The Legend of Black-Eye Charlie
There are many different legends of The Black-Eye. Almost as many stories and versions of stories as names that Charlie went by. Black-Eye Charlie, Charlie, The Black-Eye, the list goes on. Almost every kid could tell you a story or two. But there are only a few who know the true plot behind it.
Charlie has almost as many stories as Jack Kelly. However, he appears in many of Black-Eye's, as is his way. Both of them were like that, they were legends. Legends in their own right, not just because of what they did.
I doubt that Charlie enjoyed the attention as much as Jack did. It was in his nature, not The Black-Eye's. But I am drifting far off my subject. This is the true story of Charlie; Newsie, Pickpocket, general thief, and Queen of the Shiners. No, I do not misspeak. Charlie was a girl, but that is all part of the story…
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When you were a Shiner, days started in the wee hours. Charlie liked to get up early, and she didn't bother staying quiet to let you sleep. Once she was awake, everyone was awake. It was easy to get used to; most kids were awake as early as they were anyway.
All the Shiners started the day the same way. Charlie would wake everybody; they would all scrounge leftovers for breakfast. In the summer months, Charlie would insist on taking their precious soap, and all of them would wash their faces and necks in the river. Most of them hated it, but Charlie insisted. She said that most rich schmucks would pass by a dirty street kid selling something for a clean one.
There were seven of them all together. Charlie was the leader. She dressed like a boy, keeping her coarse hair short. She wore a once-white shirt, now faded to gray. Though it was old, it was clean and fairly free of holes. Her trousers were also faded, but brown, reaching almost to her ankles. She wore no shoes at the moment, although when she could find some she would wear them, if they fit no one else.
Tel was her lieutenant, as much as anyone was. He was high and gangly, the tallest of the bunch. His skin and hair were both dark, although the hair was much darker. He had never known his parents, but he felt that they were from an exotic eastern country, Egypt or Arabia perhaps. His full head of hair was wiry and wavy, almost curly, cut messily across his forehead. He wore a baggy shirt, one that made his skinny body seem to drown. His trousers were almost the same as Charlie's, only more frayed and care-worn.
Tobias McGee, more commonly called Toby or Shot Toby, was Tel's complete opposite. He was shorter even than the youngest of the gang, but didn't seem to resent it. Where Tel was grave, Toby was cheerful. Even in skin tone and hair color they were like photo negatives. His fair hair and freckled pale skin showed that Toby's parents had arrived from a cold, northern country. He earned the nickname Shot by proving that he could not only shoot a sling shot far and accurately, he was almost as good as Spot Conlon.
Fingers was the resident master pick-pocket. He was average looking, not tall or short; his hair couldn't decide if it was blonde or brown, lightening in the summer and darkening in the less sunny months. Fingers wasn't ever called by any other name, he never gave one. When the others talked of the parents they had known, he sat silent. In fact, he was silent most of the time. His face only lit up when he was teaching the others the art of his chosen trade.
Though Rosary Mike was the youngest, he was taller than Toby. He had deep red hair, which he didn't cut nearly often enough. His skin was almost never tan, though in the summer it did tend to burn if he wasn't careful. Rosary earned his name with the rosary he kept hung about his neck, a memento of a mother he'd all but forgotten. It was much too long for him, but he refused to part with it. His clothes were nearing replacement; they were much too small for him, showing his ankles and wrists.
Billy was only a few months older than Rosary, but he still enjoyed not being the littlest. In fact, he was almost as tall as Tel. Billy wasn't ever called by his given name, most used Whistle Fool instead. He tried in vain to get them to shorten it to Whistle Bill, but no one would draw on it. Other than tall, he was much like the rest of them, skinny but not starved, tan in the summer, less so in winter. He had earned the name Whistle Fool with a little penny whistle he hung around his neck. He could play that thing to within an inch of both his life and the poor whistle's, and still come out smiling and passing his cap around to whoever was appreciating his tunes.
Tiphat was the newest of them; he had been recruited by Charlie after she realized that her crew was uneven. Charlie had a strict policy about them going about all of their business in pairs. Except for her, of course. She was secretive in the day, coming back every night with loot or money or things to use around their house. Tiphat was polite to a fault, with curly brown hair. He could mimic just about anyone, changing his voice, tone, even mannerisms. He had been proclaimed a "good little kid" and welcomed into the family without question.
They all lived together in a rundown abandoned warehouse, near some docks. They gathered blankets and old newspapers to make beds for themselves, all circling the center of the room. The warehouse had run down so much that a part of the ceiling had fallen in, creating a modest nook just the perfect size for the seven of them. In the center of their nook, they had piled crates into a table that they ate off of every night.
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After a breakfast that usually consisted of a roll or some such left over from their evening meal, they would all gather around the table. There, Charlie would assign them their positions for the day.
"Tel and Shot, you two get some papes and sell 'em. Here, get twenny and eat some lunch." She tossed them a few coins. "Fingers, Tiphat, you two go get us some hard cash. Maybe a few watches, I'll leave dat up to you." They nodded. "Whistle Fool, Rosary, lemme think… you two sell papes too. But get 'em from a different place and sell far from Tel an' Shot. Got it?" They all nodded. "Bring back your loot here. We'll divvy up and get dinner. Maybe if we can we'll get it from somewhere's nice."
Everyone scattered. Tel and Shot had to rush to get to a distribution office a few blocks away from Rosary Mike. Fingers pulled Tiphat along, looking for a place where they could stand without looking too conspicuous, but still finding someone worth stealing from. Black-Eye went to do whatever it was she did.
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As soon as Whistle Fool and Rosary got in line for their papes, the reason for their gang's name of Shiners became obvious.
"Hey, lookit over here! A couple'a Shiners! Didn't we tell The Black-Eye to keep 'em off our street?"
The two young boys looked at each other, silently conversing for a few seconds.
"Whaddaya want, Smike?" Rosary posed the question, doing his best to sound older than his nine years.
"I was dere when Shoestring Mullins tol' you alls. Stay offa East Street!" Whistle looked up at this.
"Shoestring? What's he doin' tellin' Charlie anyting?" Smike, who looked twenty and had the brains of a five year old, spat on the ground. "Mullins leads de East Streeter's now. An' youse better clear off. Gettit?" Rosary and Whistle Fool glanced at each other.
"No," Whistle finally said, "I think youse need to 'xplain a bit clearer." With that, he and Rosary leapt on top of the much larger boy.
They had all learned from Charlie about fighting, both against groups and individuals. The trick was to attack, and attack without warning if they were being threatened. They learned to punch the more sensitive areas of the face (eyes and nose), how to make a fist (thumb on the outside if you didn't want it broken), and how to block punches. The two boys used this knowledge well, especially when the other East Street Newsies joined in. After almost ten minutes, the East Streeter's felt that the young Shiners had been punished enough, although many of them were just as badly beaten.
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At the end of the day, they all gathered back in the warehouse. Tel and Shot Toby brought back fifty cents profit, ten of which was tips, as well as an almost new pair of shoes they had found in some rich shmuck's trash.
"We thought they'd fit ya Charlie," Tel said. "Winter's comin' on soon." She put them on, and found that they were perfect street size, a little too big. "Growin' room!" Shot exclaimed proudly. Charlie smiled thanks.
Not only did the younger two bring in a profit, they brought a report of other gang's movements. "Looks like Shoestring Mullins is rulin' the East Streeter's," Whistle Fool reported, "We had to knock some sense inta Smike when he went off on us Shiners." This made Charlie look up sharply. "Mullins is runnin' East Street?" Rosary Mike nodded.
"An' you took on Smike?" He nodded again.
"How bad did youse get hurt?"
"I got a out of action lip an' a shiner, Rosary got himself two shinin' eyes an' a busted up nose."
"How 'bout them udders?"
"Smike was pretty bad, we's both got to 'im foist ting off. One or two'a da udder 'Streeter's decided ta settle deir own debts den an' dere an' beat up each udder!" Everyone laughed.
Tiphat told them that the bulls were starting to get a bit suspicious of the Shiner Gang. "Had one stare at us near ten minutes before we finally left." They hadn't gotten much, although a very nice watch that they could sell at a place that Tel knew of was among their spoils.
After everyone had made their reports, they pooled the cash and trinkets they had picked up. All together they had enough for a good dinner and maybe something for dessert too.
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A/N:
Many thanks and much love to my beta, Wiley Card, who manages to fix my horrible grammer and points out when all my newsies look alike.
So? Like? Love? Wondering where Jack is yet? Don't worry, he's coming. This fic won't rely entirely on OC's, and please let me know if they get too Mary-Sue or Gary-Stu ish. Leave a review, please.
