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 Four: Patience is a Virtue

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"A while back," Spot began, settling himself back against a crate, "a newsie by da name o' Odds was out walkin' at night. Said he wanted to 'look at da stars.' Well, he wasn't right in da head, so nobody took no notice of him. Anyway, he came back wid dis girl in his arms-"

"Wait, how long ago is 'a while back'?" Jack cut in impatiently. Spot glowered at him.

"About eight years, now will ya shuddup?" Spot waited for Jack to settle. "Anyway, Odds came back wid dis girl in his arms. She was a real nuthin', too. Skin and bones. He tried to take her back to one o' da rooms in da lodgin' house, but Rage stopped him. So he-"

"Wait, who's Rage?" Spot glared at Jack again until he shut his mouth.

"Will ya let me tell da story? Rage was da head newsie in Brooklyn then. Dis was maybe two yeahs before I worked my way to da top. Odds came in with dis little girl cradled in his arms, and Rage went nuts. He wasn't havin' no girls in the lodging house, leastways none that wasn't whores. He said if she wanted ta stay she'd hafta 'pay her way.' Odds got real mad at Rage, sayin' dat he didn't wanna be around someone who didn't treat women wid no respect, and he left. Dunno wheah he went, but he musta found somewheah ta stay. He kept sellin' papes, and nobody saw the girl again for a coupla months.

"I talked to Odds a while aftah he moved outta the lodgin' house, asked him what was up wid da girl. He told me he found her in an alley right on da border of Five Points." Spot shot a warning look at Jack, who was just opening his mouth to interrupt. "She was beat up pretty bad when he found her, from bruises to a broken arm. Said he asked her what her name was and wheah she was from, but she didn't say nothin'. Just laid there behind dis broken cart, not sayin' nothin' and hardly breathin'. Odds said it was real creepy, 'cuz her face was white as death, and the only color was from a black eye and her bloody lip. Said he didn't think she was alive at first, until she blinked.

"He took her home wid him, and when Rage kicked 'em out he went to a 'safe place,' he said. He wouldn't tell me wheah it was. I think he was afraid Rage was mad at him for leavin'. He was right, Rage was mad. He got mad an' then he got cocky, so I decided I was sick of his damn face. That's when I started movin' for his place." Spot settled back, apparently finished with his story.

After a slight pause, Jack punched his fist through the crate he was sitting on. "And that's it?! That's where the story ends?"

"No, I just need a little break from all dis talkin'." Spot tapped the tip of his cane on his boot, looking the two boys over.

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Running. An endless alleyway. She was running as fast as she could, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Her head snapped back as someone yanked on her hair, and she crashed to a halt. A heavy hand closed around her throat, squeezing… Vision faded to black, stars sparkling at the edges of her sight. A throaty chuckle grated in her ears as a ham-like, scarred face flooded what was left of her field of vision…

Bookie awoke with a start, shooting bolt upright and gasping for air. She looked around her with wild, panicked eyes… And then realized where she was. It was only a dream, she scolded herself, fighting her way free of the nest of blankets that served her as a bed. She peeled of her sweat-soaked nightgown, knuckles brushing the ceiling of her tiny room. A closet, really, the room had been granted her by Spot just under six years ago. Since then, Bookie had filled her small space with her own belongings, making the place she fondly referred to as "the Cave" cozy and homelike. A rickety bookshelf stood in one corner, loaded with old newspapers, notebooks, a broken toy from when she was little, and the few precious books she'd managed to obtain. Her "nest," consisting of all the spare pillows and blankets she could find, took up fully half of the space of her tiny room.

Slipping into a white shirt and grey pinstriped pants, Bookie listened for sounds of the other, more official residents of the Brooklyn Lodging House. She didn't hear Odds moving around in the next room and decided she was either up very early or very late. Deftly she maneuvered into her black boots while buttoning the vest that almost matched her pants, trying to dress with both silence and speed. Dumping her grey pinstriped cap on her head, she snatched up one of the notebooks and stepped carefully around her blankets to the door.

Carefully, now going for stealth over haste, she unlocked each of the six locks on her door. She winced slightly as the tumblers clicked, hoping she wasn't disturbing anyone. She opened the door a crack and peered out… then swung the door fully open, sighing.

Once again, she'd overslept the boys. Sunlight flooded in through the hall windows, illuminating her mousy brown hair and making it appear almost reddish in the brightness. She stepped lightly over to one of the windows, resting a hand on the sill as she stared out. The view from the grimy window wasn't a particularly spectacular one, but Bookie enjoyed it. It looked out onto the street in front of the House, where boys were pushing each other playfully, playing games, or preparing for work.

Taking a deep breath, Bookie strode purposefully down the hall and out the front door. She smiled as the noise of the boys' bustle hit her, reveling in the signs of life. Turning right onto the street, she waved to a few of Brooklyn's newsies as she passed them. At the corner she paused, notebook clutched in her arms, looking around her. Where do I want to go today? She briefly considered seeking out Odds, or even Spot, for company, then decided she'd rather be alone to think. Seeing Jack again after so many years had stirred up so many forgotten emotions in her, she needed to be alone somewhere to reflect... and maybe get some writing done.

She turned left, a sense of purpose in her stride. She'd go to the abandoned warehouse. It was usually quiet there, and she could have some peace and quiet to think.

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"…Have ya had enough of a break yet, Spot?" Jack asked impatiently, cracking his knuckles. All this drama was making him nervous: first with Anna - or Bookie - showing up out of the blue, now with Spot being overdramatic. Spot, always with a flair for theatrics, cocked his head, pursed his lips, and appeared to consider Jack deeply. To David, it almost seemed as if he was… posing?

"All right, all right, hold yoah horses." Spot gave Jack an appraising look, rubbing the side of his nose with the pad of his thumb. He was wondering just what, exactly, Jack's relationship with Bookie was. …And was the Mouth was a key player in this drama too, or just another of Jack's pawns? He was also trying to decide exactly how much to tell them. He knew a lot about what Bookie had been though, as she'd told him herself. A part of him - the part that loved the attention he was getting - wanted to show off exactly how much he knew, but another part… A part of him knew that Bookie was someone who didn't trust others easily. In fact, he knew for a fact that the only people she'd spoken to openly about the things that happened in her years on the streets of Five Points were him and Odds. Another long look at Jack and a quick glance at David decided him. He'd tell them the more public version of the story; the version the newsies who were acquaintances and friends with Bookie knew.

"So Books lived on da streets of Five Points for three yeahs," Spot began, "which is enough tah rough up any kid. She was 'bout eight when Odds found her. She hid out wid Odds for about two yeahs, and for da last six she's been livin' in da Brooklyn Lodgin' House.

"In return for her room an' my excellent protectin', she runs me errands and keeps me books. An' you'll leave her alone if ya know what's good for ya, Jacky-Boy."

Jack ignored Spot's last comment and started pacing again. "So what's her relationship with Honey? How do they know each other?" Jack wondered aloud.

"Tha's a easy one, Jacky." Spot smirked up at the manhattan boy. "Bookie likes booksl that babyface at Medda's has 'em in spades. Make da connection."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Davey, what was it day Honey said? Somethin' about a... a shipment tomorrow."

"Medda's getting in some plays. Books of plays." David looked confused. "So?"

"So, that means..." Jack snapped his fingers impatiently, trying to think. "That means... Anna - um, Bookie - will be theah, right? Since she likes books so much an' all. So... if we go theah tomorrow, we can get ahold a' Bookie an' she can tell me what's goin' on."

Spot stood and took a menacing step towards Jack. "I told ya ta leave her alone, Jack. If ya so much as-"

Spot's head whipped around at the sound of the warehouse door opening. All three boys ducked behind crates and held their breath as the door creaked shut and light footsteps echoed through the huge room.

Why'm I hidin'? thought Spot. This is my turf! He rose from his place behind a stack of crates, ready for a brawl.

Jack and David heard a gasp, then Spot's voice asking someone, "What're ya doin' here?"

"Geez, ya scared me!" Jack tensed at the sound of Bookie's voice. "I'm sorry, Spot. I didn't think anyone would be here."

Jack stepped out of his hiding place behind Bookie and closed his hands on the girl's arms. "Bookie, I-" Her heel came up to meet his crotch and he let go of her and doubled up in pain. She spun, eyes wide with terror, to face him.

Jaw dropped, Bookie stammered, "Oh my god, Jack... I-I didn't see- I didn't know that..."

Her eyes welled with tears and she ran from teh warehouse, Jack calling after her, "Bookie, wait!"

The top of Spot's cane came down hard on Jack's head. "Nevah do dat again, ya heah me?"

Jack straightened, grimacing at the throbbing pain in his head that was quickly overcoming the injury Bookie had done him. "What the hell did I do?!"

"She don't like ta be touched." Spot glowered at Jack darkly. "Don't surprise her, don't touch her arms, and nevah grab her." He strode to the open doorway Bookie has disappeared though and posed dramatically.

"Stay away from Bookie Conlan."

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(Author's Note: This is awesome! I got a newsies hat today, and I loves it! ,
Shout outs:
This chapter goes out to Ari. She finally updated LitM, which inspired me to update I-SF in turn. ,)