November, 1899

"Ha, didya see his face when we shoved 'im in the garbage can? He was-"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw it, Mace!"

"Yeah, but he got so much toma-"

"I said, I saw it, Mace! I was there!"

"Yeah, hahaha. So was I."

"...You shoved him in the can."

"Haha, I know! Right, Pete?"

"Don't call me that."

"Stinky Pete."

"I said, stoppit!"

"Owww! What was that fer?!"

"Fer callin' me Pete."

"Boys, boys!" a stern, aggravated voice cut into the twin's bickerings. A once proud man, now slightly hunched with the weight of his dismal fortunes, strode into the dimly lit room. A tall, lean boy with greasy hair that stuck up like a bunch of weeds stood sullenly by the shaft of light that barely illuminated the sagging door. Standing next to him was his stocky twin, balling his meaty hands into fists with a stupid grin on his face.

"What have I told you about fighting in the apartment?! Take it outside if you're so keen."

"Yes, Uncle," the pair muttered, but the stocky one punched Peter in the shoulder. "What does 'keen' mean?"

"Shut it."

"Boys!" Their uncle rolled his eyes, taking a step forward. Peter and Mace gave each other glances, but their uncle cleared his throat.

"What, Uncle?" Peter dared to ask. Mr. Cromwell rolled his eyes again. "You know I hate your bickering."

"Well, we wouldn't be fightin' if we had somebody tah beat up-!" Mace muttered before Mr. Cromwell shot him a deadly stare. He quieted down reluctantly, going to look at his boots.

"As it so happens, Mace," Mr. Cromwell began smoothly, "I have a job for you. Both of you."

Mace held up his head, eyes lighting up. "Who?! Who do we gotta beat up?!" he asked, immediately jumping to conclusions. Peter sighed, facing their uncle. "I don't want no part in this, Uncle-"

"That's why you'll the brains, Peter, and Mace here will carry out the...dirty work, shall we say." Cromwell interrupted with a small smile. "There is someone I want you to get rid of. A certain boy who goes by the name of Jack Kelly."

Mace snickered. "That newsie leader? The fella who started that stupid strike?"

"That stupid strike where we got paid for beatin' up those newsies," Peter reminded him. "So? Why do ya care 'bout 'im, Uncle?"

"Profits, boy. Investments. And a foolish mistake, one made by Joseph Pulitzer. And Warden Snyder."

"Oh, I heard o' him, he got thrown in jail after that jail closed-"

"The Refuge, Mace! The Refuge. And with it went thirty-percent of my profits. I intend to take my revenge on the very person who caused it to be closed."

"Who's that?" Mace asked, and Peter sighed. "Jack Kelly!"

"So you boys-yes, you too, Peter-must find him for me. And break him."

Mace's face alighted up in a stupid, gleeful grin. "Break 'im so he can't walk?"

"Yes. Fine. Whatever you want. I just want him gone."

"Gone, hahahaha, yeah, we can make 'im gone awright-"

"Shut it, Mace."

"Here. So you know what he looks like." With a flourish, Cromwell drew a faded newspaper clipping from his coat pocket. The main story was highlighted by a picture of several boys, all holding newspapers triumphantly in the air. Mace laughed, and jabbed his fat finger at one of the boys. "Remember 'im? We beat 'im up."

"Yeah, yeah, I 'member. So who's this Jack Kelly, Uncle?"

"That one," he pointed at a tall newsie in a blue vest, hat and shirt.

"Don't look so tough," Mace said cockily. Cromwell gave him a baleful look. "You'd be surprised, boy. He loses his nerve quite quickly, though. Didn't even want to help that poor boy who got thrown into the Refuge during the strike."

"Who, that one?"

"Yes."

"He looks stupid."

"So do you," Peter muttered.

"Well, boys. Now you know your...victim, let's say, you will find him tomorrow. Make it look like an accident."

"Do we gotta?" the question fell from Peter's mouth, but he quickly tried to backtrack. "I mean, Uncle, if all this kid did was take your money, can't ya just...get it back? You're rich enough-" He was cut off as Cromwell slapped him across the face. "Not after what that boy did to me, Peter. And if you get any more ideas about questioning me, I can assure you will be sleeping on the streets tonight."

"Fine," Peter mumbled, and grabbed Mace by the arm. "C'mon. We got somebody to find."

"And break," Mace added gleefully as they exited the shabby apartment.