DISCLAIMER: None of the characters in this story belong to me. They in fact belong to Disney. However, some exceptions to that last idea are Rosary and Runner who belong to ME. So please do not sue me all ye Disney supporters because I am too broke.

When Brooklyn Needed A Rosary

Spot Conlon laughed at the sight of his younger cousin, Runner, trying to hawk headlines to the indifferent crowds about him with an undying fervor only found in the most devoted of newsboys. Runner had joined the Brooklyn Lodging House shortly after his tenth birthday, though his past was not the typical satirical one that gave New York its infamous air of a harsh life. On the contrary, Runner and Spot's aunt had sent both of the boys to a high-class preparatory school on a full scholarship that would cover everything from boarding and tuition to books and meal plans. However, only after their third week of school, the Conlons had been suspended for the possession of drugs in their dorm room-a set up a jealous student who envied Spot's flawless genius had devised to get rid of the boy- and being too proud to ever step foot in the school again, they turned to the streets to make a living that might not be ever-flowing with luxuries, but that would suit them nonetheless.

"I take back what I'se said earlier about youse being a prodigy," Spot laughed as he approached his relative. "Youse been sellin fer four years now but youse look like youse suffering through yer foist day!"

"Sorry, yer highness," Runner snorted, mimicking the fanatics that kissed up to the Brooklyn leader like dogs obeying their masters. He remembered how quickly Spot had climbed the newsie social ladder after they were kicked out of prep school. Everyone had been drawn to Spot's charisma and wished to please him in any way they could. "Youse done sellin already?"

"Of coise," the older replied. "Ya know it only takes me an hour or so tah get rid of two hundred." He smirked at his achievement and took off his hat to run his fingers through his hair.

"Yea, we'se all knows the statistics. Ya don't gotta be braggin about it every hour of the day."

Spot held up his hands. "Touchy, touchy, aint we? Youse aint getting jealous, are ya?"

"Ah, shaddup!" Runner shoved a paper into the arms of a businessman passing by and in his most pitiful voice, made a desperate plea to the man to buy the morning issue. He successfully made the sale and smiled down at the shiny penny he had received in his hand. "Since youse is heah botherin me, I might as well give youse the scoop of news I'se been hearin lately. Apparently, Harlem and Queens is at war again."

"When is they's never at war?"

Runner laughed. "I think it's gettin woise. Queens formed an alliance with Midtown and the Bronx and together, all three boroughs is gunna sack Harlem in one night. According tah me sources, the leadah of Harlem is also the leadah of some Italian gang that supposedly killed a few kids in close relation with Queens. Now seeing how we'se has close ties with Flame and his newsies from Queens, I knew that sooner or later we'se was gunna be pulled into this whole scandal. And shoah enough, one of his messenger newsies came over to the lodging house right after youse left for the distribution center and started begging fer help. Each borough has a certain assignment that needs tah be carried out sometime this week, and they's want us tah carry out ours by Friday night cause we'se can easily pull it off."

Spot arched an eyebrow. "Damn, I feel like we'se on a secret mission. What the hell is our assignment?"

"Well...we'se uh....they want us tah, uh, kidnap this goil."


Runner backed up a few feet. "Listen, it wasn't my idea! Flame says that some doll by the name of Rosary happens tah be the Harlem leadah's sistah. If we'se kidnap her, it'll force Harlem tah make a truce with the other boroughs. It kinda makes sense if youse think about it."

"What are ya, stupid?" Spot smacked his cousin upside the head and glared down at him. "We'se aint kidnapping some goil! We'se could be thrown in the refuge fer that!"

"Spot, they killed Rudy and Bricks," the younger replied dejectedly, his eyes gazing down at the streets in a brooding manner.

"WHAT?! Rudy and Bricks?!" Spot went on with the questions and when he paused to keep himself from breaking down into sobs, Runner held up one of his newspaper, flipped over to the sixth page, and showed the Brooklyn leader the article on the two deceased youths. Spot read the story anxiously, his mind hanging onto every word as intently as a lover listened to a sonnet. It could not be true, yet the evidence was staring right at him in grave tones. Rudy and Bricks were best friends he had known since his days before a newsie life. Hearing that they were no longer among the living was unreal, as if he were trapped in the confines of a nightmarish hell. He let the paper fell from his fingers and looked off ahead of him at nothing in particular. "No," was all he could muster to say and it came out as a whisper. But soon, the anger within him broiled in outrage and he became infuriated. "NO! Those bastards is gunna pay fer this! I'll make 'em sorry they's ever messed wid a friend of Spot Conlon's!"

Runner lightened up a bit, though still inwardly mourned. "So youse going through wid our side of the deal? Youse is gunna get the goil and keep her at the lodging house 'til Queens comes for her? 'Cause I'se gots all the information we needs tah make this easy."

"Damn right I am," Spot nearly shouted with a swift nod of his head. "We better get Jack and his boys on this, though. I wanna make shoah none of us is caught, so I'll have lookouts everywhere. The more of us there is in the streets, the better chance we'se gots of murderin that damn Harlem scab!"

* * * * *

The cluster of stars above filled Rosary with passion and peacefulness as she strode down the sidewalks of Harlem to her uncle's restaurant for a late dinner. The temperature was drastically dropping with the coming winter and she pulled the wool shawl draped about her shoulders closer to protect her from the chilly winds. Just another two blocks and she would be in the family-owned eatery that always smelled of fresh pasta and Alfredo sauce. She could not wait to get her stomach filled with all the delights her uncle would be undoubtedly cooking. It had been a long day of selling papers for her and she was starving.

She combed her slender fingers through her lengthy strands of silky black hair and glanced up at the street sign she was approaching. Only one more block now. She could almost imagine the scent of garlic bread from where she now stood. She wondered if her brother was already there waiting for her. She assumed he was not, as he had prioritized his notorious gang over his own relatives as of late. Rosary bit her lip in worry. Her brother was a newsie, not a thief or murderer. What had pervaded his conscious and had turned him into such a foul person? He used to be the most wonderful gentleman, always minding his manners and attending church masses, but now it seemed as if the only thing he cared about was the death of his enemies.

Rosary stopped dead in her tracks, thinking she heard footsteps behind her. She spun around instantly and held up clenched fists, ready to strike anyone who tried to take advantage of her. However, there was nothing to be seen. Facing her original direction, she held her breath, waited for the uncomfortable sounds again, and was almost sure she could catch the low volume of muffled speech. She was of clever mind, though, and would not let the would-be molesters get the best of her. Therefore, she began singing a lovely tune at the top of her lungs, awakening half the block.

"Rosary, go home!" Someone shouted through an open window.

"Life aint no musical, goil," came another voice, the grumpy neighbor of the block.


The girl smiled at her triumph. Whoever had been waiting for her in the darkness of the alleys would not dare lay a finger on her now, what with all her friends and family in earshot. She cast one last glance behind her, and giggling like a child, skipped the rest of the distance that lay between her and the restaurant that awaited her.

* * * * *

"Damn goil!" Spot exclaimed as he kicked a nearby trash can. "Why does she gots to be one of the smart ones? Nah, Queens can't tah send us after some clueless broad, we'se get the dirty woik!"

Jack laughed as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "If youse wasn't whisperin so loud, she wouldn't have hoid ya a mile away!"

"Yea, well if youse wasn't draggin yer feet like if youse was some cripple, she wouldn't have her us coming from behind in the foist place!"

Runner ran in between the two and pushed them a reasonable distance from each other. Even though both leaders had greater height over him, he was able to keep them from arguing at times. "It's only Wednesday. We'se still gots two more days tah get her, so calm down! Why don't we'se go back home and just plan this out, huh?"

"I agree wid the shorty," Blink said as he climbed down the stairs of a nearby fire escape. He had been made to scan the area for the bulls from atop an office building and retired from the job upon hearing Jack and Spot's fight. "It aint the end of the woild. I mean, wid some good ideas, we'se could kidnap the doll in less than five minutes next time."

Spot sighed. "Alright. Get Blink and Snitch and tell 'em they's can stop hanging in the other alleys. Meet us back in Brooklyn. We're gunna plan this out so that it woiks like a charm."

* * * * *

As Marcello sat in his private room of the Harlem Lodging House, he dramatically crossed out names he had written on a small piece of paper. Problems he had taken care of; things he no longer had to worry about. There were still other feats on the list he had to master before his dreams of destroying Queens were fulfilled, chiefly the last one, written in red ink to symbolize the blood he wanted that particular person to shed when he held a knife at their throat.

He hated all the other boroughs of New York with such cynical enthusiasm that many of his own newsies feared him more than they did his number one enemy. Before going off to sleep, he allowed his eyes to rest on that final name one last time so that he could have sweet imaginings of seeing that person draw their last breath at his feet. The sloppy letters were engraved into his mind and his ultimate thought that night was the murder of none other than Spot Conlon.

* * * * *

More To Come!! PLEASE REVIEW!!! I love REVIEWS! This will get better, I promise. Everything just had to be organized in this chapter and so no real action took place. But things will speed up in the following chapters, and other things will be explained. Just bear with me. Now if you please, click that submit button and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!