The Crates

[Administrator]

Stacks upon stacks of crates that are loaded on and off of ships. The newsies like to jump off the crates into the water on hot days.

[Spot Conlon]

[[ New Day ]]

It was always wise never to make a demand of Spot Conlon. It was also wise never to think you knew anything about him. The man had since his youth, played it close to the vest about everything in his life-- real or false. He encouraged the rumors about him, because in fact he liked the fact that just his name alone inspired fear into the hearts of little dames. Well fear and awe at least, Spot had never had to scrounge to find a willing woman. Ever. He was nineteen years old, powerful as the king of Brooklyn and the truth of the matter had always been very clear.

He was into more than just selling papers. Spot had pretty much built himself an empire and he was the king of it all. Dealing with the gangs now and again was a small thing by comparison to what he was really aiming for. He'd have all of Brooklyn as his one day soon, he wasn't greedy no. He just considered Brooklyn his by rights. He already was the undisputed king, and he wanted it to stay that way until his dying breath. That was just plain and simple.

High on his throne, his river view of the world he looked down on his boys and others camped out around and he smirked a bit to himself. A private game. Spot was a hot head but he knew what was going on everywhere. Because of Bridie, because of others, because that was just how it was going to stay. He was bound and determined, he had almost five plans for every single thing that happened and he was so methodical and unpredictable about how he went about things it was almost sadistic.

No one would question the king and live... he had plans for that too. He turned his head and raised a brow when he saw the two people who helped his empire grow. Hawk and Birdie, without them-- well it wasn't that he couldn't do what he did. But they did make it easier.

"What's the word?" he asked leaning forward, tucking his cane under his arm.

[Hawkeye Dekker]

Hawk shrugged nonchalantly as he and Birdie approached their leader, "Jus' the usual, mostly." He leaned against a post that was the perfect distance from Spot's high perch--close enough to be heard easily, yet far enough away to give Hawk a clear view without hurting his neck--and lit a cigarette. There was the usual amount of murders, thefts and beatings, this was New York after all, but there had been nothing suspicious, mysterious or significant about them, and therefore weren't worth reporting.

"Although," he paused to take a drag before continuing, smoke escaping his lips as he spoke, "someone did try to start a fire at The Journal. ...Just after they had distributed the Evening Journal." Hawk made eye contact with Birdie, almost 'passing the baton' in a way, to let her pick up where he'd left off.

He and Birdie had been working together for years and by now they could practically speak without words. This skill came in handy while they were working and even more so when they weren't. While they didn't actively try to keep their relationship a secret, they were so discrete and quiet about it that there were few who knew. Spot was one of those few.