The bad thing about long stories is how many times you have to break your heart by saying that you don't own Newsies. So- we don't own Newsies. There, our hearts break again.
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Daydream waited until she was sure Racetrack was gone from sight before trudging back down the stoop. She sent a long, regretful look after the Italian newsie before striking off east at a quick trot. After dashing to the end of the street, she stealthily snuck onto the last trolley headed her way. Sitting on the edge and trying not to be seen by the driver, the little pickpocket swung her legs back and forth. The trolley bumped along the cobblestone streets, jostling Daydream without mercy. An hour later, the street lamps were being lighted and she was standing on the Brooklyn Bridge for the third time that day. She looked out across the Hudson River , her eyes lingering where the moonlight streaked the water in a reflection of the star lit sky. This was one of her favorite spots in the city, right here, hanging half-way off the bridge with only the railing stopping her from plummeting to her death. She loved the adventurous thrill that made her tremble when she stood there.
Suddenly a quick shove from behind threw her even farther over the railing. Daydream screamed in terror but the two hands that had pushed her gripped her waist firmly and tugged backwards. Regaining her balance, she spun around to defend herself but he easily caught her clenched fists. Daydream sighed in relief when she recognized the familiar tenor laughter.
"Jackal, you idiot!" she yelled and slapped the tall, pirate-looking boy in the shoulder. "You could've killed me!"
"At least ya'd die quick, right?" he teased, ruffling her thick hair. Daydream growled and shoved his ink-stained hand away.
"No," she snapped testily, "I'd have at least a minute to think about how nasty it's gonna be before I hit the water." He laughed and waggled a finger at her.
"You see, my dear bonnie, that is where you are incorrect," he explained, switching from his regular thick New York accent to a lilting English one. "You would have only about half of a minute to ponder this catastrophic event." He straightened up and peered around as if he had lost something. "Say, you haven't see any tea around, have you? I do love my tea." He puffed out his chest with dignity. "My dear, tea is the most wonderful invention ever." Jackal's face contorted in a mask of pseudo rage. "Anyone who doesn't enjoy tea should be set before a firing squad and promptly shot! Or thrown over the side of a bridge."
Daydream did her best to suppress a smile but Jackal saw her lips trembling with the effort. "Ah-ha!" he cried, pointing wildly towards her face. "I made ya laugh!" Before she could argue with him that this was incorrect, he had turned to a surly, drunken man passing by. "I made 'er laugh!" Jackal declared cheerfully and motioned to Daydream. She decided this was a good opportunity to confuse an innocent bystander and began to sob violently. The man, who was too drunk to do anything else, grunted and walked a little faster, saying something under his breath about what was the world coming to. The pair laughed, Jackal's boisterous guffaw blending with Daydream's cheerful giggle.
"Why are you here, anyways?" Daydream asked when the final chuckle faded away. She leaned back against the railing and regarded him with a narrowed gaze. "Does Spotty think that I can't make it to his place on my own anymore or," she paused then continued with more bite, "is he scared I won't show up at all?" Jackal shrugged uncomfortably.
"He just wanted to make sure you got to the docks alright, Day."
"Ain't he sweet," she said in a sappy voice, glaring at the ground. Jackal smirked.
"No," he commented drolly, "he's a squat little toad an' you know it." She grinned up at him and pushed off of the railing.
"Well, let's not keep the toad waiting, then," she sighed. Jackal offered her his arm but she walked past him, ignoring his attempts to be a gentleman. He shook his head wryly and followed her, swaggering down the sidewalk. He started telling some rowdy story that seemed to take all his attention, but the occasional flicker of his eyes towards an alleyway opening or a dark corner was a testimony to his caution. Daydream was actually glad that Spot had sent the Spanish newsie; Brooklyn wasn't exactly the most welcoming of places this late at night and Jackal was a good friend. He had immediately agreed to run the strike message to Spot earlier that morning after she had met him on the bridge. Jackal had the uncanny luck of being in the right place at the right time all the time. Daydream had been relying on that well-known fact when she volunteered to go to Brooklyn . She was feeling guilty about sending him with the message, though, and she didn't know why. She began to chew thoughtfully on her bottom lip, subconsciously tuning Jackal and his story out.
It had been a pretty lie she had spun for Racetrack earlier that day. She had actually been one of Spot's "Birds" for a long time now, not that many people knew that little factoid; the identities of the spies were well-kept secrets. It had been an unhappy coincidence when she met Spot Conlon. She had been sent down to the docks by one of her many employers to pick up a package when she had been confronted by a gang for stepping into their territory. The price for trespassing had been something she hadn't been willing to give up. Spot had shown up at the last moment with just enough time to stop them. She still couldn't understand why he had done it; Spot usually wasn't one for heroics. After figuring out that Daydream got around the city more than most people, he had asked her to become one of his many "Birds". She, feeling obligated, had accepted. Now, years later, she was constantly sending him bits of important information and also seemingly useless gossip. It had been her responsibility to get the strike news to Spot; it was her job. So why did she feel like she betrayed Racetrack and the others by giving Spot an advantage?
Daydream looked around in surprise when Jackal stopped in front of a dockside warehouse. She had been so caught up in self-doubt that the walk didn't seem to take that long. The stench of rotting wood mixed with fresh sea breeze to create the distinct smell of the Brooklyn docks. Dark waves crashed against the docks' support beams, beating out a rhythm of in, out, in, out, the ocean's eerie lullaby. Daydream shivered as the breeze snagged its invisible fingers in her hair, whipping it around in front of her eyes. She tucked it back behind her ear quickly and stared off in the direction the wind had come from.
"Daydream," Jackal exclaimed suddenly from the doorway, jolting her out of her reverie, "let's go inside. Ya know, where it's not so wet?" Daydream nodded slowly and walked back over to him. He held the door open as she went in.
"Thanks," she said, giving him an appreciative smile before turning to look around the room. The warehouse was relatively clean and orderly, a fact that never ceased to surprise her. The Brooklyn boys who were scattered around the big room raised their heads when she walked in and, impulsively, she moved closer to Jackal.
"Hey, goilly," one of them sneered. He was sitting at a table with three other boys. One of his hands was limply holding playing cards while the other held a smoldering cigar. Daydream imagined she could smell the alcohol on his breath even as far away as she was. "How about you drop that beanpole and come sit with a real man?" He slapped the empty seat beside him. "I'm gonna win this game so I'll pay you good, better than that yob anyway." His poker buddies threw in some arguments as he crowed to himself. Daydream felt like indulging her pride and lashing out at him but Jackal stepped in front of her before she could do anything.
"She ain't for sell, Wedge," he said, the cheerfulness gone from his voice. "She ain't one of those." If there was one thing that Jackal couldn't stand it was a man disrespecting a woman, which was another thing Daydream liked about him. Wedge edged his chair back from the table and stood up. He pointed a finger at Jackal.
"You move," he snarled and jabbed the finger into the Spanish newsie's chest, "I want 'er, I get 'er." Jackal scowled then grabbed Wedge's arm, yanking it backwards until it was mere inches from snapping. The boy howled in pain and his poker buddies jumped up, their chairs falling backwards with a clatter. Daydream leapt up beside Jackal, her fists clenched and raised for a fight. A sudden cold chuckle stopped the combatants before they could even start the fray. Spot Conlon was standing on the stairway, both hands resting on the gold tip of his cane. His ice blue eyes narrowly inspected the group below as he tutted softly, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval.
"Wedge, you know betta dan to insult me guests," he said. Wedge stared wide-eyed at Spot from where Jackal had him in an arm-lock. At a nod from Spot, he was released, yelping at the pain in his arm. His eyes shot bullets at Jackal and Daydream as he stumbled away from them.
"You follow me," declared Spot to Daydream. He turned and went back up the stairs. Jackal motioned for Daydream to take the lead, which she did, going up the steps with one last glare at Wedge before she reached the top. She looked back to make sure Jackal was behind her before walking the rest of the way to Spot's 'office'. Spot was leaning against the doorway, waiting for her. She shook her head and tchtched when she saw him.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to stand in doorways?" she asked as she brushed past him, her nose raised snootily in the air. He raised an eyebrow.
"Did your madda eva tell youse that if ya stuck your nose up higha, ya'd be drownin'?" He closed the door before Jackal could get into the room.
"Not even a 'thank you', Spotty?" he yelled through the wood. Spot did not grace the door with a look. As she perched herself on the edge on Spot's bed, Daydream could hear the Spanish newsie stomping back down the stairs.
"So, Day, what's the news?" Spot asked as he turned to her.
"I dunno, Spot," she said, picking at his blanket, "you're the newsie." She looked up at him with a sigh when he did not acknowledge the joke. "What do you wanna know?"
"Whose idea was dis, for starts," he said as he sat down in a chair. He leaned it back and propped his feet up on the bed for balance. His eyes never left her. Over the years Daydream had noticed that he always tried to stare down whoever he was talking to. It was his way to appear superior and imposing to the other person. She often annoyed him by staring right back and making faces but tonight she didn't. She was too tired.
"That David kid," Daydream answered drolly. She pulled at a corner of the blanket and started tugging at a loose string. "I think he meant it as a joke but Jack just took it and ran." She smirked at him. "Jack's that kind of guy, isn't he? Headstrong, pretty thick?" Spot chuckled dryly.
"That's Jackie-boy, alright." He narrowed his eyes. "But he ain't as dumb as he acts."
"Yeah, yeah, sure."
"What about my sista?" he suddenly demanded. "What's she been doin' ova dere?" He looked so serious that an idea popped into Daydream's head; she struggled to keep a grin off her face.
"She's been doing the usual, you know." She put on a bored air as she continued. "Eating face with that Kid Blink fella and all and sleeping around with the rest of the 'Hattan newsies. They brag about her all the time."
"WHAT!" Spot roared, losing his composure. He also lost his balance and the chair he was sitting in toppled over backwards. The chair whammed into the floor, depositing the 'King' of Brooklyn on the floor in a most unattractive heap. Daydream burst out into laughter then tried to smother it with her hands. Spot might just kill her if he saw her laughing at him.
"I was just joking, Spot," she managed to splutter. "Spazz is being a good girl, just like you want her to be."
He jumped up and put a finger in her face. "Daydream, I swear if you eva tell anyone about dis, youse won't make it outta Brooklyn."
"I won't, Spot," she said then bit her lips in an effort not to grin.
"And if youse eva joke wit' me again…" He righted his chair and sat back down. This time, though, he kept his feet on the ground. There was a quiet moment while Spot tried to regain his imposing façade that had been shattered and Daydream snickered into her hands. "So," Spot said, "she's alright? She's doing good?"
"Oh, yeah," Daydream said, nodding, "She's great. All of the Manhattaners treat her like their own little sister." Except Blink… she thought but she would not say anything about that to Spot. She liked Spazz and did not want the other girl mad at her. "I was actually surprised she didn't notice me."
"She's usually not around when youse come by."
"Not to mention I don't usually come by," she said with a quirky smile. When she was relaying messages and such to Spot, they often met at random places around the city, usually somewhere between Brooklyn and wherever Daydream was currently living. It was rare that she ever showed up at the lodging house, but when she did, she came through the back door. This was the first time she had made the mistake of coming through the front door. Hopefully, it would be the last.
They talked about the strike and who was involved and what might happen until Daydream was losing track of where the conversation was going. She had scooted back on Spot's bed until her back was against the wall. Her eyelids felt like they were going to snap shut any moment. A soft knock on the door brought her head up again. She looked wide-eyed at Spot. Who would be at the door at this time of night? There was another knock, this time more insistent.
"Stay here," he ordered. She nodded and watched as he got up and walked over to the door. He opened it enough to see who was there then let the person in. It was a boy and girl, both looking tired and irritated as they came into the room.
"Heya, Vale, Ave," Daydream mumbled sleepily. The girl, Avenue, attempted to smile at her but Vale scowled.
"What're you doin' heah, Daydream?" he snapped. "You ain't in on da newsies."
"She is now," Spot said icily. He leaned against the wall as the other two Birds found seats. Avenue plopped down beside Daydream on the bed. Vale stalked over and claimed Spot's recently vacated chair. He crossed his arms across his chest and glowered at everyone.
"Who's she wit'?" Vale asked, jerking his head towards Daydream. She found the energy to glare at him. Even if he was exhausted, he could at least address her directly.
"Manhattan," she answered for Spot. "I've got friends there, which is more than I can say for you." Vale's scowl increased, making deep frown lines in his face. It was true, Vale did not have many friends outside of his own borough of Queens and the few friends he had there were shady. Having a large pool of friends and acquaintances was something Daydream enjoyed almost exclusively out of the Birds. Of course, that also meant she had accumulated a few enemies over the years, but she tried not to think of them too much. Paranoia was not her trade. Avenue flipped a lock of springy red hair over her shoulder and tried to ease the tension.
"So I suppose ye know all about the strike, right, Daydream?" she asked, her tone beautifully lilted with her Irish accent. The younger girl nodded.
"Yeah, I was there when they decided to do it."
"What's Jack think he's doin'?" demanded Vale. "He sent a group of his boys ova to our lodging house to fill us in about da strike. When I left, Specs, da dirty traitor," he caught himself before he spat on Spot's floor, "had drugged the rest of our newsies and was gettin' da full complaments of Falcon." Daydream wrinkled her nose while Avenue rolled her eyes. She knew about Falcon and her disgusting habits.
"Was dere a girl dere? Wit' one of da Mahattaners?" she asked.
"I t'ink, maybe? Dere was a goil asleep on da couch when I left. Brown-'aired, pretty…" He shrugged. "Looked like upper class material." Daydream made a face. She should have warned Sage about Queens. Maybe the boys prepared her a little before they went in. Doubt it. Spot switched the subject.
"What about the Bronx, Ave?"
"Same thin', just about," she replied, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "Except there was this loud, outspoken little thing that came with Crutchy." She shook her head. "Talked like there was no tomorra, that one did." She suddenly grinned. "I'd think we'd be the best o' friends."
"Nope, no," Daydream said, lifting her head from where she had been resting it on her knees. "Trust me on dis, ya both have too many opinions. Ya'd tear each otha ta shreds." Daydream shook her head slowly. She must be really tired if her accent was coming out as much as it was. The others talk became a dull rumble in her ears as she slumped against the wall, dead tired. It really had been a long day, she thought as her eyes closed.
"Daydream, get up!" A pillow hit her in the head and she instantly sat up. The room was dim with pre-dawn light. Someone very tall and very dark and very much Jackal was standing over the bed. Oh, Gawd, I fell asleep in Spot's room! She looked up at Jackal bleary-eyed.
"Where's Spot?" She rolled out of the bed. She took a survey and was pleased to find herself completely dressed. Not even a button was undone. Spot was immediately bumped up on her list of not-so-perverted people. Now he was only in the bottom five instead of the bottom two.
"He left already and made me in charge of getting' youse out of the heah befoah the rest of the house wakes up," Jackal said. "So hurry up, lady bum!" She suddenly remembered the meeting. It would be a miracle if she got there on time!
"See ya soon, Jackal!" she exclaimed and gave the newsie a quick, thankful kiss on the cheek before jetting down the stairs.