines of the Circulation Center. The next few guys that came down were smarter. They came down empty-handed and disappeared among us. The next guy was pretty tall carrying a good stack of papes. He tried between Jack and Race, and got pushed back, apparently he didn't see that we meant business. Then he tried between me and Mush, and sent him back a good few feet. He smiled wryly at us and dropped his papers at Jack's feet, in a faux-defeated manner. He sent Jack reeling back with a blow to his stomach and we all laughed when Jack pounced forward in response, ready to fight. They started the first official all- out fist fight between us and the scabs. I took the first couple of little ones that jumped me, and in the process taught Davey how to fight. He's not all that good, but it'll keep him alive.

We had the upperhand on the whole fight. And after the fight was looking in our favor for sure the fighting came to an unexpected halt. Wiesel had called the police, and the whistle resounded through the dead- end street. People who couldn't fight all that well reduced themselves to ripping up the papers on the wagons. Crutchie was among them. The shreds floated to the ground as we hit it out of there. Race and I called to Crutchie, and in the first time I've ever known him, Crutchie's crutch became a hindrance, and he lost that smile as the bulls attacked from the front, with Oscar and Morris taking up the rear.

I met the guys at the tracks and told them what I had seen. They wre all pretty ripped, and Jack decided that he and Davey should go to the refuge. They wanted to bring me along, but I really didn't ever want to go back there. Even if it was to help Crutchie. There was no way, not after everything I had been through there.

Racetrack and I spent the rest of the day betting, and split the 10 bucks we'd made. Later that evening, right before we were going to leave I made an escape to the bathroom. As I deliberated which rest room I wanted to use, I ran ? He wanted to talk to me about Spot? Mad weird.

"Yeah?" I asked as he dragged me into a corner. I was getting kinda creeped out. A Brooklyn thug in mainstream Manhattan, I must have been in some real shit.

"Spot wants to talk to you. Meet him at da corner a Main and 43rd," he informed me bluntly, very suspicious which his shifty eyes and tight hold on my arm.

"Not Jack?" I asked. Maybe Scout was just confusing me for someone else?

"No, not Jack, you."

"Oh, okay." I replied, shit, what did I do to get myself a date with Spot, was he gona beat the shit outta me for the other day? "What time?"

"7:00 sharp." He replied. "Don' be late."

"I'll be there." I replied, contemplating if I really would be. I waited for him to leave before battling again, and chose the ladies room. Upon my return I told Race about my run-in with Scout, "Something with Spot?" I asked him. "Know anythin'?"

He laughed, "Bout as much as you I guess. Jus' be on yer guard I guess, he's an odd cookie, them Irish."

I laughed, yeah, the Irish.

"Still, you better be careful, he's not head a Brooklyn fer nothin yanno."

"Don't worry, I can handle myself, I beat 'im last time."

"Yeah, an' he was playin fair, dat ain't his style. Keep on yer guard."