Chapta Twenty-Five
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.
A/N: First, I must apologize for the extremely long halt in writing - took a vacation, I guess you can say. This whole chapter is dedicated to the Manhattan Newsies - takes a bow - You can say this is another filler, I think. Shorter than the last. In fact, really short. Anyway, R & R!
Jack was tired.
As he sat against a wall, the energy he had left him, to no surprise. It had been a long day, walking up and down the whole west end of Brooklyn. In coming there, he had been questioned by members of Spot's Brooklynite army as to where their leader was, and he had to say he wasn't sure. Mush had returned to Manhattan with Davey and Blink to tend to something with Kloppman, to persuade him to not shut down the shelter from his loss of workers, y'know.
Hetello and his men would be with him any minute- they had been in Brooklyn, in the Sheepshead Bay area. However, unlike himself, Hetello was looking for Whistler. He had also agreed to meet up with them later on.After all, the more people on the team, the better you play.
So there he was, waiting and occasionally checking his watch. God dammit, where were they?
After a few minutes of cold evening silence, a voice called out.
"Hey, Jack. Guess what."
Jack turned his head to see Davey and a few other worn stragglers approaching.
"Wha?"
"Whistler might know where Spot is."
Jack blinked. "Really?"
Davey nodded.
"So you an' Hetello caught up ta him?"
At this, Davey paused and made a an odd little noise. "Well, that's the thing..."
Jack rolled his eyes, expecting the worse. "Ya didn't get him."
Davey sighed. "Nope," he admitted. "I said he might know where he is."
"Oh, so wha is dis now? We're lookin' faw Whistla so we can look faw Spot? Ya know, dat's too complicated. I say we just give up an' let Brooky come back on his own time."
"Since when are you a quitter?"
"I ain't quittin'. But dese guys ain't seen a woim bed faw weeks, an' dey smell like da garbage dey eat. Give em' a rest."
"Jack..."
But, at this time, footsteps came into earshot, and the two bickering boys looked up to see an exhausted Hetello.
"Hey," said Davey, treading cautiously. He didn't look so hot...
Hetello sighed. "Bad news, boys."
"What?" asked Jack, preparing for the worst.
"Brooklyn's gotta new leadah."
There was a silence as these words were absorbed, then a great, "What!"
Davey jumped to his feet. "What do you mean! They were searching for him just yesterday!"
Hetello gave a defeated shrug. "Apparently, dey got tired. Can't say I blame em. Dey thought he sold em out aw sumthin and gave up lookin."
"But, how can you do that?" Davey cried, and Hetello asked, "Me?"
"Yeah, you!"
"Listen, ya bastaad, ya lucky I even went ta Brooky faw ya. I coulda–"
"You could've kicked his ass! You were just down there today, you could've challenged whoever-it-is' spot and been the king until we find Spot!"
"Who thinks a dat on a moment's time? Anyway, dey was mad enough at me an' da rest of ya, so no point messin wit em. Dey just chose a run-o-da-mill guy who came outta nowheah an' didn't question what he could do. He said he knew Spot aw sumthin. Dat was it. No strings attached."
There was a pause, and Jack asked the question everyone was afraid to.
"Who?"
It couldn't be Whistler.
He repeated, "Who?"
Hetello shrugged. "I can't really rememba his name... I think it was Paul."
Silence.
Paul...
A/N: It'll get better, I apologize again, and please review!