Chapter 1

"Conlon!" I screeched.

Spot Conlon was asleep, propped up against the wall of an apothecary. At my shout, he jerked awake.

"Wha-a?" he asked stupidly, his eyes still half-shut.

"You sneak! What the hell are youse doin' heah?"

"Wha-a?"

"Now don't go givin' me dat crap. What are youse doin' in Manhattan?"

"Wha-a?"

"Jeez, Conlon, is that all youse can say? Foah da last time, what is your ass doin' on this side o' da bridge? An' if youse say "waa" again, I am gonna boot youse righ' back ta Brooklyn."

"Wha-a?"

I grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet roughly. "I'm warnin' youse, Conlon."

"Okay, okay!" The sudden move to an upright position had woken him up a little more. "What were ya hollerin' about now, Manhattan?"

"Youse!" I exploded, startling him a little. "What the hell were youse doin' in Manhattan?"

"Who cares?" Spot said indifferently. "It's a free country. Ise can go wheresever Ise wants ta."

"Tha's total bs, Conlon. How come none o' my newsies can even look a' your borough, an' youse can come an' snooze on the sidewalk in mine?" I demanded.

"Because, Manhattan, the king of Brooklyn has certain privileges not granted to lowly leaders of boroughs," Spot said, with a snobbish air.

"WHAT?!?!" I yelled, so that several passersby stopped to stare. "Youse ain't bettah den any o' my newsies, o' me foah dat mattah. In fac', I am willin' ta bet dey are tons bettah den youse, cuz dey ain't as conceited!"

"I ain't conceited," Spot snarled. "Ise jus' da king."

"No, youse ain't."

"Am too."

"No, youse ain't da king o' nowhere, youse are conceited and self-centered and if ya contradict me, yer ass is gonna be hurtin' somethin' terrible in a few seconds." My tone had a note of finality, but Spot wasn't leaving it at that.

"I AM the king o' Brooklyn, an' Ise the best dat evah was. Everyone's undah my command, includin' youse."

"An' what if I don't wanna be ruled by a snob li' youse?"

"Well, then Ise'll make ya."

"I'd like ta see ya try."

"Ise won't just try, Manhattan, Ise will."

But before he could even take a swing at me, my fist connected with his eye. Now, I only meant to give him a nice big black and blue eye, but I underestimated my own strength. The force of my punch sent him reeling backwards into the shop window of the apothecary, where, most unfortunately for him, there was a large shelf displaying various strange concoctions to cure foot warts and stuff like that. With a huge crash, the window shattered and he fell onto the shelf, causing an assortment of jars to come smashing down onto the ground, covering him and his surroundings with gooey substances. But the best part of all was the look on his face. It was a mixture of disgust and embarrassment and confusion and discomfort. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I started giggling madly. The look on Spot's face turned to one of anger.

"Shut up Manhattan," he snarled. "It ain't funny."

This, of course, only made me laugh harder. Spot made a growling noise deep in his throat and made to stand up, but slipped and fell straight on his behind. The movement caused something green and slimy to fall off his hat onto his once brown pants. I was now almost collapsing from laughing so hard. Spot, however, was not amused. In one fluid movement, he reached up, grabbed my wrist and pulled me down into the goo next to him. I stopped laughing immediately.

"Aw, dammit, Conlon!" I said angrily. There was guck all over my hands and clothes, and my hat had fallen off so my hair was all over my face. Plus, by now quite a crowd of spectators had gathered, including the owner of the apothecary, who was almost beside himself with fury at the mess we had made of his store. For a little man, he sure could holler.

"HOODLUMS!" he screeched. "I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU AND YOUR ANTICS! COMING ROUND HERE, FORCING ME TO BUY SMELLY OL' NEWSPAPERS EVERY SINGLE STINKIN' DAY, SCARING AWAY ALL MY CUSTOMERS AND NOW YOU DESTROY MY BEAUTIFUL SHOP! I'VE HAD IT! OUT! AWAY! BEGONE WITH YOU! GOOD RIDDANCE! NEVER DARKEN MY DOORSTEP AGAIN!"

While this furious tirade was going on, Spot and I had managed to scramble to our feet. I knew we probably didn't look very impressive; the goo was drying and forming a crusty coat all over me, and I could feel a hard streak on my face where I had brushed my hair out of my eyes, and Spot didn't look much better.

"YOU HEARD ME! GET OUT! SCRAM! BEGONE!" Waving his hands around he tried to shoo us away, but neither of us moved. We each fixed the owner with an identical cold stare. A bit creeped out by the lack of emotion on either of our faces, the owner backed off, a faint look of fright in his eyes. Spot took a step forward, his stare growing colder.

"Youse don't need ta make us," he hissed in a voice as cold as his stare. "We can go by ourselves."

Matching his tone, I added, "We ain't as stupid as ya think."

The owner's bravery came back, and he sneered, but before he could say anything more, Spot had brushed past him and was heading down the sidewalk. I followed suit. A block away I looked back, and there was the owner, staring after us, his mouth half-open, while the spectators around him were gabbing excitedly about what had just happened.