Ink-Stained Fingers (Discaimer: As ever, most of these characters don't belong to me. They belong to Disney and the wonderful person with the original idea for the musical, Newsies. (I wish they belonged to me! BWAHAHA! MINE, ALL MINE! ,) Chapter Three: Echoes of the Past ----- Bookie flew down the stairs and into Jack's arms. The box he'd been carrying slammed to the floor, brightly colored fabric spilling out of the open top. "Jack!" Jack, bewildered, held the small girl at arm's length to get a better look at her. "Anna?" "God, Jack, it's been so long!" Bookie dove back into Jack's arms, hugging him tightly around the waist. He wrapped his arms protectively around her, not minding the soot that got all over his clothes. "Anna?" Jack smoothed Bookie's hair with one hand, the other holding her in a tight embrace. "Where ya been?" "I been around," she said, her voice muffled by his clothing. "But Anna…" Bookie pulled away from Jack, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm Bookie now, Jack. Anna's dead." Jack reached to bookie, closing a hand around her wrist. "What-" Jack was interrupted by the appearance of a busty redhead. "Hey, y'all!" Dallas said brightly, not noticing the drama unfolding in the room. "Honey, I'm here ta pick up my pay." "Are you Dallas?" Bookie asked the woman, pulling away from Jack. "Yeah, darlin', I sure am. What can I do ya for?" Bookie pressed coins into Dallas' hand. "This's from Spot for last night. He thanks you." Bookie turned back to Honey. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Honey. It was so nice meeting you, but I should be going now." Honey wasn't the only one to notice Bookie's sudden figeting. The small girl's eyes were darting frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at Jack, and she kept pressing her wrists together and wringing her hands. "Won't you stay for the show, at least?" Honey asked, reaching for Bookie and touching a hand to her arm. Bookie flinched at the contact, but managed a smile for her new friend. "I should go, Spot'll worry." That statement bugged Jack, and he opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but Honey cut him off. "OK. I hope you'll come by and visit sometime soon. Medda's supposed to get a shipment of plays in on Tuesday, maybe you'd like to see them. This time Bookie's smile was genuine. "I'll see what I can do." She waved briefly over her shoulder at them all as she headed for the door. "Bye! Nice seein' ya again, Jack!" The moment she was gone, David and Honey turned to Jack. "What a weird girl," Les said loudly, biting into his sixth cookie. Honey shot Jack a look that clearly told him not to say anything about Bookie in front of Les and Dallas, then left the room, Dallas trailing behind her. David removed the plate of cookies, not greatly diminished, from Les' reach, and Jack set the sailor hat on the boy's head, for once not grinning and making jokes. Honey came back and bustled Dallas and Les off to the stage to consult Medda about Les' costume. Once they were gone, Honey turned to Jack. "Time for explanations, I think." Jack sunk down on the faded red velour loveseat, shaking his head. "Tell me whatcha know, Hon." Honey settled herself in the chair in front of the chipped vanity, and David leaned back against the wall. "She came in this morning," Honey began, "to deliver payment to Dallas, one of Spot's whores. She didn't say much about herself, just that she's 16 and that her mother was short. And that she's Spot's 'secretary and friend.'" "That bastahd bettah not be sleepin' with her!" Jack said fiercely, banging his fist on the arm of the loveseat. David blushed at the thought of the fragile, opinionated girl he'd met with Spot Conlan. "She said…" All attention was turned to Honey, who was squinting her big blue eyes in an effort to remember Bookies exact words. "She said something like, 'Spot wouldn't ever think of me that way.' And she seemed really… I don't know, sad isn't the right word, but it's close… when she said it." Jack punched the furniture again. "Oh, so she ain't good enough for that hoity-toity bastahd?! I'll show him!" "Calm down, Jack!" Honey threw a pillow at the boy. "Tell us what you know now." "Me'n Anna, we was friends when we was little. Friends since before we was born, really." Jack propped his chin in his hands, leaning forward, his eyes glazed over with memory. "I used ta throw mud at her when she was little. The day she threw it back was the day I proposed." Jack laughed, leaning back. "I remembah, I was five and a real tough guy, mean, ya know? I rubbed mud in her hair, and she growled at me, real mean like, and made me eat that mud. All spitfire, that girl. That was when we decided we was gonna get married when we grew up." "So what happened?" David asked, shifting positions. The thought of Bookie and Jack together wasn't any more comforting than thinking of her with Spot. Jack's face fell. "When she was five, her family moved away. I heard latah that her dad killed her muddah. Beat her ta death." Jack stood and started pacing. "So you don't know what happened after that?" Honey asked gently, following Jack's movement with her eyes. Jack shook his head violently, his jaw tense. "But it's been eleven years!" cried David. "Why didn't she contact you? Where has she been?" "I don't know. Somethin' must'a happened." Jack stopped, looking out the doorway. "But I know how we can find out."

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"What is it, Jacky-Boy? Why'd you call me out heah?"

Spot settled on an empty crate, tapping his cane against his boot. Jack and David were already in the abandoned warehouse, David sitting on a crate and Jack pacing

"Tell me about this secretary of yours, Spot." Spot stood, bristling at Jack's tone.

"You tellin' me what ta do, Jacky-Boy?"

Jack strode over the where the shorter boy stood, getting right up in his face. "Maybe I am, Spot. You wanna find out?"

David broke in, stepping between the two newsies leaders. "Hey, fellahs, let's stay calm here."

Spot and Jack broke apart angrily. Spot sat back down on the crate and lifted his chin at Jack. "Speak, Boy."

Jack took a threatening step towards the Brooklyn newsie, but David held him back.

"You bring the Mouth with you everywhere, Jacky?" Spot taunted. Jack broke away from his friend, stalking the room angrily.

"We just wanna know about Bookie, that's all," David said calmly.

"That girl's had enough trouble in her life without youse guys meddlin'." Spot stood, pointing the tip of his cane at Jack. "You stay away from her."

"You ain't got no right to tell me what to do, Spot Conlan!" Jack yelled, kicking a crate, caving in its side.

"When it comes ta Bookie, actually, I do," Spot said calmly, seemingly giving his full attention to a scuff on the brass tip of his cane. "She's under me protection, and ain't nobody gonna get neah her that's gonna hurt her."

Jack sat down on a crate, hard. "I just wanna know where she's been for eleven years," Jack said, putting his head in his hands.

Spot was startled by Jack's ragged voice. Is he gonna cry?, Spot thought, staring intently at the leader of the Manhattan newsies. In all the time Spot had known Jack, he'd never seen the other boy cry or so much as show a sign of weakness.

"What d'ya mean 'where she's been for eleven yeahs?'" Spot asked, never dropping his façade of nonchalance.

"Jack and Bookie were friends when they were little," David explained. "She moved when Jack was six and she was five, and he hasn't seen her since. She showed up at Medda's place yesterday – running an errand for you, she said – and disappeared when Jack called her 'Anna.'"

"Interestin'…" Spot tapped the tip of his cane on his chin, considering the new information. "All right, here's what I heard…"

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(Author's Note: END CHAPTER THREE! OH! OH, I'M SO MEAN! , BWAHAHA!
Shout outs:
Thanks to my catears, which made my creative juices feel all JUICY.)