A/N: Ok it took longer than I thought to get this up but here it is! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, they defiantly make me want to continue writing!

Chapter 4: Paper Mysteries

The small bell started to jingle meekly when the shop door swung open. Its sweet song alerted Meg to another customer stepping out of the New York sun into her dusty shop. Meg darted out from behind a shelf startling the young man who had walked in.

"Pardon me sir." She apologized politely but cursed in her mind that it had not been her husband. "Please alert me if you have any questions."

The man nodded in confirmation, "Sure will, miss." He flashed a charming smile, pushed the brown hair out of his eyes, and began to examine the shelves of hardbacks.

Where is he? Meg pondered as she resumed shelving fiction novels. James had been gone for several hours and she was worried about what had caused him to turn so white and leave in such a panic. She had looked through the paper that seemed to set him on edge but only saw things about a council election, a murder in the Bronx, and a fire in lower Manhattan. The only clue that she had was that he "had to find Dutch."

Dutchy was one of the few friends James had kept from childhood. She had no idea what his name really was (they all had such silly names, she thought) because James never used any other name nor did Dutchy. He always talked fondly of their days as newsies, followed by the time they spent in the textile factory together. That was all before she knew him. She had only met Dutchy once, at their modest wedding two years prior. The two men rarely saw each other but occasionally a letter with sloppy handwriting and poor spelling would arrive causing her husband to light up and become giddy.

Maybe Dutchy was hurt? But why would that be printed in the newspaper? He is not wealthy or powerful- or maybe he is, I don't really know anything about him.

"Miss." The man snapped Meg out of her trance. "I would like to purchase this." He was holding a blue canvas bound book.

Meg smiled, walked behind the counter and proceeded to make an entry in the ledger. She smiled at the title, "Julias: The Street Boy Out West", and lightly traced her fingers over the gold stamped words before wrapping it neatly in paper. It was a little dated but always an enjoyable child's book.

"It is for my son." The man added. He was tall, but still of average size. His clothes were clean and new, the latest of Edwardian fashion, but he obviously was not comfortable in them. He had the top shirt button undone, lacked a stiff collar, and had his frock casually unbuttoned. It all looked quite absurd to have such nice clothing worn so poorly.

Obviously not originally of any wealth, Meg mentally noted as she tied the parcel. "How old is your son?" she courteously responded. Politeness is the best way to win costumers, even if you aren't interested in what they have to say.

The man snickered a little. "He's not even two," His rough accent was another clue that he was not bred in high society, "but I'll read it too 'im. He's gonna love the west just like I do, I can just tell."

"You're planning quite early. It's nice to see you have such an interest." Meg finished writing out a receipt, "That will be, um, one dollar seven cents."

"Actually could I get a World too?" He picked up a paper from the near by stack and set it on the counter next to his parcel. He skimmed the front page. "Got some good headlines today." He nodded with satisfaction.

"That adds a penny to the total."

He produced a few coins and playfully flipped them to the counter still holding the paper in the opposite hand. "Manhattan fire caused by rioting workers trying to take over city."

Meg raised an eyebrow as she counted the coins. "Improving the truth…"

"Hey how'd you know that? You all ready read today's paper?" He looked back at her with surprise.

"My husband was a newsboy; I know all the tricks of the trade." She smirked, proud of herself for shaking the confidante man.

His smile got even bigger and he started to make himself at home by resting his weight on an arm atop the counter. "That makes since then why you knew I was 'improving'. I never could get rusty!" Boy is he sure of himself, Meg thought. "I was one too, a few years back, one of the best there was, probably knew your boy. What's his name?"

"James Geller."

The man paused for a moment of contemplation then shrugged. "Don't sound familiar." He extended his hand over the counter, "Jack."

Meg smiled and took his hand in a firm shake; she didn't believe in dainty women's handshakes. They only made women look weak. "Megan Geller, nice to meet you. And thank you for your business."

Jack flashed his charming smile again and collected his merchandise. "Thank you, miss." He gave her a wink. As he was walking towards the door he began perusing the front page. Just as he began to push his way through the door he gasped and broke into a run. Several inner pages of the paper swirled into the air and then drifted lightly down to the side walk. Meg had run to the window and was pressing herself against the grimy pane it to see where Jack had run off to.

What was going on today? First James now Jack! Megan was baffled on what was happening. She walked outside and gathered the bits of newspaper that had escaped. This newspaper, she thought, there's something on it that's bothering these boys. She leaned against the wall and began to re-read the front page of the paper. It has to be here I just know it!

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Jack flew around the corner. He thrashed his arms about, using his elbows to push and shove his way through the crowd. Angry pedestrians yelled curses and vulgarities at him, but it did not faze him. Normally he would stop and make some manipulative reply that made it appear as though the other person was wrong – he was good at twisting situations to his benefit. However, this was one of the rare times that Jack had no power. His mind was so full it was blank- clouded by the mental overload of memories, fears, thoughts, and emotions so nothing made any sense.

He reared another corner and made impact with a vender's cart. Oranges and lemons flew through the air and rolled across the cement. The produce did not stop him, only slowed him. He rushed across the street to a simple black enclosed carriage. A single brown draft horse was pulling the cart and its reins were being grasped by a wiry old man with dark hallow eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache which seemed to contrast every other feature of his.

"We're leavin', now!" Jack yelled to the driver as he hauled himself to the door. The driver's eyes widened- it was unusual to see Jack so anxious. He cracked his whip and steered the horse into the New York traffic.

Jack slid the small window which separated himself from the driver open so he could give the old man instructions. The window was barley a foot wide and was positioned just behind the drivers head. "Jordan Dune Street!" Jack ordered from inside the coach.

Jordan raised a curious eyebrow but did as he was told without question. Jack always had surprises up his sleeves. Normally a coach driver would be taking his employer back and forth between a limited number of locations all of which were in a perfectly acceptable proximity for walking by most standards but the wealthy had other ideas about everything. They needed to be transported to the church a block away, Fifth Avenue for shopping which was only a few blocks from most of the city's wealth. Jack on the other hand preferred to visit the common man's New York. The bookstore had just been another one of his many middle class locals which Jordan had taken him. Dune Street however was different than anywhere Jack had instructed to go before. It was in the slums; the area of the city filled with indigents, immigrants, reeked of human waste and was overflowing with disease.

Jack opened the curtains which covered the small door window. He peered out at the pedestrians swarming the sidewalks and nervously tapped his toe on the carriage floor creating a tense rhythm. Many people were of a wealthy class dressed to highest standards and holding their chins at the most fashionable level. Others were a step below, the type of people who had nice well paying respectable jobs but were not born into the excessive wealth of those in the echelon above. This was Jack's place now; he was in-between and uncomfortable with it all. He had not asked to be in such a place of society but merely fell into it by chance. Despite the fancy carriage and neatly pressed shirts, Jack saw the destitute as his people. He looked at them with an envious sadness. They were poor, miserable, dirty, and hungry. However they were his roots and the life that he had lived only a few years prior. In many ways he longed to return- they had so much freedom but on the other hand were trapped by the oppressions of society. If he had learned anything, it was that life was never perfect- money or not.

He had been away from that life for four years now. Time had allowed many memories of life on the street fade as he became more and more engulfed by upper-middle class society. His job and family took up most of his time and what little time he had left over was used to further prove himself to his new peers. The transition to a new social class had not been easy. Jack was used to being at the top and being looked up to by his peers but now he lay at the bottom and had to work for every bit of acknowledgement he could. However, the small article in the paper opened the flood gates the life that he had once known.

The carriage slowed as Jordan fought his way through a busy downtown intersection. The increasing number of automobiles made carriages much harder to control. The hissing and popping of an engine often startled the horses and created traffic disturbances. The delay let Jack get a clearer picture of the passing citizens. One man in particular caught his eye. He was pushing his way through the crowd and appeared to be in a terrible rush. His blond hair was frazzled, obviously it had recently been covered by a hat, and the elbows of his jacket were visibly worn. He was clearly of the working class but better off than many of the immigrants and the lot of Irishmen. The only defining characteristic was a simple brown eye patch that mysteriously covered his left eye.

The carriage began to pick up speed again and Jack strained to look back at the man. He abruptly opened the carriage door and half hung out though the vehicle continued forward. "Jordan, hang on! Stop!" Jack yelled towards the driver and leapt to the ground. Without another explanation he ran back the way that they had come leaving Jordan confused.

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A/N: So there you have it! The next chapter is all outline out, just needs to be typed, this story should only be a few more chapters as of now so just bare with me. Characters will start to intertwine and such!

The book Jack bought "Julius: The Boy Out West" is a real book by Horatio Alger in 1874. I found it in the library because he also wrote one names "Lucas: the Chicago Newsboy" apparently they were very popular books at the time.