Author's note: I'd like to thank Emu, deanie, and Bittah (my love beta-muse) for reviewing the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well.           

            "Stupid goil," Cardinal growled angrily as she frantically scanned the crowds milling around Brooklyn that morning. The frown that was firmly implanted on her face deepened with each passing minute. She muttered curses against Imp, Wager, and the Debler Street newsies. Great, I try ta sell papes for one second and she disappeahs widout a trace, even aftah I told her not ta run off anywheahs. Of all da people da had ta be stuck wid Imp, da most infuriatin' goil dis side of da Hudson, it had ta be me. Wagah's gotta have somet'ing against me.

            The newsgirl felt a slight twinge of guilt at denouncing Wager. It ain't like dis is da best day of his life…of any of our lives. She sighed heavily. He didn't even care enough ta tell us why.

            Shaking her head violently, she willed the thought out of her mind. "Come on," she told herself, "ya got a job ta do."

            Yeah, she thought peevishly, a job dat isn't gonna be any easiah now dat ya have ta baby-sit an irritatin' psychotic brat.

            Suddenly a frigid shiver crept up her spine. An icy wind bit at her nape while the sun, which had been shining on her back, did nothing to warm her. Deah ain't a cloud in da sky, she thought for a second before realizing that someone's shadow had enveloped her. Before she could even reach for her slingshot, a grimy hand covered her mouth and an arm held her tightly around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

            "Fight and I'll kill ya," her attacker drawled with malicious delight. Cardinal recognized the tip of a sharp hunting knife pressing against her stomach and grew colder still.

            He dragged Cardinal, who had since fallen paralyzed at the slight touch of the blade, into a nearby tenement building. He only released her to push her down half a flight of stars and into a shadowy basement. Dust rose in filthy clouds as she hit the floor. The soft scratching of rats' claws against the ground faintly echoed in her ears. Although her back and ribs ached, she miraculously made it to her feet in time to face her attacker.

            She was not surprised to see Dash, his arms crossed and his lips curled into a complacent smirk, standing before her. "You'se Deblah Street newsies ain't da brightest," she remarked with more audacity than she possessed at the moment. "Ya ain't nevah gonna get Spot's territory."

            His smile spread to display rows of yellow teeth. "Good t'ing it ain't Spot's territory anymore, den."

            Cardinal's blood freeze. "Dat…dat…" she stuttered, "Dat ain't true."

            He seemed to find her panicked denial extremely amusing. "We know da truth," he informed her boastfully, taking a step towards her. "Spot's gone and you'se all are like lambs ready ta be slaughtered." He brandished his knife, eyes gleaming like the blade in the dull light.

            "Ya t'ink dat's gonna scare me?" she wanted to know, stepping backwards and finding only a wall, which granted her no confidence about her previous statement.
            "No," he replied calmly, "I t'ink dat's gonna kill ya." He glanced from her blanching face to the rest of her body, then met her eyes again. "I hoid dat da Brooklyn goils weren't dat bad. Dis'll be da poifect time ta find out for myself."

            Air rushed from her lungs and her stomach lurched in a combination of horror and disgust. She reached for her slingshot again, wishing it were a gun. Before she could extract her weapon Dash had her pinned to the wall, the tip of his knife pressing against her stomach. His mouth covered her, and she aimlessly wondered if she would fall unconscious at the stench of his rotten breath.

            A frantic and dogged internal voice screamed at her. Do something! You're dead anyways!  She gathered all courage existing in her body at that moment and quickly prayed for a miracle. Then she drew back her right leg and, without waiting to see if Dash noticed her movements, kneed him in the groin.

            She knew not to waste a moment. While he was doubled over in pain and swearing vehemently, Cardinal bolted to the cellar door. She felt herself running as quickly as Rabbit or Swifty could. Allowing fear to drive her body faster with adrenaline, her legs pumped rapidly. The newsgirl imagined that her lungs would burst into flames at any moment. She barely allowed herself to think before she reached the Brooklyn Lodging House.

            At least he won't be reproducin' any time soon, she thought with dull humor as she curled up on the dilapidated staircase. It was then that she noticed that she was shaking with the force of an earthquake, and that she was unable to will her fear away.

*****

            Gull was furious. His frown seemed carved out of marble. His hands, clenched around a newspaper, could have easily snapped someone's neck. He felt like snapping a very specific someone's neck at the moment.

            So what if he's havin' problems, he thought irately. It ain't like nobody else in da world has problems.

            He kicked a pebble into the churning waters of the East River. He remembered Wager's warnings that the Debler Street newsies would be prowling around, so they should stay in pairs; Gull, however, chose to ignore this advice. He had made a feeble excuse to Jade, his selling partner, about meeting with a Harlem newsie for an hour. Jade had adopted a slightly suspicious expression, but hadn't protested. Gull was grateful for these few moments alone.

            He didn't even care enough about Brooklyn ta explain it ta us- jus' left a damn note on Wagah's hat like he was gonna take a stroll befoah sellin' papes. He glanced down at the newspaper he had been clutching and tossed it to the ground in frustration, muttering obscenities under his breath.

            Against his will, he remembered joining the Brooklyn newsies at age nine. Reason, a massive boy of seventeen with skin like expensive chocolate, had been the leader then. When he informed Gull that Spot would be teaching him the ropes, Gull had been offended.

            "Whadda ya talkin' about?" Gull had demanded. "Puttin' me wid a kid I could snap like a twig."

            Gull regretted his words the moment they slipped from his lips. Spot moved like lightning, punching Gull squarely in the eye. While Gull sunk into a nearby bunk and, praying he wouldn't cry, mumbled all the swears he knew, Spot stood calmly at his side.

            "Nice job snappin' me like a twig," he drawled and folded his arms confidently over his chest. "Now, are ya gonna shut up and listen or do I gotta give ya annudah black eye?"

            The young newsie fell into a guilty silence. Through his good eye, he noticed a grin suffusing over Spot's face. "Heah," Spot said as he retreated to the bathroom, "I'll get ya a cold towel. If ya can take a punch like dat widout cryin', I don't t'ink we'll have a lotta problems with you."

            As he gazed into the river, Gull could almost hear the Reason and the other Brooklyn newsboys (all long gone by now; he wondered what had happened to them) burst into noisy laughter. Spot had been so at ease in Brooklyn, even with the older newsies. They seemed to recognize his natural strength, compassion and determination. Dey all musta known he'd end up being famous one day, Gull supposed.

            Den why da hell did he leave?! he furiously demanded of himself. He's got ev'ryt'ing he needs right heah. Dis is wheah he belongs, damnit! Why da hell didn't he care enough about Brooklyn- about us!- ta stay?

            "I wondah what could make our friend Gull heah so upset?" a mockingly kind voice inquired from behind the Brooklyn newsboy. He whirled around, slingshot in hand, and found himself facing Bulldog, Toad, and Swing, all of whom grinned smugly.

            "Get da hell outta our territory," Gull growled dangerously.

            "Too bad it ain't you'se territory anymore," Toad replied as a victorious grin curled at the corners of his lips.

            "Get out," he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

            "I don't t'ink you'se should be da one givin' ordahs around heah, Gull."

            "And I don't t'ink ya heah so good."

            "Hopefully not," Swing replied. "I'd hate ta miss your screams."

            Gull's face reddened and his knuckles blanched as they clutched his slingshot. While the Debler Street newsies chuckled viciously, sounding like a choir of snakes, Gull grasped a few more marbles from his pocket. Cursing his enemies, he shot one marble after another at their heads. For a moment, they shouted obscenities and covered their heads. Gull grinned, but knew his victory would be a brief one, for he had just shot his last marble at Bulldog.

            Damnit, he thought as his opponents reached for their knives and glared at him, their expressions guaranteeing pain.

            Gull knew he had only one option. Before he could even consider the effects of his act on his pride, his feet were already carrying him away from Debler Street newsies and into the throngs of dockworkers nearby. Instead of hearing footsteps pounding behind him, he heard the roar of ferociously triumphant laughter.

            "And dat's why Brooklyn is gonna be so easy ta take!" Toad shouted at the newsboy's quickly retreating figure.

*****

            Smoke was already on his third cigarette of the day. Ordinarily Mist would have commented that he might sell more papers if he concentrated on the headlines rather than the reason behind his nickname. That morning, however, Mist knew that she would have been a hypocrite if she made such a remark. "Got anuddah one?" she inquired of her fellow Brooklyn newsie with a heavy, defeated sigh.

            Smoke raised his ash-colored eyebrows in surprise. Then he reached into his deep pocket and extracted another expertly rolled stick. "Heah," he said as he handed it to her.

            "T'anks." She leaned against the wall of a nearby bakery and drew a long drag. Neither newsie spoke for what seemed like an eternity, not even to shout the headlines at the pedestrians. The morning was too powerful, too draining for anything they could have said in an attempt to rationalize their thoughts.

            That was why Mist was stunned when Smoke, the most troublesome member of the Brooklyn Lodging House, began to speak. She looked from the ground to her companion, who was talking in a low, solemn voice that she had never heard him use. He didn't turn to look at her; rather, he stared out at the myriad of people passing them by.

            "I don't think deah's a newsie heah dat don't know what trouble or pain or rage really is," he said. "We all joined up 'cause deah wasn't anyt'ing else we could do. We can't go home 'cause of abuse or death or somet'ing else dat makes us stay heah. We don't choose dis life 'cause we wanna be heah; we choose it 'cause we got ta. We've seen a lot, prob'ly too much. But we always had each oddah, even when our own families didn't give a damn about us." He finally turned to his companion, who studied him in curious, respectful silence. "Tahday, it seems like we don't even have dat no more."

            Mist felt her heart contract and shrivel at this knowledge. She wanted to protest his declaration, to tell him that even though Spot had left them they would be forever the infamous Brooklyn newsies, capable of taking on the world. She wanted to reassure him that things would never change; but no matter how she tried to force out the words that caught in her throat, all she could do was study Smoke's hard, sober face and nod her agreement.

            The moment of despondent realization was shattered by the sound of a frantic, high-pitched voice. "Hey! Ya two newsies! Hey!"

            They stood, hoping to conceal the emotion that had been written on their pained faced, and saw a young boy approaching them. The first glimpse of his shabby clothing and dirty face identified him as a street kid. He pushed through the crowds to stand at the newsies' side.

            "You'se…you'se Brooklyn new-newsies, ri-right?" he asked, stuttering horribly.

            Mist narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

            "It's one…one of you-you'se," he told them while biting at his thumbnail, "Da odd-oddah newsies…Deblah new-newsies…dey got one tr-tr-trapped."

            "Wheah?" Smoke demanded, towering over the boy.

            "The…the…the alley be-behind da factor-tor-factory on Sixth."

            "How come you know dis?"

             The boy gulped as he gazed up at Smoke's dangerous gray eyes. "I…I…I saw 'em. Dey was takin' dis young g-goil inta da alley. Ya got-gotta help her."

            Smoke and Mist eyed each other solemnly. Then the newsboy turned to the young street kid once again and, eyes as hard as granite, nodded once. The street kid understood that his job was done and, without waiting for their thanks, vanished into the crowds

            Mist turned to her selling partner. "What do ya t'ink? It could be a trap, ya know. Prob'ly is."

            He nodded. "Yeah. But I dunno if we should be willin' ta take dat chance."

            Had the situation not been so serious, she would have smiled at him. "Okay, let's go," she said, reaching into her back pocket for her slingshot, "but let's not be idiots."

            "Am I usually?" he inquired with his usual mischievous smirk.

             Although Mist didn't know the details of Smoke's dangerous past, she imagined that the newsboy had cut his eyeteeth on a slingshot. Instead of answering, she merely rolled her eyes good-naturedly and dashed off in the direction of the factory, Smoke at her side.

            The noise of the factory was deafening, even on the other side of the brick walls. Both newsies were silently thankful that their jobs didn't entail standing beside a roaring machine all day, fearful of losing a hand or worse. If t'ings don't get beddah for Brooklyn, we might all jus' end up like dat, Mist thought and suppressed a shudder.

            Smoke and Mist entered the alley cautiously, slingshots raised and poised to shoot, their countenances veiled by hard expressions. They didn't dare to lower their weapons once they realized they were the sole occupants of the alley. Okay, Smoke told himself, attempting to be rational through his anxiety, eiddah dey already got away or dat kid's a liar. If I evah catch him-

            He was unable to finish that thought, for a blistering pain tore across his back, knocking him to the ground. He closed his eyelids tightly in hopes of blockading the tears that had suddenly pooled. It wasn't until he heard Mist whimper softly that he realized she was beside him, biting her lip to contain a sob.

            "Wow, dey actu'lly fell for it," an amused voice drawled from behind them.

            "Yeah," another person agreed, "no wondah takin' deir territory's been so easy."

            The two Brooklyn newsies didn't have to turn to know the owners of the voices. They recognized them instantly as Jester and Fist, two Debler Street newsies. Smoke and Mist cursed themselves for falling prey to such an obvious trap.

            Jester and Fit chortled maliciously as they struck their victims across their backs yet again. Chains, Smoke assumed as he winced, knowing he and his companion would have several bruises and cuts to show for their mistake- if they were to even make it out alive to tell the tale.

            He gazed over at Mist and saw that her hand was clenched tightly around her slingshot. Their eyes met for a moment and a thought sparked between them like lightning. One chance, Mist realized and nodded to the newsboy, knowing that he would understand her plan and hoping that the Debler Street newsies were still in the process of raising their chains into the air.

            They whirled around to face their attackers and each shot a heavy marble at one of the Debler Street newsies. Mist's struck on the bridge of Jester's nose. Fist caught Smoke's marble in his right eye. Their foes, although momentarily incapacitated, still blocked the mouth of the alley, making Smoke and Mist realize they still had to fight their way out.

            While the Debler Street newsies yowled and clutched their faces in pain, Mist and Smoke leapt to their feet. Both Brooklyn newsies longed for a more substantial weapon, like the chains Jester and Fist brandished.

            "Heah," Mist, noticing the remains of a broken broom, called to her partner. She tossed him half of the stick and he shrugged, as if it to say that it was better than nothing.

            By this time, Fist and Jester had regained their senses. They didn't seem worried that their victims were no longer moaning on the ground. They chuckled and mockingly swung their chains.

            "Scary," Jester remarked facetiously. "So dis is da woik of da most intimidatin' newsies in New Yawk. Can't say I'm too impressed."

            Smoke narrowed his eyes. Instead of replying, he brought the stick back and swung at Jester's head. Jester attempted to duck, but caught the corner of the stick on his temple. He screamed in a combination of rage and pain, and clutched the side of his head. Fist swung at Smoke, hitting him in the back and causing the boy to fall to the ground once again. He opened his mouth to laugh in triumph, but was silenced by Mist's stick striking him across the face.

            Mist didn't waste time in beating him further. She grabbed Smoke's arm and yanked him to his feet. "Come on!" she shouted with as much confidence as she could muster.

            Bodies aching with each step they took, they rushed out of the alley and into the streets of Brooklyn. They heard Jester and Fist following, screaming threats, and knew not to slow their pace. They also realized that to get safely to their lodging house, they would have to lose their attackers.

            "This way," Smoke panted, nodding slightly towards an apartment building. Mist didn't question his direction. Rumors of his past wafted through her mind and she reminded herself that he had never been caught by those who were after him. If anyone can get us outta trouble, it's Smoke, she thought as they dashed into the ramshackle building.

            With Mist at his heels, Smoke darted up two flights of stairs, down a long hallway, and around a corner, stopping abruptly in front of one of the many doorways.

            Mist's eyes widened as the footsteps of Jester and Fist pounded in her ears. For a moment she wondered if he was a spy for the Debler Street newsies. "What da hell are ya doin', ya moron?!" she demanded in an unusually frantic manner.

            Instead of turning to reply, he extracted a hair pin from his pocket and began to pick the lock. Almost instantly the door swung open, and Smoke yanked Mist into the shabby room, closing the door softly behind them. For a moment neither of them dared to blink. Mist was afraid that the sound of her wildly pounding heart would give them away. However, a moment later they heard familiar voices arguing on the other side of the door. Mist and Smoke tensed and listened.

            "Dey ain't heah."

            "I told ya dey musta gone down dat oddah hallway."

            "Nah, dey prob'ly jus' went up dat staircase."

            "I can't heah nobody runnin' anymore."

            "Ah, you'se deaf anyway. Come on."

            Their heartbeats decreased with the sound of departing footsteps. It wasn't until five minutes later that they dared to partake of the luxury of speech. Mist turned to Smoke with curiosity lighting her eyes.

            "How'd ya know ta come heah?"

            He raised his ashy eyebrows so that they disappeared under his greasy bangs. "How do ya know it wasn't jus' a good guess?"

            "'Cause ya wouldn't have known da layout of da buildin' dat well."

            He paused and folded his arms over his chest, studying his companion's face as though searching for the appropriate response. Mist was about to throw her arms up in defeat when he gestured dramatically to their surroundings.

            "'Cause, my dear Mist, dis is da room wheah I was born." Before Mist could inquire as to the details of his childhood (although she knew enough not to ask), he nodded to the window, allowing himself to wince slightly as he moved. "Come on- we can climb out onta da fire escape and down ta da streets befoah dey realize we're gone."

To be continued…please review!