Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Newsies!
Author's Note: Hey guys, so I haven't written anything in a few years, so please let me know what you think and don't be at all shy to tell me if anything's written incorrectly or is just plain stupid sounding!
Chapter One: The Wickedest Town On Earth
Captain Jack Kelly stepped off his ship and onto the dock, grinning broadly as he breathed in the Jamaican sea air.
"God, it's good to be back, Race," he commented to the man standing beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Racetrack nodded in agreement, "We got lucky too, it should have taken us at least four days to get here from Puerto Bello, and it barely took three."
"Thank those winds," Jack smiled, clapping his hands together, "All right men!" He shouted back to his crew aboard the ship, "Let's get 'er fully docked and unloaded, then I think it's time we head out for a drink!"
A chorus of excited whoops and yells met his orders as a dozen or so young men appeared on the main deck of the ship, hauling up large crates from the hold before rigging them onto ropes and lowering them onto the dock.
"Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!" A small man carrying a quill and paper hurried down the dock towards Jack, "I'll need you to pay and register to dock your boat here."
Jack signed the paper and tossed the man two shillings, chuckling at the man's scurrying gait as he ran off to other recently docked ships.
"Say Jack!" An eye patch wearing blond boy called down to his captain from his position on the quarter deck, "Where's all this going, anyway?"
"Dunno why you care, Blink, but it's all for Commodore Edwards!" Jack hollered back, watching with approval at the swiftness with which his men worked.
"Pssh," Race snorted, folding his arms, "I thought we were done with this navy business."
"Oh, how can they help themselves if we've got one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean?" Jack gazed back at his ship fondly.
"Don't let Conlon here you saying that," Racetrack joked.
"Now that's not fair," Jack countered, "Different trade, different ship. For what we do ours is just about as good as it gets."
Racetrack rolled his eyes, "Whatever, no matter how much I like that ship, after a month on that thing I'm just glad to be back on land."
"You're just upset 'cause we ran out of liquor," one of the crew commented as he brushed past his friend, carrying a small carton hefted onto his shoulder.
"Oh shut up, Mush!" Racetrack yelled after him, before turning somberly to Jack, "But yeah…that too."
The two laughed to themselves as they turned to help the crew unload the remaining crates, before dragging them out to where a large horse-drawn cart waited just beyond the docks.
"Captain Pulitzer," Jack tipped his hat in a distantly polite greeting to the man in navy uniform holding the reins.
"That's Commander Pulitzer now, Captain Kelly," Pulitzer replied curtly, not bothering to tip his hat in return.
"Well, commander already! If you'll excuse me, I was gone for the last month and didn't realize. Congratulations to you, commander."
Pulitzer's mouth set in a firm line, "Glad to see all of the cargo made it here safely."
He gave Jack a steely look, challenging him to admit to any mishap that may have befallen the precious shipment.
"Yessir," Jack gave him an unwavering smile.
Nonplussed, Pulitzer proceeded to give his fingernails a thorough once over until the cart was loaded, and he took off toward the naval compound without another word.
· · · · ·
The man cringed and watched in dread as the axe's blade arced high in the air and cut clean through the ropes in one fell swoop, bringing down the sails. His crew stood by, rendered helpless by the men who surrounded them, holding them in place with cutlasses and pistols to their throats.
"Well, well, well," the lean young man before him smirked with mocking gray eyes, "Looks like you have some crates here that are marked as belonging to a different company. Now how did you manage to get a hold of these, hm?"
"I—I—uh, that is to say I—"
The stuttering fool was silenced with an imperial wave of the hand, "Oh now really, do you think I care?"
This time he stayed quiet, letting the question linger in the air before the gray eyed man continued, "Now then, seeing as I'm such a kind and generous sort of fellow," one of his crew coughed and he shot them a scathing look, "I feel that it really would be in your best interest if I take these off of your hands. You really wouldn't want to be caught with stolen goods, would you?"
"N—n—no," the man managed to get out, eyeing the cutlass that hovered threateningly close.
"Wonderful. And I think," the smirk returned in full glory, "That since you are so clearly indebted to me for this favor that I will take a few of your own crates as well, just so the score is settled. Seems fair, doesn't it?"
The shaking man nodded mutely, nervous eyes still on the twitching blade.
"All right boys, you heard the agreement! Let's relieve our friend of his dues."
A few of his crew snarled at their prisoners before dropping their cutlasses, daring them to try something as they moved away to remove the cartons. When all but two boxes of the shipment were transferred to his own ship the smirking man turned back to the unfortunate captain of the looted craft.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you," he tipped his hat giving the man a once over, then added as an afterthought, "Oh…and you've pissed yourself."
The captain looked down and turned scarlet, trying to think of how many ways he could possibly be shamed in just one day. He watched miserably as the loaded ship sailed away, the skull of its black flag grinning at him mockingly as the wings on either side of it fluttered in the wind.
Once back aboard his own ship the pirate sat down amidst his crew as they pried open the crates on the red cedar deck.
"So," he stood to walk amongst the open boxes, "What have we got?"
One of his boys spoke up immediately, "I got shoes, Cap'n. From Italy, and real leather too. Looks like about," his brow furrowed in concentration, ten pairs wide by ten pairs in length and two pairs deep meant…he gave a low whistle, "I got two hundred pairs. What's that, like eight hundred pounds?"
Gray eyes gleamed with excitement, "At least! What about everyone else? What have you all found?"
The air rang with cries of "Fifty letter openers from Italy and fifty crucifixes, that's six thousand pounds! Two hundred rosaries from Cadiz, eight thousand pounds! One hundred bracelets from Seville, four thousand pounds!"
When all of the stolen goods were added they totaled no less than twenty five thousand pounds, and the pirate captain could not have been more pleased with their latest haul. A Cheshire grin lit up his face and every time he thought of those crates he could not help but look very much like the cat that got the cream.
"So," his second in command approached him when all of the cartons had been safely stowed in the hold, "Where are we planning on selling all of this?"
"Why Jinx," he smirked up at his friend, "The 'wickedest town on earth' of course, where else?"
Jinx laughed and shook his head, "All right, sounds good to me. Though we just left Nassau, so it's gonna take us a week or so to get there. Havana's a lot closer…"
"Yeah, and Havana's got some of the heaviest duties on goods in the whole damn Caribbean, Jinx. 'Sides, I'm startin' to miss the good 'ole Jamaican scum."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Jinx put his hands up in submission, "Whatever you say. You are the captain, Spot."
He grinned in affirmation, "I sure as hell am."
· · · · ·
"Pleasant fellow," Racetrack muttered under his breath, glaring at Pulitzer's retreating back.
"All righty, Cap'n," Mush addressed Jack, wiping the trickle of sweat from his brow, "Where to now?"
Jack looked to the sky, shielding his hand and taking note of the sun's position over the distant horizon.
"Well, I say we get whatever we need for the night off the ship and head over to old man Taylor's tavern. I'll bet he'll give us another discount for the night if we help clean up again."
"Yeah, and we're guaranteed to get enough to drink there!" Blink laughed, with a pointed look in Racetrack's direction.
After gathering a few small personal items from the ship the crew trooped off eastward toward The Duke's Flask Tavern. They passed through the market, and more than one mouth began to salivate at the sounds of "Whole chicken, only two pennies! Bread, one penny! Special on wine, just for today, only two pennies per pint!"
"Two pennies?" Racetrack scoffed, "That's gotta be the most watered down shit I ever heard of."
"Ooh, but that guy right there is selling ladies stockings for only two shillings! That's not a half bad price," a small dark boy observed thoughtfully.
"Oh shove it, Boots," one of the boys laughed, giving him a push, "Why would you even know that?"
"Now, now, Specs," Blink cut in, "Let's not judge Boots for his knowledge of ladies clothing."
"If that's not judgment worthy then I don't know what is," Race laughed as Boots folded his arms in a huff and stalked off to walk with Jack.
After a momentary pause during which Boots was convinced not to take up a very painted woman on her offer of "four shillings for an hour" just to prove his manliness, "Trust me," Race had told him, "I shudder to think of what you'd get for a price that cheap," the boys made off toward the tavern in earnest, arriving there shortly before nightfall.
"Captain Kelly!" The barkeeper exclaimed delightedly when the men barged through the door, "What are you doing back so soon in 'the wickedest town on earth'?"
"Couldn't stay away from Port Royal for too long," Jack laughed, "We woulda missed your handsome ruddy face too much." He gave the barkeep an affectionate slap on the cheek.
"More like you woulda missed the liquor," a dark haired girl remarked playfully, coming around the corner of the bar with a full tray of beer held aloft.
"Ah Blair," Jack winked, "We woulda missed you too."
Her eyes rolled heavenward and she sashayed past him with her tray, delivering the pints it held to a table of men nearby before working her way around to the other tables, taking drink orders. The crew situated themselves around the tavern while Jack and Race took seats at the bar.
"So Taylor," he spoke to the barkeep, "What're the chances of us getting some cheap rooms for the night?"
"Jesus, it's straight to business with you tonight, is it Jack?"
"Sorry," the younger man apologized with a smile, "But you know me, I don't want my poor boys left out in the cold."
"Oh yeah, sure, because these Jamaican nights get so chilly," Taylor joked sarcastically, "All right, I'll give you the same deal as last time. You know I normally charge a shilling per night, but for you and your boys I'll charge half, granted you help out in the kitchen again."
"It's a deal," Jack held out his hand to shake and Taylor took it warmly.
"Blair!" Taylor called out to his daughter, "Looks like I got you some help with the dishes tonight!"
"Well thank god," she replied in feigned anger, hands fisted on her slim hips, "Because I don't know if I've ever met a messier lot than this in my whole life!"
"Aw, now that's not fair," Jack said in mock hurt, "That cuts me deep, Blair, really."
"Uh huh, I'm sure, please accept my sincerest apologies," she laughed as she returned to the bar beside him, setting down her empty tray for her father to replenish with drinks.
"Here ya go, Race," she handed the black haired boy a brimming pint with a sly wink of a green eye, "Drink up, but don't get so drunk you can't help me with those dishes, or so help me you'll wake up wishing you were never born."
"Some mouth on that daughter of yours," Race commented to Taylor.
The old man just placed a hand to his chest, his eyes going skyward, "Lord help me," he sighed dramatically, "I've tried so hard with her."
A wet rag flew from Blair's general direction and hit Taylor square on his balding head. Laughing heartily, Race and Jack clinked their glasses and drank greedily, toasting the wind, the seas, the lodging and drink provided by Taylor, and the lifestyle that had not failed them yet.