The sun seemed to rise too quickly that morning, pulling the humidity level
up with it as it peeked just above the ten story high rise buildings in
Manhattan. The early morning fog settled into a steamy mist that wafted up
through the alleys and muddy roads. Several men in soiled shirts and three-
day beards pulled ropes up around four posts strategically placed to the
side of a main street. Soon, a small crowd of ruffians, the poor, the
unemployed, and the gambling addicts had gathered.
Racetrack Higgins was noticeably anxious as he paced back and forth along one side of the boxing ring. The final fight was about to begin and his prize fighter, and his best friend, was missing. There was nothing left to do but wait. If Mush didn't show, then the win was relinquished to the competition, the championship lost by default. Race bit his thumbnail until there was no more thumbnail left to chew. As the businessmen from the stock market curiously strutted by, Race felt his heart sink into his stomach. He knew Mush wasn't coming. He knew something was very wrong.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Timmy Michelson swaggered right into Joseph Pullitzer's office as if it were his own. He would undoubtedly own this city before his thirty-fifth birthday, and might as well make sure everyone knew. Pullitzer sat behind his large cherry desk. The room was filled with priceless furniture and surrounded by wooden paneled walls.
"I 'ave a story fer you," Timmy announced.
"Oh? Show me." He cocked one eyebrow and reached out for a report or a newpaper apparently, but his eyes were bad and he grabbed at air.
"I dunnae 'ave a report fer you. I 'ave a story. I know who stole all the money from the stock exchange last week. And I even 'ave a witness." He patted Sadie on the back hard and she almost lost her footing.
"Oh, a witness eh? Who is it? Who are you? Come closer. I'm an old man, I can't see ya."
Sadie leaned in closer, full well that he couldn't see her anyway. "Sadie, sir."
"Sadie? Ya brought me a greenhorn with an accent like a Scotsman in here and expect me to use her as a reliable witness. She's probably some dim- witted hooker who's looking for money." He turned to Sadie, "Don't you think I'm giving you a penny. Now scat you little girl. Go on!"
Timmy interrupted, "She is my fiancé Mr. Pullitzer, surely you are not insinuating that my future bride is a lying prostitute…"
Pullitzer sat for a few seconds pondering this unexpected arrangement. "Alright. Alright." He turned to his manservant, "Get me Shelton. Let him interview the lady. I want the story out for tomorrow's edition." He peered through his thick spectacles at where Sadie was standing.
Timmy nodded to the servant. "Thank ya. Darlin' follow me. We've got a story ta tell. I appreciate yer time Mr. Pullitzer. 'Ave a wonderful day."
Racetrack Higgins was noticeably anxious as he paced back and forth along one side of the boxing ring. The final fight was about to begin and his prize fighter, and his best friend, was missing. There was nothing left to do but wait. If Mush didn't show, then the win was relinquished to the competition, the championship lost by default. Race bit his thumbnail until there was no more thumbnail left to chew. As the businessmen from the stock market curiously strutted by, Race felt his heart sink into his stomach. He knew Mush wasn't coming. He knew something was very wrong.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Timmy Michelson swaggered right into Joseph Pullitzer's office as if it were his own. He would undoubtedly own this city before his thirty-fifth birthday, and might as well make sure everyone knew. Pullitzer sat behind his large cherry desk. The room was filled with priceless furniture and surrounded by wooden paneled walls.
"I 'ave a story fer you," Timmy announced.
"Oh? Show me." He cocked one eyebrow and reached out for a report or a newpaper apparently, but his eyes were bad and he grabbed at air.
"I dunnae 'ave a report fer you. I 'ave a story. I know who stole all the money from the stock exchange last week. And I even 'ave a witness." He patted Sadie on the back hard and she almost lost her footing.
"Oh, a witness eh? Who is it? Who are you? Come closer. I'm an old man, I can't see ya."
Sadie leaned in closer, full well that he couldn't see her anyway. "Sadie, sir."
"Sadie? Ya brought me a greenhorn with an accent like a Scotsman in here and expect me to use her as a reliable witness. She's probably some dim- witted hooker who's looking for money." He turned to Sadie, "Don't you think I'm giving you a penny. Now scat you little girl. Go on!"
Timmy interrupted, "She is my fiancé Mr. Pullitzer, surely you are not insinuating that my future bride is a lying prostitute…"
Pullitzer sat for a few seconds pondering this unexpected arrangement. "Alright. Alright." He turned to his manservant, "Get me Shelton. Let him interview the lady. I want the story out for tomorrow's edition." He peered through his thick spectacles at where Sadie was standing.
Timmy nodded to the servant. "Thank ya. Darlin' follow me. We've got a story ta tell. I appreciate yer time Mr. Pullitzer. 'Ave a wonderful day."