Race and Tommy Boy walked amongst the sea of pedestrians heading up town. The trolley strike made the city streets more crowded than usual.

"Midtown didn't seem too keen on strikin'," said Race.

"Maybe we'll have better luck with the East Side," said Tommy. "If we can get them, maybe Midtown will change their minds."

"We still gotta worry about Brooklyn."

"That's up to Davey and Jack."

Tommy chuckled. "Can you imagine how Davey is gonna react to Spot?"

Race laughed. "Spot's gonna scare him right outta his pants."

They walked along the edge of Central Park. "Ah, the East Side," said Tommy. "Air always seems fresher up here."

Race grinned. "And sweet Piper Barnes."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sweet as a lemon."

"Least she's easy on the eyes," said Race, making sure his shirt was buttoned and his hat was straight.

"We shoulda brought Crutchie," said Tommy. "She'd never say no to Crutchie. You think she'll join?"

Race shrugged. "Hard to say. Only one way to find out."


Piper stood on top of a bench, holding her papers by her side, and addressed the small group of newsies that surrounded her. "Things are gonna be tough for a little while, but we'll make it through. We always do. If anyone needs help, you come to me."

"All right, you heard the lady!" yelled a large newsie standing next to her. "Time to sell those papes!"

The East Side newsies dispersed. Piper hopped off the bench. "You let me know if you heard of any problems, yeah?" she asked Tiny, her right hand man, who was anything but what his nickname implied. His 6'3" frame, muscles, and natural scowl intimidated all who didn't know him.

"Always do. You worried?"

"A little."

"Piper, your newsies would follow you to hell and back if you asked 'em to. They know you're gonna take care of 'em. - you always have. You got nothing to worry about."

Piper gave him a smirk. "Thanks, Tiny."

Tiny gave her a tip of his hat before he walked away. Piper shifted the papers in her arm and walked down the street to her selling spot. She yelled the headlines, putting everything she had into selling. With the price increase, she couldn't afford not to sell all her papers.

She made it through a third of her stack before she saw two newsies approach her.

"Well, look who it is," Piper said, straightening her back. "What brings you boys this far uptown?"

"Spreadin' the word," Tommy Boy said. "We're goin' on strike!"

Piper raised an eyebrow and threw a glance a Race. "Who is?"

"All of us," said Tommy. "Jack told us to spread the word to all the newsies of New York."

"This is Jack's idea?"

"Well, sorta. Davey tells us what to do."

"Who's Davey?" Piper frowned.

"David Jacobs," said Race. "He and his brother Les sell with us now."

"Since when?"

Tommy took his hat off and wiped his forehead. "Yesterday."

Piper raised her eyebrows. "You're takin' ideas from a newcomer?"

Race shrugged. "It was Jack's idea. You know Jack. Once he gets an idea in his head, he won't let go. Davey is just tryin' to steer him straight."

"What's everyone else doing?"

"Midtown is waitin' to see what you do," said Race. Nothing wrong with improving the truth a bit.

"You talk to Brooklyn and Queens?"

"We got people over there talkin'," said Tommy.

"If you ain't got Brooklyn and Queens, you got nothin'."

"Havin' the East Side with us will go a long way to convincing Spot and the others," said Race.

Piper rolled her eyes. "Don't talk to Spot, talk to Callie. She can convince him of anything."

Race shook his head. "Callie's with us now."

Piper raised her eyebrows. "Really?" She thought for a moment. "Huh." She was quiet for a few moments, tapping her fingertips against her stack of papers. "If we lose, we lose everything. Scabs will take our sellin' spots and we won't be able to get 'em back."

"Come on," said Tommy. "You know Ray would've joined us."

Piper gave him a murderous look. Race frowned at him and slapped him on the back of the head.

"Yeah, well Ray ain't in charge no more, is he?" snapped Piper.

"Sorry," said Tommy. "I wasn't thinkin'."

"Damn straight you weren't thinkin'. Who the hell are you to tell me what Ray would or wouldn't have done?"

"He didn't mean anything by it," said Race.

Piper brushed past them. "Why don't you two get lost."

"So you ain't joinin' the strike?" Tommy asked, disappointed.

Piper stopped, took a breath, and turned to face them, considering. "I'll think about it."

Race nodded. "That's all we ask."

Piper returned the nod. "By the way…how's Crutchie?"

"He's doin' okay," said Tommy.

"Keep an eye on him," Piper said. "Especially if you're goin' through with this strike. Jack is gonna have his hands full. Let me know if there's any trouble."

Tommy nodded.

"See you boys around."

Tommy and Race walked back down the street and Piper went back to selling her papers. The last she would sell for some time, though she didn't know that yet.


Callie pulled the heavy iron door open. Leave it to Morris to frequent a place without a decent front door. She walked down the stairs and into the bar. She looked around and spotted him sitting at the bar by himself. She slid onto the barstool next to him.

"They send you to parlay with me?" asked Morris.

Called rolled her eyes. "They don't know I know you," she said. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

"It'll all blow over in a couple days when they realize nothin's gonna change. And I'll get to bust some skulls while I'm at it." He smirked, taking a drink.

Callie looked at him, expressionless, for a beat. "Those are my friends," she said.

"And they're strikin' against my bosses," said Morris.

"Morris, I'm serious."

Morris over up at her, his smirk gone. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked. Callie didn't say anything - what was there to say? "Gettin' you outta Bellevue wasn't cheap and I got debts to pay now."

Callie watched him for a few moments. She couldn't argue with that.

"Look," he said, his voice softer. "I don't regret doing what I did for you, even if we ain't together. Knowin' you're outta that place is how I sleep at night. But I don't got a much of a choice here."

Callie sighed. "I know," she whispered.

"The goin' rate for scabs is three bucks plus whatever you make from sellin' papes," said Morris. Callie looked at him once more. He shrugged. "In case you know anyone who's interested."

"Piss off." She slid off her barstool, knowing their conversation wasn't going anywhere.

"Just do me and yourself a favor and stay far away from it, okay? Cops are drawn to strikes like flies to manure. I don't wanna see you locked up again."

"I'll be fine," she said, walking out.