Just Keep Going
By Deemarie
Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own Newsies. If I did I'd be singing and dancing right now, not writing.
Author's note: First Newsies story. Please review mine and then I will go read your story and review it. Just like Silence of the Lambs.
I closed my eyes and let the memories come before I drifted off to sleep. Two three year old children fighting over the last slice of bread. A seven-year-old boy helps his sister to hide from their ma's friends. Next, eleven years old in a boxcar leaving New Jersey and going to New York.
When we got to New York I told my brother we had to split up. And we couldn't say that we knew each other or were related. I didn't tell him why, but I insisted and finally won out. I had to keep him safe. He was all that I ever had.
So he went to Manhattan and became a newsie under Red Eye, Jack Kelly's mentor. There he sharpened his gambling skills until he became Racetrack Higgins.
And I became what I am now at age fifteen. They call me "The Traveler" behind my back but nothing to my face. The one newsie who is welcome almost anywhere but belongs nowhere.
Today on a steamy June morning in 1898 I open my eyes and sense that I've rather worn out my welcome in Harlem. Even through my hangover I can tell that cheating at cards last night was not a good idea. I must've drunk more than I thought if they caught me. The clue that tipped me off was the fact that Buzz (Harlem's leader) has all my stuff and is pointing at the door.
"Hey you," he shouts which results in the groans of the other hungover newsies "You'd better get out before I get mad and take all of your money! I don't want to see you around for at least two months!"
"Right, Buzz I totally understand. Thanks for letting me stay so long," I say ignoring my splitting headache. I grab my stuff and stagger out the door.
"Let's see. Where to now? I think Junior from Queens is still mad at me. I don't really want to go anywhere else. Damn, I was still happy in Harlem. Way to screw it up for yourself." I mumble while walking down the sidewalk.
Suddenly I hear a shout and see Sleepy, a Brooklyn birdie, melt out of the shadows.
"Hello, Sleepy. I just got kicked out of here so I've got to keep moving," I say quickly.
Moving gracefully as all Brooklyn spies do he fell in beside me and said, "Why don't you come to Brooklyn?"
"Oh, gee I wonder? Maybe because Dollar, your fearless leader, thinks girls are good for cooking, cleaning and breeding. Please don't talk so loud," I reply.
"Oh, Lord. Doesn't Harlem have anybody looking for news? We've got a new leader, Spot Conlin and he brought a girl spy with him." Sleepy explained.
"Well, that puts a whole new spin on things. Brooklyn here I come!" I shouted and took off at a run.
"Oh, damn it," I thought and turned right back around until I got to Sleepy's alley. "Sleepy what's the pal password this week?" I asked the shadows, meaning the password that told I was a friend so I wouldn't have to go through the customary interrogation and in some neighborhoods a beating.
"Sorry girlie," he mumbled. "Spot decides. Nobody else had the right to give the password. Not even to The Traveler. He mentioned you by name."
"Oh, God. Well, I'm off to get beat up. And please Sleepy don't call me girlie." I said downcast and started walking to Brooklyn.
I decide to take a detour on the way to Brooklyn and hang out in Central Park until it gets closer to night.
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge I wondered if Spot would be the type to fall for my infamous charms. I'm good-looking and I know it. I've got the whole black hair, blue eyes thing going on. Only thing is I'm too skinny to have a fashionable body type. I just don't get enough to eat, ok? I'm not against doing a little kissing to stay in a leader's good graces, but I won't go any farther. Never any farther. That's gotten me kicked out a couple times.
I cross into Brooklyn knowing that by the time I get to the abandoned waterfront warehouse Brooklyn newsies call home Spot will know about me.
The door swings open after I knock and I step in and look around for the first time. A huge warehouse with a storage attic in the far right corner. The place was swarming with guy newsies and filled with bits and pieces of old, broken furniture and pallets on the floor.
I look to my left and see an office with a brown-haired girl hunched over like she was in pain. However, she still moved like she was dancing. She's got to be the girl spy Conlin brought with. She heads to the attic and I knock on the office door.
"Come on in," calls a male voice heavy with a Brooklyn accent.
I enter and come face to face with the new leader of Brooklyn. He's kind of skinny but he's got a dangerous look. Like he'd just as soon beat you up as talk to you. I don't think he'll fall for my charms.
"Hi, I'm a newsie. People call me The Traveler mostly. Sleepy maybe got word to you that I was coming by," I babble nervously. I stop for a second and think. I never get this nervous. I wonder what's up?
"Yeah, Sleepy mentioned you. You think you got what it takes to be a Brooklyn newsie, huh? Got any special talents?" He asked not looking up from the chair he was slumped in.
"Well, I'm good at gambling. Anything you want cards, dice or horses. I can fight with or without a knife as long as they're not too much bigger than I am. And I'm good with almost all other neighborhoods. Except Harlem. And Queens. And oh, yeah I've never spent any time in Manhattan," I say quickly.
"All right. Now stand up," he drawls "And hand over your knife."
I do and he comes at me, dropping his cane on the way to hit me with his right. Ouch, right in my eye. I get in a few punches but not as many as he does before I try to kick him in a sensitive area. Spot grabs my leg and pulls. I end up flat on my back on the floor with the wind knocked out of me. I think I'll just lay here until I can breathe again.
"Okay, you'll do," says Spot picking me up and setting me on my feet. "Go right out that door and Roast Beef'll show you the ropes."
I walk out and am joined by a boy about sixteen who walks with a very bad limp.
"Roast Beef here and I assume you're The Traveler. Anyway, it's a lot like any other place. I get everyone up at about five o'clock every morning and you go sell papes. Rent is a quarter a week and you pay me. I take a nickel for myself since Brooklyn gangs aren't very kind to gimps so I can't sell. Ten cents for wood in winter and you have to find your own breakfast. Ten cents for bread, jam and coffee in spring and summer. The other ten cents goes to savings for when someone gets hurt or sick. You got it?" He said while moving to the back of the warehouse
"Yeah, I think so. Where am I going to stay?" I inquired.
"Up here," Roast Beef said while motioning to the ladder. "Used to be storage, but now you and Magic sleep up there."
"Okay, thanks." I said, beginning to climb.
I stuck my head through the hole and looked around a dark room. As my eyes got used to the light I saw a couple of pallets on the floor with some blankets piled on one. I assumed that was mine. On the other mattress there lay a girl rasping while she struggled to breathe. It was the brown-haired girl I saw leaving the office.
Tentatively I sat down next to her and questions started to spill out, "Hey can I do anything for you? Are you all right? Should I tell Roast Beef?"
"No, I'll be fine. Spot just didn't like a bit of news that I brought to him." She whispered and struggled to sit up. "I think he just bruised my ribs."
I nodded understanding now. It was common practice for leaders to beat up their spies when bad news came in. Birdies knew it and common newsies realized it. But it wasn't usually this bad.
"Umm, but isn't this kind of well, overkill?" I asked quietly.
"Nah, I'm just no good at fighting. If I fought back I'd only have a couple of bruises like Sleepy gets," she said.
Surprised, I listened a little closer and did hear a bit of an Irish accent. Looking closer I saw pale freckled skin and green eyes. She was from Ireland all right.
She stood up and said, "I'm Magic, a birdie. You can't talk about me to anybody but a Brooklynite because Spot doesn't want anyone to know about me."
"Okay, I guess I can handle that," I replied. "Hey do you and Spot have something going on?"
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! No! That'd be like dating my brother, you know. Here I am sixteen with no romantic entanglements. I'm going to sleep now."
I smiled and looked out the grimy window. Looks to be about eight o'clock. I pushed a lock of hair that'd come loose from my braid and winced. I think I'm going to have quite the shiner tomorrow.