Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Newsies characters mentioned in this piece; I do, however, stake claim to Jess Kelly, Frankie Kelly, Reagan Malloy and a whole mess of other characters (such as Johnny Conlon and the Finn brothers) that will most likely pop up throughout this work.

--

Part One

--

"Here's the place, right off of Duane Street. Just like that stoolie said."

The hardened police officer motioned upwards at the sign as he and the new rookie approached the small establishment on the corner. It had a great wooden sign hanging over the doorway announcing it as Ma Kelly's Bakery. "Bakery, my ass," he snorted as he drew the ends of the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to the ground. The tip was still burning slightly; he savagely extinguished it with the tip of his worn boot.

His partner stopped right behind him, glancing up at the sign. He had a true leather cowboy hat perched on his fair head but he removed it as he turned towards the older man. "Hey, Sherman," he said, a bit of curiosity seeping into his deep voice, "just what did the informant report?" Something about this whole situation did not sit well with him—and he had a pretty good idea why. Kelly? It couldn't be… Has to be plenty of Kelly's running around these parts. Yeah…

Officer Rick Sherman shook his head as he looked over his shoulder at the new cop he had been saddled with. He shrugged.

"Ya see, Jacobs, ever since Prohibition went into effect last year, we've been getting reports about all sorts of illegal joints popping up—speakeasies, undercover pubs… shit like that," he said condescendingly, as if he thought that the young man had no idea as to what had happened ever since the eighteenth amendment went through in January of '20. "Anyway, last night the Chief got a call that the new 'bakery' off of Duane was actually a cover for the latest speakeasy the Manhattan Mob set up. You gotta love that Jack Kelly—he's got balls, I'll give him that," Sherman added, absently gesturing at the rather large print spelling out the Kelly surname in a flowery script.

With every additional word that fell out from between Sherman's mustachioed face and sneering lips, Lester Jacobs was beginning to feel all the more worse for it. And it was not just because this was his first time out for the NYPD, either. After a ten-year stint in New Mexico, where he fell into the unlikely career of law enforcement—wrangling all sorts of crooks out West—he had finally decided to return to his hometown, in an effort to be closer to his family; his mother and father were growing older and his brother's young wife was pregnant with their second child. It was, he believed, finally time to return East.

However, if there was one thing that Les had not expected when he arrived, it was that he would be confronted with how different things were now than they had been before he left. In the three days since his train had rolled into the City he had heard more than one muffled reference to this Manhattan Mob—not to mention its ruthless leader: Jack Kelly.

When he was younger Les had known a Jack Kelly; the wannabe cowboy had been a friend of Les's older brother, David, and Les had found him to be an amazing, if reluctant, role model.

Even as he aged, Les felt a fondness for, and kinship with, Jack—in fact, it had been Jack who had enticed young Les to follow his dreams and become a copper; it was due to Jack's own personal dreams that Les eventually ended up as an officer in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

It was not as if Les wanted to take the trip out West; as he prepared to leave New York behind him, Les had tried his best to convince Jack to go with him but his attempts, all of them, had been in vain. Jack had gotten married near six years prior to a girl who had sold papers with them when they were younger and Stress—who no longer went by her old nickname but, instead, her given name of Jessa—bluntly told him that their place was in New York. Jack had reluctantly agreed.

But Les, knowing that his destiny was elsewhere, still left. It had been the year 1911 when he finally bid his family and friends farewell; he was twenty-one years old.

"Hey, Cowboy, my train sets out West tonight," Les said, a stuffed luggage-case in each hand. He could not believe the time had finally come; he had kissed his Mama and Pop goodbye and knew that David was going to accompany him down to the station. He only had one more set of goodbyes to make before leaving. "Ya know, there's still time if you want to go with me to Santa Fe."

Jack was standing on the cement stoops that led to the old apartment building he lived in with his family. It may not have been the classiest place, or in the best part of town, but it was his home. "I'm sorry, Les, but I'm an old man now," he said, letting out a friendly chuckle. Jessa was standing next to him, clumsily wiping her tear-filled eyes on a dishtowel, as she shook her head at her husband's playful attitude. "Besides, Les, I got my own family to take care of now."

As if on cue, a little girl—nearly six years old—with brown curls and bright green eyes, so like her mother's, came running round Jessa's skirt until she found Jack's strong legs. She wrapped her arms around his pants and started to grin cheekily up at him. There was still a hint of her supper dirtying her cheeks. "Daddy, daddy! We gotta go play! I wanna, wanna play!"

Les placed his cases down on the sidewalk and moved forward. When he got to the porch, he hiked up his pants and squatted down, reaching his hand out. He ruffled her hair and winked once at the child before lifting his head up, looking up at the child's father. "You ain't that old, Jack, only twenty-nine, and you could always bring Jess and Frannie with you."

Jack did not say anything right away. Instead, he leaned down and pried his daughter's hold from around his leg. He lifted her up and placed a kiss on top of her head before passing her along to his wife. "Jess, could you bring Frannie inside the apartment? I'll be right inside."

She took the child, the dishrag held tightly in her hands, and awarded him a chaste kiss on her husband's cheek. Then, the child resting on her hip, she stepped down off the stoop and gave one to Les. There were more tears in her green eyes but she smirked at him. "Do me proud, Les, but don't forget us."

Les, who now towered over the women he had known for over a decade, wrapped his arms around both her and Frannie. "I could never forget you, Stress. And, I promise, I won't be gone long." He dropped his arms and took at step back. "Just going out to see a bit of the world, that's all."

"I haven't been called 'Stress' in years." She was still smiling up at him, but he it was not difficult to see that she was upset that he was leaving. Goodbyes, they both knew, were always so difficult. And, in that day and age, it seemed like all any of them ever did was say goodbye.

"Yeah, and it still suits you," he joked, trying to make light of the mood. He grinned broadly and ruffled Frannie's head one last time.

"Be good, Les," the woman told him and, with one last cheeky grin, started back into the open door behind her.

"Yeah, you, too."

He watched the two Kelly girls walk away but his attention was not on them for long. Once Jess had taken the child with her into the apartment building, Jack purposely took Les by the shoulder and guided him to a shoe-shiner stool at the end of the block. He pointed at it. "Shine my shoe, Les?"

Les laughed. It was one of those jokes between him and Jack that never got tired. In the years that he had known Jack, Les figured he must have been asked to shine his shoes no less than a hundred times. "In your dreams, Cowboy."

Jack joined in on the laughter; nevertheless, there was a bit of a wistful smile on his face. "Can you believe it's been almost twelve years since the strike?"

Les shook his head, the laughter a faint echo. All he and the other guys—guys he used to sell papers with before they all seemed to just… grow up—had done since he announced that he was leaving the city—the first of them all to get out of New York—was reminisce. Even all these years later, the strike was still a favorite topic of talk. "Not at all. It seems like only yesterday," he said, fondly remembering his youthful days and that old wooden sword he had been so fond of. Vaguely, he wondered whatever happened to it.

Jack nodded and, staring straight ahead, began to speak to Les. "I know, but it's been awhile. And we've all grown and changed. Now it's your turn, Les. I just want to say… take care. You're going to get to live my dream while I stay back here in the city. Let me know if the sun's any bigger, eh? Sarah used to tell me it was the same sun, you know."

Les sighed. He had kind of hoped that Jack would not have felt the need to mention Sarah on his last day in the city. Sarah, Les' only sister—and the girl that Jack had courted before he married Jess—had died the previous winter of typhoid fever. She was only twenty-seven.

"I'll be sure to let you know, Jack," Les agreed before glancing down at the pocket watch David had given him for his twenty-first birthday. "Damn. I hate to leave now, but I've got to get a move on. The train waits for no man."

Jack nodded silently, tired of saying goodbye already; he preferred, just then, to remain lost in the memory of one of his best friends. Even after their separation, Jack and Sarah had remained close. And she was gone… now it was Les's turn.

As he stood there, no longer glancing at Sherman but, instead, glaring at the sign above him, Les felt himself get swept up in the memory of one he had considered his close friend. He was no longer the little boy that Jack had known, nor was he the young man he had been when he left Manhattan ten years ago; instead, he was a grown man, returned to the City to continue his life of stamping out crime. The ten years, he knew, had changed him… how had they changed Jack?

Oh, they had stayed in touch for awhile after Les left but, in time, the letters stopped arriving—and stopped being sent. In fact, the only one that he habitually heard from was his brother, David. David had gotten married not but two years after Les struck out on his own, but Les had not been able to come back—in fact, he still had not met his sister-in-law, Cassie, or his young nephew, David Junior. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Les tucked away the urgency of getting reacquainted with his old family and friends; as far as they knew, he was still in Santa Fe.

He had thought that his return to New York would be a surprise. Only then, as he shook his head just a bit, did he think that maybe the true surprise was on him.

There's no way that Jack would… I mean, sure it's one thing to steal a loaf of bread when you're starving, or take part in a rally turned riot… but to run a Mob? It's gotta be a coincidence… right?

"Hey, Jacobs?" Rick Sherman's abrupt, no-nonsense scratch of a voice broke through Les's thoughts, reminding him that he was there to do a job. Les jerked his head so that it looked like he was paying attention to what his partner was barking about. "Are you coming or not? We gotta go see if the missus is in."

"Oh, yeah, Sherman. I'm ready," he said, nodding quickly. However, before he moved to follow Sherman another step, he turned around and opened the police car. He dropped his cowboy hat onto the passenger seat before slamming the door shut.

The way he figured it, if it turned out that this 'Ma Kelly' was really a Mrs. Jack Kelly—and that Mrs. Jack Kelly was Jess—and he was arresting her, Les most definitely did not want to be recognized. He was pretty damn sure that a worn cowboy hat might just do the trick of trudging up old memories.

"So, Jacobs, since this is your first day out in the city," Rick began gruffly—Les tried his hardest not to groan; he lived in Santa Fe for ten years and now he was branded as country folk—"I think I'll handle this one. How's that sound?"

He snorted. "Whatever you say, pardner."

Sherman nodded tersely, missing the sarcasm entirely. He drew himself up to his full height, though he was still considerably shorter than Les, before trying to open the door. To no one's surprise, the two police officers found the door locked. Sherman sighed and, folding his meaty hand into a fist, rapped on the door. After about five minutes of silence—where the two men waited, without a word—the door finally opened inward.

Without meaning to, Les inhaled deeply in surprise when he saw who it was; if he had not known that more than twenty years had gone by he would have assumed that the young woman standing in the doorway was Stress. With long, wild brown curls, bright green eyes and a red bandana tied under her hair, her identity was obvious: itt was Frannie—Frances Anna Kelly—Jack and Jessa's only child.

"Can I help you, sirs?" she asked, the perfect picture of innocence—except for the haughty smirk that crossed her sweet face. Yes, definitely Jack's daughter.

Sherman stepped forward, leaving Les behind him to continue staring at the girl. "We're here to see this Ma Kelly. Or Jack Kelly. Whichever one is here."

"Jack Kelly? Jack Kelly…" she said, as if she was trying to placing the name. She shook her head. "Never heard of him," she added before starting to close the door.

Sherman was too quick for the girl. Sticking his heavy boot into the clean threshold, he effectively created a doorstop; as soon as he was sure that the door would not close the police officer pulled his badge out of his jacket pocket. "Girlie, I know that one of them is here and, if you don't want to be sent to the Refuge for contempt, you better go on and get them."

The girl's green eyes darkened as she narrowed them on the badge. Her lips moved slightly as she read the engraved information. She scowled. "Of course, sir," she said before turning around and disappearing into the depths of the bakery.

Wishing he had thought to stop and obtain a warrant so that he could follow that girl into the bakery, Sherman began to search his pockets for a cigarette. A good dose of nicotine would do to settle his nerves; he had never been so close to catching the Manhattan Mob leader before and it was making him antsy. However, when he bent his head down to light his cigarette, Les snuck past him and stepped into the bakery.

Les glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Sherman had not followed him in. When he was sure that the coast was clear, he made his way further into the building before glancing around. He did not see where the girl had gone until he noticed that there was a stairwell just off to the right. Quickly, he tiptoed down the first few steps.

It was when he was about three or four steps down that Les paused. He heard a set of voices, whispering a quick conversation; straining his ears, Les tried to listen to what they were saying.

"Ma? There are two coppers outside waiting for you. They seem to know all about the joint and I couldn't shake them. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to go get Daddy?" Frannie.

"Don't worry, Frankie," began another voice, feminine and powerful, "I'll see what they want." Les knew that voice, too. That was Jess, all right. But Frankie, what? How the heck did they ever get that name from Frances? And for a girl? Yeah…

"Stress, Cowboy says we ain't ever to let you leave alone. What if one of those Brooklyn bummers got you? You know we're in the middle of that turf war with them." Mush? Is that Mush? He's still around. Never woulda guessed that one.

There was a sigh followed by Jess's sharp voice. "First of all, Mush, please call me by my name. I'm pushing forty, now, and, you know, I just don't think 'Stress' suits me any more. And, second of all, you know as well as I do that I can take care of myself. The only reason that Jack doesn't want me going out alone is so I don't run off with a younger man and leave him all by his self."

Mush chuckled. "Man alive, I hope me and my Gabe never get like you and Jack."

When Jess joined in with the quick laughter and began to ask about Mush's wife, Gabriel, and their three children, Little Elissa and the twins, Elijah and Faith, Frankie cut in. She sounded frustrated. "Ma, in case you are forgetting, those coppers are still waiting for you up there."

The laughter and reminiscing stopped at once and Jess sighed again. "You're right as always, Frankie. Here, let me just grab a purse and I'll go see what they want."

"But Stress—"

"Jess, Mush."

"Jess," he corrected automatically, "Cowboy's gonna have my head if I let you get arrested. You know that."

There was an awkward silence that lasted for only a terse moment. Les strained his hearing further to see if he was missing any of the conversation and grinned when he heard Jess sigh for the third time. She was giving in. "All right Mush, Frankie. Shut up the operation here and then go tell Jack that I've gone down to the station. He'll know what to do. He always knows what to do."

When Mush spoke again, Les could almost hear the smile that had to be on the olive-skinned man's face. "Doesn't he, Jess?" There was another laugh, deep and relieved. "I like that plan. C'mon, Frankie, let's go."

Author's Note: 01.27.07; As this story wraps up, I decided to go back and rewrite the first few chapters. Just little things - mainly detail and whatnot - but, I like it better now. I hope you do, too. – Stress