Author's note: Thanks to Bittah (my lovely beta-muse) and Katie for reviewing the last couple of chapters. You guys rock! I hope you enjoy this next part.
Roxy was awakened by an unkind chill in the air and the sensation of someone frantically shaking her shoulder. She was debating whether or not to simply smack the agitator and return to the last moments of sleep she would have that morning when Wager's anxious voice hissed, "Roxy, come on, wake up."
She moaned faintly and forced her eyelids open to find the newsboy kneeling beside her bed, crimson lines forked through his eyes like tiny bolts of lightning and an uncommonly panicked expression on his face. Her stomach dropped as she thought of Grin lying broken in the next bunkroom.
"Wager, it isn't-" she, sitting up quickly, began to inquire, but the newsie shook his head.
"No, Grin's okay- well, as okay as ya can be when ya got da shit kicked outta ya…" He shook his head again and cleared his throat. "And I t'ink dis might be even woise, if ya can believe dat." He extracted a scrap of newspaper and pressed it into Roxy's palm.
Her face paled to match the shade of her sheets. "Oh, Wager…" was all she could murmur.
"I know…poifect timin', ain't it?" he asked bitterly.
She thoroughly scanned the note several times, as though the answers to all her problems were imbedded somewhere in the sharp scrawl. Finding no such solution, she gazed back up at Wager with a hopeless countenance. "What are we going to do?" she wondered aloud.
A reply had nearly slipped out of his mouth but he immediately fell silent at the sight of Rabbit stirring slightly in her bed. He motioned first to the doorway and then for Roxy to follow. The two newsies barely dared to breathe until they were in the hallway, a safe distance from both bunkrooms.
"What can we do?" Wager hissed. "T'ings ain't been goin' great lately, but at least Spot was around. Now deah ain't not'ing stoppin' Jackal. He'll come aftah us as soon as he heahs."
The newsgirl nodded solemnly. She bit her lower lip and silently appealed to every deity she knew of- even those in whom she did not believe- for a miracle. "Well…" she murmured, "maybe we can keep things quiet for a few days. Make sure that everybody knows not to talk about it, at least when they're within earshot of anyone not in the lodging house."
"Oh, yeah, dat'll be easy."
"What else can we do?" Wager was silent and Roxy frowned soberly. "Tell the guys when they wake up; they'll all want to know right away why Spot's not in his bunk."
"And make sure dat Cardinal and Rabbit get da message." He rolled his eyes at the thought of the two Brooklyn newsgirls. "I don't t'ink deir mouths are evah shut."
The hint of a grin curled at the corner of Roxy's lips. "I'll tell them." She crept towards the girls' bunkroom. Just before she stepped through the doorway she paused, turning to Wager with an encouraging, somewhat melancholy smile. "Good luck. I mean, you're the leader from now on."
He looked down, studying his dirty bare feet, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "T'anks, Roxy. It's a huge honah and everyt'ing…" he trailed off, leaving Roxy waiting for a moment before he gazed up again, his expression stoic but his eyes shining with stubborn tears. "But ya know, I wish ta God dat I didn't have ta get it like dis."
*****
Imp raced along the Brooklyn streets at a breakneck speed, her mass of ebony tangles flying behind her like an unironed cloak. Pedestrians darted out of her way as she slid through the crowds. Most people cast disgruntled, disdainful stares at her back as she darted away without apology for her dangerous pace. Some muttered under their breathes about the decline of respect and therefore Western civilization. A few cried out to her, either ordering her to slow down or telling her in impolite terms where she could go. None of these reactions restrained Imp in the slightest. Instead of listening to the mumbles and shouts, she concentrated on the roar of her metallic wheels against the dirt and pavement; she looked to the sea of sidewalk ahead instead of at the faces of unhappy denizens.
She knew that Roxy would be upset when she returned to the lodging house later that afternoon. Cardinal (who had been assigned to sell with the youngest newsgirl in Brooklyn) would be furious, possibly even enough to earn Imp a slap or worse. Imp didn't particularly care.
Cardinal's so annoyin', she thought petulantly. 'Do dis, Imp, do dat. No, stop it.' What a creep. She made the resolution to put something wet and slimy in the redhead's bed that evening. Besides, how could dey expect me ta jus' sit around wid her. I got places ta go.
Despite her youth, Imp usually sold alone, not patient enough to deal with anyone else's selling habits. She far preferred to strap on the battered roller-skates she had acquired months ago in a trade (Imp had provided a deck of cards and a pack of cigarettes to a wealthy but curious Manhattan girl) and then rush throughout Brooklyn. Although she knew the danger of selling unaccompanied that day, with Spot gone and Jackal on the loose, she decided to take her chances with Fate.
Fate, however, had a cruel sense of humor and seemed to enjoy a good laugh at 9:30 in the morning.
It wasn't until Imp was flying through the air that she realized that her wheels were no longer roaring and that the distance was approaching at a slightly more rapid pace. She smashed into the unkind ground, knees and arms bloodied and clothing torn to disrepair. She was berating herself for her clumsiness when a shadow enveloped her.
"Da goils in da Brooklyn Lodgin' House sure ain't graceful," drawled the faintly familiar, maliciously cheerful voice of Imp's attacker.
Imp turned to sit on the ground, staring up at the two people looming over her like the massive buildings in Manhattan. For a moment the bright sunlight, which glowed behind them, concealed their features. The young newsgirl raised her hand to shield her eyes, which narrowed once she realized who the strangers were: Cotton and Daze of the Debler Street Lodging House. Imp clenched her small, bloodstained fists.
"Dis is Spot's territory," she growled before she recalled that now the area belonged to Wager. "Get out."
Cotton and Daze turned to each other with amused expressions and laughed lightly. "Whadda ya gonna do ta us?" Cotton wanted to know. "You'se too small ta hoit an ant."
Imp's lips vanished into a deep frown. She leapt from her place on the sidewalk and attempted to charge at the other newsgirls. Her attack, however, proved to be in vain. Daze easily whirled Imp around, twisting the young girl's arms behind her back at an unnatural angle. Imp swung her legs wildly, hoping to land a swift kick between Daze's legs, but even with the added length and weight of her roller skates she didn't manage to harm her captor.
The Brooklyn newsgirl saw her salvation as it approached. An amiable-looking, elderly nun had taken notice of her injuries and was walking towards her from down the block. Imp adopted her most innocent, pathetic expression and prepared to plea for assistance.
Cotton guessed her plan before the nun reached them. Imp's body tensed when she felt the cold point of a very sharp knife press against her back.
Try anyt'ing funny and ya'll end up woise off den Grin," she growled in the young girl's ear.
The nun hurried over with a concerned expression. "Oh, my dear," she murmured at the sight of Imp's state of disarray, "What happened? You'll be needing some medical assistance. If you'd come with me to the church, I'll get you some bandages and-"
"T'anks, sistah," Daze interjected. She held Imp closer as though in affection and gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We'se got it covahed. Our liddle sistah heah jus' had an accident and we'se takin' her home ta get her cleaned up."
"Looks much woise den it actu'lly is," Cotton piped up assuredly.
The nun paused for a moment before nodding. "Of course. God bless you dears." She strolled off in the direction of the local Catholic church. Once she had turned a corner, Daze and Cotton dragged Imp into a nearby alley, where they would not be disturbed by any more kindly philanthropists. They lifted her a few feet above the ground and slammed her against the wall, pinning her there so that she was as animate as the pile of wooden crates lying close by.
"All right, kid," Cotton said, eyes flashing dangerously, "dis can eiddah go da easy way or da hard way."
"And we'se kinda partial ta da hard way," her partner added.
Imp's eyes narrowed to slits but she did not reply. Forget Cardinal, she thought as she glowered at her two assailants. Dese two are biggah creeps den she'll evah be.
"Now," Cotton continued, "we'se gonna ask ya some questions, and you'se gonna tell us exactly what we wants ta know. And if not…let's jus' say dat's da hard way." She and Daze chuckled viciously. Imp imagined the girls as venomous snakes, hissing their wicked delight. "So, what happened ta Grin?"
The black-haired girl studied the Debler Street newsies closely before replying. "We found him. He's beaten up real bad."
"He's still alive?" Daze wanted to know
Imp nodded. "Yeah, so far."
"And ya know who did dat ta him?"
"We ain't stupid," she replied, slightly affronted. "Not like you'se." That remarked caused Daze to draw back her arm. A second later Imp found her lip split and bleeding onto her already soiled shirt.
"Don't get smart wid us," warned Cotton. Imp clamped her mouth shut in fear that further insults would slip out. "Jus' answah da question."
"Do we know who did dat?" the young girl repeated. "Yeah, we kinda figuahed it was da Deblah Street newsies, even dough Grin ain't awake yet ta tell us."
"How did Spot react ta Grin bein' like dat?"
Imp made a feeble attempt at a shrug. "I dunno. Dey made me stay downstaihs da whole time." At the sight of Daze's raised fist, she stammered, "It's da truth, I really don't know."
Daze rolled her eyes in disbelief, but continued the inquiry. "Heah's da most impoitant question, kid. Make sure ya get it right. Now, we know dat Spot wasn't around sellin' da moinin' edition. Why?"
The memory of the morning forked through Imp's mind like lightning. "We have to make sure that the Debler Street newsies don't find out about Spot, at least not until we can think of a way to stop them," Roxy had told all the newsgirls, who had all become marble statues at the news of Spot's disappearance. Staring at Daze's rough, unattractive features, Imp's face reddened and her forehead furrowed with anger. Instead of replying, she spit in the girl's face.
While Daze shrieked with rage and shock, Cotton struck the girl squarely in the stomach. Imp felt all the air in her body suddenly disappear. She wanted to double over in pain but her arms were still pinned against the wall.
"We'll ask ya again," Cotton said with bare control. "Why?"
Imp took a moment to gather enough breath to even consider answering. The tears that gathered in her eyes burned so painfully that she imagined them to be made of fire rather than water. "Spot…" she murmured softly, scarcely able to get the words out due to both the physical pain and her gnawing conscience. "He…he…"
Daze drew back her fist again. "We ain't exactly patient."
Imp gasped for breath. Sorry about dis, she silently apologized to those she knew she would be harming by speaking her next words. "He left…jus' took off…. Now Wagah's…in charge. …Didn't want…anybody…else ta…know."
The Debler Street newsgirls glared at Imp for a moment, considering the validity of her statement. Then they nodded at each other and released their grip on the girl's limbs, letting her fall to the pavement. Imp, who was curled up in a fetal position, groaned when she struck the ground, a sound that only emitted chortles from Cotton and Daze.
"T'anks a lot, kid," Cotton chuckled. Her mouth contorted into a savage smirk as she drew back her leg and then kicked the young girl in the stomach as though she were a dog. "See ya around."
Their laughter echoed throughout the alley as they left, muffling Imp's pathetic whimpers.
*****
Jackal's eyes flashed cold and elated and malicious as he gazed out at the members of the Debler Street Lodging House. He felt an excitement stir in his core, as though something that had been deeply imbedded in his flesh was awakening after a long, restless slumber. His fingers curled around the long knife he had taken care to meticulously sharpen that morning while the other newsies were out selling or scouting for information. Nothing would stand in his way, not when he had come so far…not when he was so close.
He recalled being a young boy and selling around Debler Street, where the families were too poor to afford the luxury of knowing the world's news. Stealin' and scroungin' and workin' 'till our fingahs bled ta make a lousy cent. The thought boiled inside of him like molten lava. And dem, not even lettin' us inta deir territory. Dey're gonna get deir's.
Lucifer had chosen to rule in Hell rather than serve in Heaven; Jackal wanted to obtain the best of both.
"Spot is gone," he announced to the eager group before him. "We now have da opportunity ta take what is rightfully ours. We must show no mercy. If we succeed tahnight- and we will succeed," he drawled, casting a venomous stare that warned the newsies of what punishment would occur if they failed, "den we'll finally be outta dis place." A serpentine smile curved across his face and his voice dropped into a deadly whisper. "Deah ain't not'ing dat can stop us now. By tahnight, Brooklyn'll be ours."
To be continued…please send feedback!