Chapter Two: A Big Surprise
Jack sold his papers in utter silence. Dave had no idea how he did that, but he managed to sell without speaking a single word. He was totally focused, and made the most pitiful faces to attract attention, but Dave had no clue how he could sell without making a sound.
"Jack?"
"Mmm?"
"Why did Pulitzer wanna talk to you?"
Jack sighed. He really didn't want to answer that question. So he asked a question he knew Dave didn't want to answer either. "Why'd ya pop beat ya up?"
"I take it you don't wanna answer my question so you're avoiding it. Tell me when you're ready, Jack. Just don't give me bullshit."
Jack did not reply, he merely looked away and sold another pape silently.
***Tibby's***
By lunchtime, Jack and Dave had sold all their papes. And during the course of the meal, something happened that nearly gave the newsies a collective heart-attack. Pulitzer walked in the cheap, ditzy dive of a diner and grabbed Jack by the collar.
"Come with me, boy, you're wasting my time," Pulitzer spat. He dragged Jack away by the scruff of his neck.
"What da hell was dat about?" Blink asked when he tried to make sense of the situation. It didn't work. 2 + 2 = 5. No, that's not true! 2 + 2 = 3. That's a physical impossibility! Oh, I give up, 2 + 2 = x, and x is the square root of the doubled square root of sixty four! Or x is half the cube of two, however you prefer.
Of course, Blink had dropped out of school in seventh grade, so he missed some algebra. But he understood a lot more than people thought.
"Not a clue, Kid," Mush answered, digging in to his stew and washing it down with some soda.
***The "World" Office Building***
"Who da hell ya t'ink ya are, Joe, draggin' me away from a good meal like dat?" Jack demanded.
"Jack Sullivan was released from prison under testimony from an anonymous minor. Am I expected to believe you had nothing to do with this?"
"He was innocent!" Jack hissed. "YOU framed him, ya doity rotten tightwad!"
"Jack Sullivan was in jail for a reason, but not the one on public record."
"Oh yeah? What kinda "unofficial" reason was good 'nuff ta separate a man from 'is son, Joe?"
"The very point is that you're not his son."
Jack stared... "What da HELL?"
"Jack Sullivan was married to a lovely little woman named Maria Kelly Sullivan, yes? Maria Kelly owed EVERYTHING to my father. I was much younger then. I may look like seventy, boy, but I'm only forty six. Immature, at twenty nine. Vilely fascinated with the unattainable."
Jack did some mental math. Pulitzer was twenty nine when Jack was...oh God. "What da hell did ya do ta me mudder, ya sick freak?!" Jack shouted.
"She was twenty four. Jack Sullivan was thirty six. But he loved her, God he loved her like nothing I'd ever seen. She was beautiful, your mother. More beautiful than sunrise on the most gorgeous summer day. Her smile could clear the grayest skies, her laugh could warm the coldest hearts."
"Dat don't tell me nuttin' I didn't awready know," Jack sneered.
"Keep your mouth shut, you filthy street rat," Pulitzer glared at the insolent youth before him. "Your mother would never fully belong to Jack Sullivan until she repaid all her debts to my father. She knew it. She also knew that if she did not pay those debts, Jack Sullivan would be killed. So she went on an errand one day and found my father. His idea of payment was intriguing to me, but not to Maria. She loathed every moment of that day, loathed returning home to her loving, loyal, faithful, God- fearing husband. She stayed in confessionals for an hour that Sunday. Nine months later, you were born, Francis Jackson Sullivan. Do the math, and get out of my office."
Jack went pale, and ran out of that building. His eyes slid over faces he knew, but he did not stop. He could not see them. The only face he saw was that of Joseph Pulitzer. His *father*. PULITZER?!
***
A/N: single asterisk marks (*) mean something should be stressed. So, imagine that it's italicized. For me. Please.
BTW: triple asterisk marks (***) either mean I'm talking to you, the reader, about something besides the story, or that time has passed in the story. It only takes a bit of reading to figure out which, but I know it's confusing.
--Chronicles
Jack sold his papers in utter silence. Dave had no idea how he did that, but he managed to sell without speaking a single word. He was totally focused, and made the most pitiful faces to attract attention, but Dave had no clue how he could sell without making a sound.
"Jack?"
"Mmm?"
"Why did Pulitzer wanna talk to you?"
Jack sighed. He really didn't want to answer that question. So he asked a question he knew Dave didn't want to answer either. "Why'd ya pop beat ya up?"
"I take it you don't wanna answer my question so you're avoiding it. Tell me when you're ready, Jack. Just don't give me bullshit."
Jack did not reply, he merely looked away and sold another pape silently.
***Tibby's***
By lunchtime, Jack and Dave had sold all their papes. And during the course of the meal, something happened that nearly gave the newsies a collective heart-attack. Pulitzer walked in the cheap, ditzy dive of a diner and grabbed Jack by the collar.
"Come with me, boy, you're wasting my time," Pulitzer spat. He dragged Jack away by the scruff of his neck.
"What da hell was dat about?" Blink asked when he tried to make sense of the situation. It didn't work. 2 + 2 = 5. No, that's not true! 2 + 2 = 3. That's a physical impossibility! Oh, I give up, 2 + 2 = x, and x is the square root of the doubled square root of sixty four! Or x is half the cube of two, however you prefer.
Of course, Blink had dropped out of school in seventh grade, so he missed some algebra. But he understood a lot more than people thought.
"Not a clue, Kid," Mush answered, digging in to his stew and washing it down with some soda.
***The "World" Office Building***
"Who da hell ya t'ink ya are, Joe, draggin' me away from a good meal like dat?" Jack demanded.
"Jack Sullivan was released from prison under testimony from an anonymous minor. Am I expected to believe you had nothing to do with this?"
"He was innocent!" Jack hissed. "YOU framed him, ya doity rotten tightwad!"
"Jack Sullivan was in jail for a reason, but not the one on public record."
"Oh yeah? What kinda "unofficial" reason was good 'nuff ta separate a man from 'is son, Joe?"
"The very point is that you're not his son."
Jack stared... "What da HELL?"
"Jack Sullivan was married to a lovely little woman named Maria Kelly Sullivan, yes? Maria Kelly owed EVERYTHING to my father. I was much younger then. I may look like seventy, boy, but I'm only forty six. Immature, at twenty nine. Vilely fascinated with the unattainable."
Jack did some mental math. Pulitzer was twenty nine when Jack was...oh God. "What da hell did ya do ta me mudder, ya sick freak?!" Jack shouted.
"She was twenty four. Jack Sullivan was thirty six. But he loved her, God he loved her like nothing I'd ever seen. She was beautiful, your mother. More beautiful than sunrise on the most gorgeous summer day. Her smile could clear the grayest skies, her laugh could warm the coldest hearts."
"Dat don't tell me nuttin' I didn't awready know," Jack sneered.
"Keep your mouth shut, you filthy street rat," Pulitzer glared at the insolent youth before him. "Your mother would never fully belong to Jack Sullivan until she repaid all her debts to my father. She knew it. She also knew that if she did not pay those debts, Jack Sullivan would be killed. So she went on an errand one day and found my father. His idea of payment was intriguing to me, but not to Maria. She loathed every moment of that day, loathed returning home to her loving, loyal, faithful, God- fearing husband. She stayed in confessionals for an hour that Sunday. Nine months later, you were born, Francis Jackson Sullivan. Do the math, and get out of my office."
Jack went pale, and ran out of that building. His eyes slid over faces he knew, but he did not stop. He could not see them. The only face he saw was that of Joseph Pulitzer. His *father*. PULITZER?!
***
A/N: single asterisk marks (*) mean something should be stressed. So, imagine that it's italicized. For me. Please.
BTW: triple asterisk marks (***) either mean I'm talking to you, the reader, about something besides the story, or that time has passed in the story. It only takes a bit of reading to figure out which, but I know it's confusing.
--Chronicles