Disclaimer: See Prologue.
Chapter One
(October 1, 1910)
"Hurry up, Cowboy."
Michael wiped the sweat off his head with a red bandanna and limped after the others. "I think I hurt my leg," he whimpered.
"Oh, stop your bawlin'."
Michael bit his lip and ran for his life. He had no idea what had induced him to enter Brooklyn in the first place, and all he was aware of was that he had to get out, and everyone else was outrunning him.
He felt a strong hand on his shoulder halt him, and he burst into tears. "I'm s…sorry, mister. I didn't mean to!"
The tall policeman who stopped him smiled sympathetically. "I could tell, but stealin' is stealin', and that earns you a night dah slammah."
"I'm sorry!" the boy repeated pitifully.
"This way. We'll walk; it's not far."
"Yes, sir."
"What's yah name, kid?"
"Michael Sullivan," Michael answered, walking meekly beside him.
"Sullivan?" the policeman repeated with a laugh. "Not Jack's son? I hoid he had a son named Michael."
"Yeah, his friends call him Jack, but his name is really Francis."
"That's him. He's probably told you about me- Spot Conlon."
"Um, no. Not really."
The policeman looked instantly put out. "Eh, you must not've been paying close enough attention. So, how's the ol' Cowboy doin'?"
"I dunno. He only wrote to us once… He's in Santa Fe now."
"Finally gone and done it, then? Never mind; I'm sure he's fine. And here's the jail."
Timidly, Michael entered the worn down building to spend his first night ever in jail. Then he noticed Conlon staring uncertainly at him. "What is it, sir?"
"Oh, nothin'. You're sure you're really Jackie boy's son, though?"
"Pretty sure."
"'Kay. I just don't remember him being so… small."
Michael sighed. "Yeah, I get that a lot." The boy glanced around at his cell mates and huddled in a corner with his knees pressed up against his chest.
A bent, white-haired man sat across from him and glared silently in his direction. On the sole cot, a filthy, red-haired man was sleeping and sleep-talking. "Move, move, move. Get the lead outta your pants…"
It took a while before Michael himself was able to fall asleep, despite the fact that he was worn out from a day's work. Still, he was more than ready to get up again when Mr. Conlon came to get him the next morning.
"Why don' I walk yah home, kid? Yah got time before yah hafta get your papes."
"Sure. Thanks." Michael bolted to his feet and ran out the open cell door.
It wasn't even dawn when they entered the apartment, but Sarah was awake and dressed for work. "Michael, I was so worried!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you for bringing him home, Spot."
"My pleasure, Sarah." He turned to leave, then stopped halfway out the door. "Buy a lotta papes today, kid. I happen to know you'll get a real good headline."
Michael shuddered at the mention of papes. Selling them was not a job he was cut out for. He buried himself deeper in his mother's arms. "Thanks again, Mr. Conlon."
"Sure thing, kid." With that he shut the door and headed back to Brooklyn.