Author's note: Thanks to Cricket, Alli, Rae Kelly, Rabbit, Rayne, and Bookie for reviewing the last couple of parts. You guys are awesome! I hope you like this chapter.
"Deah was anuddah one."
Jack glanced up from the newspaper he had been scanning to see Skittery and Holiday, wearing identically solemn expressions, at his side. He frowned and didn't feel the need to inquire about the unusual greeting. Instead he lit a cigarette, as though that would help to better process the information. "Wheah?" he wanted to know.
"Harlem," Skittery told him. "One of the Harlem newsies, only eight years old. We met up wid one of dem in Central Pawk. He was hopin' dat dis kid, Match, had jus' stumbled ovah inta our area."
"He disappeahed last night," Holiday continued. "It was his first time sellin' alone and he nevah showed up back at da lodgin' house. Da Harlem newsies are still hopin' dat he decided ta visit a friend or somet'ing, but…" she trailed off cheerlessly, knowing that that was an unlikely outcome for the young newsie.
Jack drew a long drag on his cigarette. "So dat makes…" he murmured as he searched his memory, "seventeen newsies missin' in da last month."
"Even more if ya include street kids and young factory workahs," Holiday added.
They fell into a momentary, respectful silence at the thought of the young newsboy and the others who had vanished in the past several weeks. It had begun slowly, with homeless runaways and orphans vanishing from the corners of alleys and warm doorways. At first the Manhattan newsies hadn't given the situation much thought; such street kids were not known for their consistency. Then they heard reports of young factory workers and newsies never showing up at their respective homes and lodging houses. The more religious members of the Duane Street Lodging House prayed for the children's safe return; the realistic ones wondered who would be next.
Jack eyed the newspapers under his arm and scowled. "Of coise da dam writahs don't say anyt'ing about it."
"Of coise," Holiday muttered, sarcasm dripping from her tongue like vile honey. Da mayor's daughtahs debutante ball is way more impoitant den dat."
Wisps of smoke drifted from Jack's cigarette like thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent when he noticed a small body pushing its way through the crowds and calling his name. "Jack! Jack! You'll never guess how many papes I sold!"
Les darted to his idol's side and gazed up with delighted eyes. Without waiting for a response, he readily offered the information. "I sold 'em all! All the ones you gave me. People were practically begging me to sell them a pape."
"Hey, great job," Jack said proudly and ruffled the boy's hair. "Poifect timin', too." He turned to Holiday and Skittery. "Let's head ta Tibby's. We can talk more about it deah."
*****
They caught sight of a sullen Racetrack as they neared the restaurant. He didn't notice them, however, as his head was bent as his eyes were focused on the ground. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, while his arm held a thick stack of newspapers close to his body. His strides were uncommonly slow. Every so often, he would kick a stone into the street a though hoping to get rid of his problems in such an effortless manner.
"Ya hoid about da Harlem kid, huh?" Skittery remarked as they met their friend in front of Tibby's door.
Racetrack's eyebrows raised in confusion. "What about Harlem?"
"Anuddah kid went missin'," Holiday explained with a detectable note of impatience in her voice. "A bunch of da Harlem kids came heah hopin' ta find him. Wasn't dat why ya was lookin' so serious?"
The newsie shook his head. "No, I jus' lost all my money at da track," he explained, causing everyone to groan. "And it wasn't even my money- I borrowed it from Cyanne. She's gonna kill me."
"Why am I gonna kill ya?" Cyanne's curious voice inquired from several feet behind Racetrack. The group turned to see the Cyanne and Dutchy approaching, neither holding newspapers.
"Hey, Cyanne, ya had a good day, huh?" Racetrack piped up with hopeful enthusiasm. "Sold all you'se papes? I guess ya must've really made a lot of money dis mornin', huh?"
The newsgirl tilted her head to the side. "Ya lost my money, didn't ya?"
"I wouldn't say lost, exactly," he tried to explain. "See, deah's dis great hoise, Rosemary, but it rained last night so…" he trailed off. "Yeah, pretty much."
"We t'ought Race was upset about da missin' kid in Harlem," Skittery explained to Dutchy and Cyanne, "but it toined out dat he was t'inkin' about his day at da races instead."
"It wasn't like I new about da kid!"
Cyanne and Dutchy raised their eyebrows in surprise. "Anuddah one?" Cyanne asked, her voice slightly chocked.
Jack nodded solemnly. "And dey're gettin' closah ta Manhattan." The smell of sausages and mostly fresh bread wafted from inside of the restaurant, and Jack's stomach rumbled softly in response. He nodded towards the door. "We can talk about dis more inside."
"Ovah a roast beef sandwich," Holiday guessed at his thoughts.
"Ya know me too well," he laughed lightly and pushed open the door to Tibby's. The main room was already filled with their fellow newsies, who were all talking in uncommonly low voices. Jack didn't have to wonder at their topic of conversation.
"So ya hoid already?" he inquired of no one in particular as he, Holiday, Skittery, Cyanne, Dutchy, and Racetrack all found places to sit.
Kid Blink, who was chewing a bite of his sandwich, nodded and swallowed. "Yeah, Stress"-he motioned to the dark blonde newsgirl sitting at his table-"heah ran inta one of da Harlem newsies earliah tahday."
"It's da foist kid from Harlem," Stress continued. "All da newsies deah are pretty scared about it. Anybody could be next."
"So how many have deah been so far?" Cutie Pie wanted to know
"Seventeen," Spin answered. "And dat's jus' da newsies."
Specs shrugged. "Who knows how many street kids got taken? It ain't like dey got anybody lookin' out for dem or even anybody who'd know they were gone." For a moment, the newsies were silently grateful for each other.
"And nobody's got any idea who's takin' dem," Pie Eater remarked.
Gypsy scowled noisily. "Not dat da bulls even care enough ta go out and try ta find dese kids. Da papes ain't even mentioned it, ya know dat? Not a damn woid." For a moment, they were all silently grateful for each other and felt considerably luckier than the street children whom no one cared for.
Jack sipped thoughtfully at the cup of coffee a waiter had placed before him. "Does anybody- from oddah lodgin' houses, I mean- have any idea what might be happenin' ta dese kids?"
Blaze shrugged, but a hopeful expression suffused across her face. "Maybe Bumlets and I could head ta Brooklyn tahmarrah mornin' and see if dey know anyt'ing," she suggested, and Bumlets nodded his consent.
"If anybody knows anyt'ing," Boots remarked with a grin, "it's gotta be Spot."
"And maybe we can talk ta some of da street kids around heah," Dutchy said with a small shrug. "Ya know, ta see if dey've seen anyt'ing weird lately."
"Ya could always ask dem," Books, who had entered bearing plates of sandwiches, commented and eyed the corner table. She placed one of the dishes before Jack. "Dey came in heah a little while ago- obviously street kids. Nice dough, especially da boy." She glanced towards the kitchen before slipping into a seat beside Snoddy, who rested his arm around the back of her chair. "Dey haven't been in da city for dat long, but dey might have seen somet'ing already."
Jack grinned and shook his head in amusement. "When did ya get ta be dis smart?" he wondered.
"I always was," she replied with mock haughtiness. A sly grin curled at the corners of her lips. "Too bad it don't run in da family." Before he could reply Books leapt out of her chair and disappeared into the kitchen.
The newsboy pushed a hand through his hair and looked across the table at Snoddy, who automatically threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, she's your sistah," he said helplessly.
Jack whacked his friend playfully with his cowboy hat, which he then placed on his head. He took a large bite of his sandwich, rose to his feet, and began to stroll towards the table in the corner. Halfway there, however, he stopped and cursed the afternoon. Jus' not my day, he thought as he rolled his eyes. He was, however, grateful that Hades had not yet arrived for lunch.
To be continued. Please review!