Ezra Bridger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jabbathehutt) wrote2021-05-17 08:40 am
jabbathehutt) wrote2021-05-17 08:40 am
Mist under the East River
No one even noticed what happened to the kids on Delancey. Or never talked about it, which amounted to the same thing.
The papers covered the accident that took the life of three construction workers on the Manhattan side of what will eventually become the second East River Bridge. They said digging hit an underground cave they didn't know was there, and the families were compensated widely.
No one talked about the handful of street kids who had taken to using the site as shelter at night. Who had, due to dares and a morbid curiosity, snuck into the site to find - not an underground cave but a secret basement. And this is because no one survived to talk about it afterwards.
Except Ezra Bridger. Who never does talk about it.
In fact, most people have probably forgotten he was even friends with those kids.
Now he sells papes and lives by his wits on the Lower East Side, tries to avoid making any more friends, and keeps himself to himself.
Well, as much as that's possible among the ragged army of New York City newsboys.
The papers covered the accident that took the life of three construction workers on the Manhattan side of what will eventually become the second East River Bridge. They said digging hit an underground cave they didn't know was there, and the families were compensated widely.
No one talked about the handful of street kids who had taken to using the site as shelter at night. Who had, due to dares and a morbid curiosity, snuck into the site to find - not an underground cave but a secret basement. And this is because no one survived to talk about it afterwards.
Except Ezra Bridger. Who never does talk about it.
In fact, most people have probably forgotten he was even friends with those kids.
Now he sells papes and lives by his wits on the Lower East Side, tries to avoid making any more friends, and keeps himself to himself.
Well, as much as that's possible among the ragged army of New York City newsboys.
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"I'll see what I can do and let you know." Spot nods - it'll take some careful planning so neither of them get into any trouble, but he's sure he can figure it out.
"...this is what you want, right?" he adds after a second "We don't have to do this if you don't want to know."
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He's kind of pleased Spot even bothers to check that it's okay with him. "If you're sure you want to take the risk."
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"What's life without a little risk?" Spot grins at him. His whole life is kind of a risk, in a way, a rebellion against his father, and this is probably no different.
But he also feels like he owes Ezra, and he gets on with him, he wants to help.
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After a moment's thought he spits on his hand and holds it out.
"Thanks."
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Spot nods, spitting in his own palm and shaking Ezra's hand firmly.
"I should probably get back..." he doesn't want to stay out so late there's any concern, he can't risk anything they might mention to his father "but I'll let you know as soon as I have a plan."
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"You know where to find me."
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Spot nods, shoving himself to his feet. He's acutely aware of the kind of luxury he goes back to every night and one day he wants nothing more than to find a way to share it with the boys who have been a better family to him than his father ever was, but right now he doesn't have that option, so he just feels vaguely guilty and tries not to think about it too much.
"See you around, Ezra." he says, tucking his hands in his pockets as he turns to walk back to the Hearst mansion.
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He does in fact end up sleeping on the bench for a little while, before clearing it in the face of another rough sleeper willing to fight him for it, and he finds somewhere else, wondering once again if he should try for a lodging house, except he doesn't feel like facing anyone else tonight.
So he grabs some sleep, then in the morning and the following mornings, he heads down to the square and gets on with selling, wondering when Spot Conlon will come find him.
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It's nearly a week before it happens, one of the other Manhattan boys comes running up to Ezra before he can get too far with his papes for the day.
"Hey, Bridger. Spot Conlon's looking for you." he says, in tones of awe, and maybe a little bit of fear, it's clear he's wildly curious about why.
Spot's waiting by the statue in the square, leaning against it with his hands in his pockets. He's back to his normal newsie attire, but he's not carrying any papes himself today.
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He strolls up with forced casualness, his papes piled on one shoulder.
"Hey."
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"Hey." Spot greets easily, pushing himself away from the statue "C'mon, I'll walk with you."
He doesn't want to intrude on Ezra's selling time while they talk, and he figures they're better waiting until the curious newsies listening in will drop off once they start walking.
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Ezra carefully ignores the curious staring. He's not sure how it looks - the loner who avoids making friends with anyone, suddenly pally with the leader of Brooklyn - but he'll let other people worry about it. If Spot doesn't care, he doesn't.
His selling point is downtown, back towards the East River, and he lets them get a couple of blocks before even starting to sell.
"You've got something?"
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Spot waits until they're far enough away and Ezra sets into selling, nodding slightly at the question.
"Got an opportunity." he confirms. Another day his father is due to be away, that just happens, he innocently reported, to fall on a day he would have off school. It had taken a little fast talking, but he's managed to make arrangements to spend the day in the Journal building.
"Wednesday next week. Don't know if we'll need more time, but it's a start."
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It's not that Ezra has a particularly full schedule to worry about. He can take the day off selling if he puts aside enough to also be able to eat that day.
"What time? First thing, or at night?"
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"Nine?" he suggests, since that might give Ezra time to shift at least a couple of papes first thing, and it gives him time to get himself where he needs to be and make sure nobody else is there.
He does feel bad about cutting off most of a day's selling, but he isn't sure how he'll be able to offer Ezra any money to make up for it without insulting him - it's one thing for him to spend his coin on the kids in Brooklyn when they need it, but offering something that'd be seen as charity, especially when Ezra knew he was rich? It'd be hard to get him to accept that, probably.
At least he might be able to help him find some answers, and if he happened to slip a quarter or two in Ezra's pocket during the day without him noticing, that worked too.
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Ezra nods. Nine he can do - and he can get a decent amount shifted before then as well. He's completely unaware of what Spot is thinking about - though conversely he'd be much happier with Spot being honest about sharing money with him than trying to slip him money.
He's got a couple more questions - like where exactly they meet, what to expect when they get there, and similar, but he asks them between sales, secretly enjoying the chance to have company that he's denied himself for so long.
He's a pretty good seller as well - his regulars know him, and a few people who wouldn't look like they want a paper agree to buy with surprisingly little effort.
He's pretty sure he's not making them, but he's always not quite sure. Especially now he wants to make a good impression on Spot.
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Spot's happy to wander with him, let him go where he needs to and answer questions in between sales - this is the part of the job he likes the best, just getting to stroll around and see the sights of the city, no particular pace or purpose. It's even better with Ezra, somehow, he's missed the company ever since he became leader in Brooklyn and never really sold with anybody else anymore.
So even when all the questions are done, he continues to walk with him, since he doesn't have any papes of his own to sell today.
"You're pretty good at this, you know." he comments after a while - and it's not a compliment he gives lightly.
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It's not an easy compliment to take, being as meaningful as it is coming from Spot Conlon, and with the unspoken fact that Spot knows what Ezra can do andd might be suspecting him of 'cheating.' But Ezra's not given to false modesty and he knows he's good enough to make a bit of money. So he accepts it with a sly grin.
"Thanks. You don't got any tips?"
It's not often you get to work with the leader of any borough, let alone Brooklyn.
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Spot tilts his head slightly, giving the question genuine consideration - he doesn't want to give him some thoughtless platitude that doesn't sound genuine. Eventually, though, he shakes his head.
"No, you got a good selling style and it works for you. Only tip I'd give is you could probably have picked up another 20 papes and still shifted them."
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"Anyway, I don't wanna waste the dime if I can't shift them."
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Spot shrugs casually - no skin off his nose if Ezra doesn't take his advice, after all, and if he's put some thought into the numbers he picks up, that's all that matters, it's his money and his decision.
"Alright." he says easily "You're good, though, better'n some kids who've been at it longer."
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He doesn't trail off, just stops the sentence there. They know what the before means, and Ezra doesn't want to reflect on how it's different, requires different skills and planning when you're not pooling. He could afford to waste a dime on twenty extra papes when he knew Sabine was shifting a reliable number in Chinatown and Hera had her regular spot in Little Italy.
He tightens his face somewhat with the memory and then breaks into a convincing smile for the next customer.
"You think," he says, after that sale is over, "if we find out about others, we might find out what started it?"
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Spot nods, understanding - or, at least, guessing - what was going through Ezra's mind. His own life might have been somewhat privileged, but that didn't mean he hadn't seen loss before, and he'd seen plenty of other boys go through it too, enough to give him some insight.
"Yes," he agrees, accepting the sort-of change of subject with ease "the more information we have, the more we'll be able to find out. If we can find out what started it, what it means, that might be... useful to you."
That and nobody likes to be alone, and if they can find others then Ezra will be less alone.
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Not that he's going to stress Spot out with that. It's enough the Spot is helping him, he doesn't need to have the burden of all of Ezra's problems.
So instead he nods, belatedly gives a sideways smile.
"Kinda exciting, though, right? Like we could wirte for the papes instead of selling them."
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Spot grins a little at that, nodding.
"I guess it is a little like being a reporter," he agrees - and there's a light in his eyes at the idea that he can't entirely hide, despite obviously trying to keep his tone casual.
The thing is, he'd love to be a reporter, but of course that's not a suitable job at all according to his father - you own the paper, you don't write for it. He doesn't know why that's the way it works, but it's not as though his father is the type to welcome questions.
"So let's go get the story." he smirks.
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