The chill of the early evening awoke the young girl. She sat up on the park bench she had previously been slumbering on and looked around for her thin sweater, but it was no where to be found. "Good job, Mick. Now you've gone and lost your only sweater," she muttered to herself as she stood up and stretched. "I guess da street rat who stole it needed it more than i did," she added with a laugh. Mickie made her way to an all too familar tavern in Sheepshead Bay just down the road from the Races, cursing the vagrant who had piliged her only sweater. She took comfort in the thought that, it being only late summer, she would have time to save enough money to buy a new, warmer sweater by the time fall rolled around. Pushing open the heavy tavern door, she shuddered as she remembered the way she would earn that money.
"Evenin' Miss Michaela," the barteneder called in an affectionate tone.
"Mornin' ta me, Rusty! And if ya eva call me dat again, I'll bust ya gut open. You know I hate me full name!" Mickie called back with a grin.
"I don't know how ya do it, Mick," Rusty commented casually.
"Aw, it ain't dat hard. I just sleep all day and then I'm ready ta woik all night! It really ain't dat bad. I hoid it's prolly safer ta sleep during da day anyway..."
"I didn't mean that. You're too young ta be letting men treat ya the way they do..."
"Listen Rusty," Mickie interupted. "I ain't really got any otha way ta make cash, so just lay off. You ain't me fatha anyway. Why don't ya just bring me a drink?"
The middleaged bartender looked taken aback, but said nothing. He simply poured a drink and slammed it down on the bar between him and the young girl.
"Thanks, Rus," Mickie said with relief as she downed the entire drink in one gulp. The young girl made her way to a back room that the tavern owner had set up for girls like her. They had free reign over the establishment, inclusing use of this private ready room, assuming that they pay their bar tab monthly, plus a small fee for doing their "business" in the bar. Mickie noticed a dark blue dress discarded in the corner of the room. She tried it on and eyed herself in the dirty mirror, knowing full well that by leaving her normal clothes in this room, she ran the risk of having another girl come along and steal them. Deciding that she would probably get more customers in this dress as opposed to her normal get-up, Mickie tossed her well worn button down shirt and wool trousers into a dark corner and headed back out to the bar.
"You look great, Mickie. You're too good for this..." Rusty complemented softly as he slid another drink in front of her. Mickie took it greatfully, and let her eyes roam over the newly formed bar crowd, hoping to find her first customer of the night. Her graze paused on a middleaged man sitting alone in the rear of the tavern. Perfect, she thought as she hid the smile that had started to creep across her lips. She downed her drink and made her way towards the man, never taking her eyes off of him.
"Hey doll face, where ya goin' in such a hurry?" a heavily street accented voice called to her. She wanted to ignore it, but a hand that went with the voice reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. "Why doncha pay me some company?" The voice belonged to a short, poorly dressed boy about her age.
"Cuz you ain't gonna pay me for some company!" she retorted as she yanked her arm away. She looked away from the boy to where the man had been sitting. He was now joined by an attractive, although somewhat dirty looking girl in a low cut dress. Damn it, Mickie thought as her sharp eyes scoured the joint for another potential customer. Hours passed before she found another possible male. She settled on a young looking man who had just entered the bar. He wasn't too bad looking, despite the ratty brown patch covering one eye. She sighed and prepared for the usual routine. "Hey good lookin', need some company?" Mickie asked as she slinked up to him. The young man looked around nervously and stuttered.
"Uh... no.... I... My friend.... Um..." Mickie tried not to laugh as the young man's cheeks filled in with a deep crimson.
"Blink!" a somewhat familiar voice called. "Ova heah!" The young man sighed with relief. Mickie turned to recognize the voice as the one that had stopped her previously. Damn that lil twit, Mickie cursed the dark haired boy. Frusterated, she made her way back to the bar. "Hey! Goilie! Why doncha come ova heah?" the voice called again, but Mickie ignored it. She couldn't, however, ignore the tap on her shoulder.
"Will ya join us?" a soft, deep voice asked. Mickie turned to see the young man with the patch. "We ain't got much money, but I t'ink we all could use da company."
Mickie reluctantly agreed. Normally, she would prefer to be alone at the bar, waiting for some older man to proposition her, but it appeared that the majority of the men that were previously single were now with other girls after her own heart. She pulled a chair up to the table where the annoying boy and the young man sat.
"Hello dere, gentlemen. Mind if I ask ya your names?" Mickie stated with little interest, her eyes still watchful for potential clients.
"Race is da name. Racetrack Higgins. Best gambler in all of Manhattan," the short, dark haired boy stated proudly. Mickie barely heard him.
"Too bad dis is Brooklyn," Mickie murmered under her breath. Apparently it wasn't as quitely stated as she had thought, for the one with the patch started chuckling.
"I'm Kid Blink, but me pals just call me Blink," the young man with the patch managed to get out after muffling his laughter.
"Listen goilie, I got enough money ta buy you for a night or two, so I wouldn't be making too many wise cracks if I was you!" Race had apparently heard her comment and was now raising his voice in defense. "So wudda ya say? How much?"
"I ain't for sale, ya lousy street rat," Mickie was outraged that such a low class bum would try to pay her for anything.
"Oh yeah? Den what are ya doin' heah?" Race yelled at her.
"If gentlemen wanna pay me for da pleasure of my company, I ain't gonna stop 'em, but I don't think you'll eva have enough money ta keep me around for longa than this!" Mickie stood up and walked back to the bar in a huff. She settled her anger with two shots that Rusty placed in front of her.
"Excuse me, miss?" a timid voice begged to interrupt her solitude. Mickie stifled a groan as she turned to face the boy who had introduced himself as Kid Blink. "Foist of all, I wanna apologize for me friend's woids. Second, I wanna tell ya dat we ain't no lousy street rats." Mickie looked at him doubtfully. "We even got jobs!" Blink added triumphantly.
"As what? Shoe shiners?" Mickie laughed.
"No, we're newsies," Blink replied.
"Dat ain't much betta..." Mickie muttered. Blink shook his head sadly.
"You ain't in much of a place ta be makin' fun of our jobs," Blink said in a stone cold voice. "So wudda ya say? Will ya join Race and me for da night? We got ten bucks between us."
"Ten bucks for just you. I ain't touchin' dat cocky bastard," Mickie insisted firmly.
"Nah, both or nothin'. Sorry miss." Blink walked away before she could reply. Great Mickie, you just lost the only decent proposition you had tonight. At least tomorrow is anotha day, Mickie sighed as she made her exit to the streets.
"Evenin' Miss Michaela," the barteneder called in an affectionate tone.
"Mornin' ta me, Rusty! And if ya eva call me dat again, I'll bust ya gut open. You know I hate me full name!" Mickie called back with a grin.
"I don't know how ya do it, Mick," Rusty commented casually.
"Aw, it ain't dat hard. I just sleep all day and then I'm ready ta woik all night! It really ain't dat bad. I hoid it's prolly safer ta sleep during da day anyway..."
"I didn't mean that. You're too young ta be letting men treat ya the way they do..."
"Listen Rusty," Mickie interupted. "I ain't really got any otha way ta make cash, so just lay off. You ain't me fatha anyway. Why don't ya just bring me a drink?"
The middleaged bartender looked taken aback, but said nothing. He simply poured a drink and slammed it down on the bar between him and the young girl.
"Thanks, Rus," Mickie said with relief as she downed the entire drink in one gulp. The young girl made her way to a back room that the tavern owner had set up for girls like her. They had free reign over the establishment, inclusing use of this private ready room, assuming that they pay their bar tab monthly, plus a small fee for doing their "business" in the bar. Mickie noticed a dark blue dress discarded in the corner of the room. She tried it on and eyed herself in the dirty mirror, knowing full well that by leaving her normal clothes in this room, she ran the risk of having another girl come along and steal them. Deciding that she would probably get more customers in this dress as opposed to her normal get-up, Mickie tossed her well worn button down shirt and wool trousers into a dark corner and headed back out to the bar.
"You look great, Mickie. You're too good for this..." Rusty complemented softly as he slid another drink in front of her. Mickie took it greatfully, and let her eyes roam over the newly formed bar crowd, hoping to find her first customer of the night. Her graze paused on a middleaged man sitting alone in the rear of the tavern. Perfect, she thought as she hid the smile that had started to creep across her lips. She downed her drink and made her way towards the man, never taking her eyes off of him.
"Hey doll face, where ya goin' in such a hurry?" a heavily street accented voice called to her. She wanted to ignore it, but a hand that went with the voice reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. "Why doncha pay me some company?" The voice belonged to a short, poorly dressed boy about her age.
"Cuz you ain't gonna pay me for some company!" she retorted as she yanked her arm away. She looked away from the boy to where the man had been sitting. He was now joined by an attractive, although somewhat dirty looking girl in a low cut dress. Damn it, Mickie thought as her sharp eyes scoured the joint for another potential customer. Hours passed before she found another possible male. She settled on a young looking man who had just entered the bar. He wasn't too bad looking, despite the ratty brown patch covering one eye. She sighed and prepared for the usual routine. "Hey good lookin', need some company?" Mickie asked as she slinked up to him. The young man looked around nervously and stuttered.
"Uh... no.... I... My friend.... Um..." Mickie tried not to laugh as the young man's cheeks filled in with a deep crimson.
"Blink!" a somewhat familiar voice called. "Ova heah!" The young man sighed with relief. Mickie turned to recognize the voice as the one that had stopped her previously. Damn that lil twit, Mickie cursed the dark haired boy. Frusterated, she made her way back to the bar. "Hey! Goilie! Why doncha come ova heah?" the voice called again, but Mickie ignored it. She couldn't, however, ignore the tap on her shoulder.
"Will ya join us?" a soft, deep voice asked. Mickie turned to see the young man with the patch. "We ain't got much money, but I t'ink we all could use da company."
Mickie reluctantly agreed. Normally, she would prefer to be alone at the bar, waiting for some older man to proposition her, but it appeared that the majority of the men that were previously single were now with other girls after her own heart. She pulled a chair up to the table where the annoying boy and the young man sat.
"Hello dere, gentlemen. Mind if I ask ya your names?" Mickie stated with little interest, her eyes still watchful for potential clients.
"Race is da name. Racetrack Higgins. Best gambler in all of Manhattan," the short, dark haired boy stated proudly. Mickie barely heard him.
"Too bad dis is Brooklyn," Mickie murmered under her breath. Apparently it wasn't as quitely stated as she had thought, for the one with the patch started chuckling.
"I'm Kid Blink, but me pals just call me Blink," the young man with the patch managed to get out after muffling his laughter.
"Listen goilie, I got enough money ta buy you for a night or two, so I wouldn't be making too many wise cracks if I was you!" Race had apparently heard her comment and was now raising his voice in defense. "So wudda ya say? How much?"
"I ain't for sale, ya lousy street rat," Mickie was outraged that such a low class bum would try to pay her for anything.
"Oh yeah? Den what are ya doin' heah?" Race yelled at her.
"If gentlemen wanna pay me for da pleasure of my company, I ain't gonna stop 'em, but I don't think you'll eva have enough money ta keep me around for longa than this!" Mickie stood up and walked back to the bar in a huff. She settled her anger with two shots that Rusty placed in front of her.
"Excuse me, miss?" a timid voice begged to interrupt her solitude. Mickie stifled a groan as she turned to face the boy who had introduced himself as Kid Blink. "Foist of all, I wanna apologize for me friend's woids. Second, I wanna tell ya dat we ain't no lousy street rats." Mickie looked at him doubtfully. "We even got jobs!" Blink added triumphantly.
"As what? Shoe shiners?" Mickie laughed.
"No, we're newsies," Blink replied.
"Dat ain't much betta..." Mickie muttered. Blink shook his head sadly.
"You ain't in much of a place ta be makin' fun of our jobs," Blink said in a stone cold voice. "So wudda ya say? Will ya join Race and me for da night? We got ten bucks between us."
"Ten bucks for just you. I ain't touchin' dat cocky bastard," Mickie insisted firmly.
"Nah, both or nothin'. Sorry miss." Blink walked away before she could reply. Great Mickie, you just lost the only decent proposition you had tonight. At least tomorrow is anotha day, Mickie sighed as she made her exit to the streets.
