Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Disney does, nor do I own any characters besides Smalltalk, Tabloid and Smalltalk's.

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The young blonde sat at the table in the middle of the dark room. The only light fixture shone straight into her face, and she blinked.


A Hispanic man stood in a wide stance, his arms crossed and his face shadowed. When he spoke it was in a smooth, confident voice. "We have a knife in our possession with your prints all over it."

The young woman shrugged. "So? Your point is?"

"My point is, Miss Connors, that this knife is a murder weapon."

"For real?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"With my prints?"

"Correct."

"So how did that happen?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, Miss Connors."

She shrugged again. "I have no clue."

The man slid a plain, white gift card across the table to the woman. She looked at it briefly, then looked up at him. "That's a very nice white card."

"Would you mind reading that to me, Miss Connors?"

She snorted. "The card's blank."

"Open it, please."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, picked up the card. and opened it. In the middle of the right side lay two words in a rolling script.

"It's not English. I can't read it."

"What language is it?"

"I dunno. Some Latin-based language."

"Did you take Latin in school?"

She shook her head.

"Can you say that for the recorder, Miss Connors?" he asked, gesturing to the tape recorder on the corner of the table.

"No, I didn't take Latin in school. I spent my extra time on art classes."

"Thank you, Miss Connors."

They fell silent, and the woman began to drum her fingers on the table. "So whatsit say?"

"Buena suerte."

"Good luck?"

The man blinked as she giggled nervously and shrank down into her chair." Uh... I went to University of Miami. Most of my friends spoke Spanish as their first language, so before tests and stuff like that they'd say buena suerte."

"I see," he said dryly, obviously not buying her story. "What if I told you that you were seen entering the victim's house by a neighbor?"

"I'd say you were shitting me, because I wasn't there."

"What if I told you that your prints were all over the doorknob and the countertops in the kitchen?"

She sighed. "Then I'd probably have to admit my relationship with him, wouldn't I?"

"What were you doing that night?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Miss Connors, I would like an answer."

She rolled her eyes. "I was cooking him dinner."

"What were you cooking?"

"Chicken."

He nodded and began to pace the room. "And this dinner... did it involve a knife?"

"Well, you generally need utensils while you prepare a meal."

"And this knife you were using... what exactly happened with it?"

She shrugged. "I cut up the chicken. What more do you need to know?"

"How did the knife wounds appear in the victim?"

"He ran into my knife."

The man blinked once more, staring at her. "He had multiple wounds."

She laughed. "He ran into my knife ten times."

The man groaned and flipped the switch. The lights flickered on, and Kaleigh "Smalltalk" Connors fell out of her chair, laughing.

"Smalltalk, this is not funny."

"Yes... it... is..." she gasped between laughter.

"Smalltalk, shut up."

"I can't do that. If I shut up, I wouldn't be Smalltalk anymore. I'd be Notalk, and that's not as catchy."

Ignacio Boulivardez, also known as Bumlets, ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned against the wall. "Smalltalk, I don't have the patience for this."

"Why not, boss-dude?"

"You need to take this more seriously! What if you were being interrogated by the cops, and you pulled this thing again?! You'd be in jail and in the electric chair before you could say 'just kidding'. And you talk fast."

Smalltalk pulled herself up, and laughed loudly. "I can handle myself, Bumlets. Would I be doing this if I couldn't? Would you have hired me?"

Bumlets sighed. "I guess not."

"Besides," she continued, "I never get caught."

With that she grinned a 'devil may care' grin and spun on her heel towards the door.

"Smalltalk?"

She turned back around. "Yeah?"

"Next time, please don't reference musicals in your alibi."

She laughed. "I'll go to Tabloid for some ideas. Besides, she got off." she added, talking about the character in Chicago whose lines she had quoted.

Bumlets shook his head. "No, she didn't."

"Yes, she did!"

"There's no proof."

"Fuck that, we don't need proof!" Smalltalk squealed.

"You always need proof."

"You're sounding too professional." Bumlets beamed proudly until she added. "Don't. It scares me."

"Shaddup."

"It does!" Smalltalk insisted. "It's like the real you has been abducted by aliens and now you're really some kind of android and-"

"Oh, yeah? Android this!" Bumlets shouted, and charged towards her. Smalltalk squeaked and ran out of the room, and down the hall.

Everyone in the room turned to look as Smalltalk rushed through the door and took a flying leap over the couch, then crouched behind it.

David "Pie Eater" Jones looked back down at the papers that he had spread out across the table. "I'm not even going to ask."

Bumlets came flying through the door. "Where'd she go?"

"She's dead. That's what you get for annoying a room full of assassins," Brooke Lynn, also known as Ceja Pierce or Hotshot, muttered dryly.

"I don't annoy you! I mean... er...' achoo', said Swifty!" Smalltalk said from behind the couch, pinning the blame on the Chinese man.

"Loser," Kevin "Swifty" Chen accused.

"I'm not a loser! Besides, you love me!"

"Sometimes." Swifty laughed.

"You are a loser, and she's hiding behind the couch," Louis "Kid Blink" Ballet said from the corner where he sat polishing his handgun.

"Love you too!" Smalltalk exclaimed, standing up and crossing her arms.

"You're no fun, Blink!" Ashleigh Bennet, better known as Mayfly, teased. Blink ignored her, and continued polishing his gun.

"You know that thing can't get any cleaner," Isaac "Tabloid" Guarrani observed as he looked at the gun Blink held.

"He knows. He just cleans it because he thinks it help him pick up chicks!" Mayfly crowed.

"I do not!"

"Oh, yes you do, Mister 'Look at me clean my gun, aren't I a big, tough guy' Ballet!" Mayfly squealed, dancing around the room.

Bumlets blinked as he looked over them all. "I surround myself with the strangest people. You're all insane."

"Aren't we one big, happy family?" Karen Stranger said dryly from where she sat next to Pie Eater, leaning against him.

"Family?" Smalltalk blinked then turned to Bumlets and held out her arms. "Daddy!"

Mayfly cackled joyfully. "Tell me a story, Papa Bumlets!"

"… I need some Aspirin." And with that he walked out of the room.

"I feel so unloved," Smalltalk said quietly, letting her arms drop to her sides.

"I love you, Smalls!" 'Rain" Richards cried out, leaping through the doorway.

"You do?"

"Yes!"

"Love!"

"Love!"

"Dear God." Tabloid rolled his eyes.

Smalltalk giggled. "I don't think he talks to you anymore, Tabbers."

"Don't call me that."

"Tabbers!" Smalltalk exclaimed, propelling herself back over the sofa and landing on his lap. "Hi!"

Tabloid pushed her off his lap, and she landed on her butt. "Gerroff."

"Ow." She protested. "I think you broke my butt, Tab."

"Oh, go-" Tabloid was cut off when Lyn 'Orion' Cavenaugh stormed through the door and threw a piece of tattered black cloth at Smalltalk's feet. She bit her lip, focusing to keep her temper controlled.

"Smalltalk," she said, forcing a smile upon her face. "Can you tell me what that is?"

Smalltalk looked down at it, then back at Orion. "It's a piece of chewed-up cloth! Ask me another one!" She grinned wildly.

Orion slowly breathed in, then out. "Can you tell me what it was before?"

"…er… your trenchcoat?"

"Trenchcoat!" Mayfly yelled, punching a fist into the air.

Each member of the group wore a long, black trenchcoat as a joke. Tabloid had mentioned it a year ago and the next day Smalltalk and Mayfly had bought each member a trenchcoat, and everyone grew to love theirs.

"And guess what happened to my trenchcoat?"

"Er…Trenchgoat?"

"Yes! Trenchgoat!" Orion yelled.

The clicking of hooves in the hallway drew Orion's and Smalltalk attention to the door. A small, black goat stood in the doorway, munching on a strip of fabric and looking curiously at the girls.

"Trenchgoat." Smalltalk frowned and the kid backed up a step. "Come here. Now."

Trenchgoat lowered his head guiltily and began to slowly clop over to Smalltalk.

"Trenchgoat, that's a bad goat! You're a bad goat!"

"Wow. That's on my list of things I never thought I'd hear in my lifetime." Swifty commented.

"You hear it every day, you idiot," Pie Eater growled, furiously erasing some calculations on his paper. "Now if you all don't mind, I'm trying to get this right! Will you keep it down?"

Tabloid and Smalltalk traded a sheepish look. "Sorry, Pie."

He sighed. "No problem. Just frustrated."

"You need a hug."

"No, I don't. Play with your goat, Smalltalk."

"Can I put that on my list?" Tabloid asked.

"Knock yourself out," Pie grumbled dryly, gathering up his papers. "I'm going to my room to work."

They watched him leave, muttering something about how much power he'd need for his newest bomb. Smalltalk turned back to Trenchgoat. "No. More. Eating. Clothes."

As a response, Trenchgoat butted his head against her shoulder.

"Awww," Smalltalk cooed. "You're so cute! I didn't mean to yell at you. Eat all of Orion's clothes if you want."

"Hey!" Orion exclaimed, grabbing a pillow off the couch and whacking Smalltalk upside the head with it..

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jack Kelly rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He yawned as he got dressed, slipping his badge in his back pocket and strapping his gun onto his belt.

He walked into the kitchen where his girlfriend, Michelle, stood at the oven. Jack slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in the side of her neck. "'Mornin'." He said sleepily.

Michelle laughed. "It's seven at night, Jack."

"Is it my fault that 'good night' has a different meaning than 'good morning'?"

"No, but it's your fault that you wake up at night."

Jack sighed, pulling his arms back from around her and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Michelle. Not this again."

"Jack…"

"Michelle, I have to work nights! If I'm going to follow these assassins-"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Not the assassins again."

"Shelly-"

"Don't make me hurt you, Jack Kelly."

"Michelle-"

"Much better.", she said, putting dinner on the plates.

"-I'm so close to these corporations. Once I bust them, we're gold. I'll get a promotion, and we can move into a big house and get married-"

Michelle began to grin.

"-and have at least two-point-five kids and name them all Jack, even if they're girls. And we'll get a dog, and name it Jack, too-"

"Alright, alright." Michelle laughed, handing him his plate and kissing his cheek. "Just… try not to work nights… I miss having you at home."

"Nights are when all the activity goes on."

"No, nights are when people sleep," she corrected him, sitting down at the table.

"Michelle-" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He groaned as he checked his watch. "It's Spot. I'm late."

Aiden 'Spot' Conlon walked into the kitchen. "Come on, Jackey-boy. Kiss your girl goodnight and let's go before we get fired."

Jack rolled his eyes and did as his partner told him, then grabbed his hat and began to walk out the door.

"Jack." He turned around.

"Yes?"

Michelle nodded to the plate across from her. "What are you going to do with that?"

Jack sighed as Spot began to laugh and grabbed the plate from the table, wrapped in Saran Wap, then put it in the fridge.

"Good night, Raven."

"'Night, Jack," she said quietly as the door to their apartment slammed shut.

She slowly finished eating, then rinsed her dishes and put them in the sink. She then turned off the lights in the apartment, grabbed her jacket and left, locking the door behind her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins, leader of Manhattan's prime team of assassins, looked up as Michelle walked into the room, the heels on her shoes clicking loudly. The other high rank members of the elite group sat around a large table.

"You're late, Raven."

"I know," she said, putting her jacket over the back of her chair. "It took Kelly forever to get out of the house."

"You know…" Michael Tirken, known as Snapple because of his obsession over the drink, grinned, "I could always take him off your hands." He laughed from his seat on the left hand side of Racetrack.


Raven rolled her eyes, ignoring him. "Race, what's business?"

Racetrack smiled slyly now that the attention was back on him. "We were discussing the…problem on the other side of town."

"Problem?" Daniel 'Snitch' Riccio asked from his seat next to his girlfriend Lute McDonaghey, or Swinger as the others called her.

"Boulivardez, bright one." Jason 'Skittery' Yazbek said.

"Thanks. I am pretty damn smart, aren't I?" Snitch grinned.

"Alright! Alright!" Everyone's attention snapped back to Racetrack.

He cleared his throat. "Raven, can you somehow get the information on Boulivardez and his friends to Kelly?"

The sultry young woman shrugged. "I might. I might not. It'd be hard to do without giving myself away. If I knew about Boulivardez at the same time I'm chiding him to give up on the assassin hunt, it might give him ideas."

"True. Work on it, alright?" Raven nodded as Racetrack stood up. "You're all dismissed. I need to go think."

A/N: God, that's a long fucker! *sigh* Just had to get some up. If you're character's not here yet, I'll introduce him/her later. I just had to end this chapter. And do homework. Ugh. Don't worry, we're starting Chapter Two with Race's group- so the people who don't have rank to be at the meeting can be introduced.

Must do shout-outs (for character givings)

I love-

Froggie (for Snapple)

Gothic Author (for Slant)

Sita (For Mayfly)

Keza (For Stranger)

Ravy (For Raven)

Hotshot (For Hotshot)

Shade (For Rain)

Sinhe (For Orion)

B (For ThreeSee)

Lute (For Swinger)

..And I believe that's all.

And here's to hoping my three dots work.

And here's to smacking myself on the forehead for some reason that I've forgotten already.

Oh! And here's to Trenchgoat! LOVE! LOVE! *loves Trenchgoat*

And Happy Birthday to Gothic Author! Woo! Birthday! Fun.

Can you tell I'm procrastinating on my Chemistry homework? Oh, yeah.

Well, it's 10 and I should do it! Adios!

Love!

-Tabloid

OH! And I must shout out to the Froggie and the Sita-ie for Beta-ing! I love you guys! LOVE! LOVE! *showers them with love*

*showers everyone with love*

*goes to do her Chemistry homework*

Oh, Cards- I HATE CHEMISTRY! *high-fives Cards*