I always feel so depressed writing that we don't own Newsies, which, by the way, we don't. But...I'd feel better if there were reviews on if the story was doin' okay or not. Then I'd know that all these heart-wrenching disclaimers weren't for nothin'. : )

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When she woke up, it was pitch black except for a dim glow from a lamp. Daydream huddled against the wall, trying not to make a sound. The alley was no longer unoccupied. She heard loud voices on the other side of the crates.

"…'s what he wants you to do," a man ended. There was a snort of disbelief.

"Dat's all? Knock off a bunch of kids?" A dark rumble of a chuckle. "Dat's a piece of pie."

"It's 'piece of cake', you idiot," another voice snapped. It was a slimy tone and Daydream took an automatic dislike to it. "How much will we get?"

"The usual. Half now and the rest later," the first voice replied. "And you don't need to worry about the police, they've already been taken care of."

"Good, good," was the response. Daydream, trying to be brave, peeked out from behind the crates. There were three men in the alley. One was dressed in an upper class suit; he looked out of place beside the two rough-hewn men he was standing beside. Both had unshaven faces but one was shorter than the other. The taller one looked like a gorilla wrapped in muscles he was so huge. The other looked like a snake ready to strike, his hair greased back into a severe ponytail. Daydream covered her mouth as she recognized him to be Cottonmouth, the leader of the Crib, a smash-n-grab gang of thugs that worked as mercenaries. They had territory on both sides of the East River. She sunk back down and hoped they would not notice her.

"It's a deal then?" the well-dressed man asked.

"Of course," Cottonmouth said. "An easier job couldn't be found."

"Be at the World Distribution Center early tomorrow morning, then." Daydream clamped both hands over her mouth, trying not to cry out. The Distribution Center ! They were going to soak the newsies. There was the soft sound of money switching hands then retreating footsteps. Half the lamplight went with it, dousing the alleyway with more shadows. The Crib members were still there though, so Daydream stayed down.

"S'gonna be an easy one, boss," the big man exclaimed. He sounded excited. "Go in, bust some kiddie skulls wit'out the bulls carin', get out wit' the dough."

"How perfectly ridiculously put, O'Connell," said Cottonmouth. A rat ran by and Daydream moved her leg, making a scuffling noise. Both voices went silent then there was a barely audible whisper. Terrified, she froze, staring at the crates in front of her. Clomping footsteps came towards her along with the light of the lamp. She sent up a quick prayer to God and waited, her heart pounding so hard against her chest she thought it would give her away. The lamp swung over her head.

"Nobody's dere, boss," O'Connell announced. "Probably just some damn cat." He walked back towards the small man. Cottonmouth threw one last look at the crates before leaving the alley, his henchman following behind him.

Daydream watched their lamplight drift away. Closing her eyes, she waited until the last echoes of their voices had faded before sliding out from behind the crates. She was trembling from the close call. She paused a minute, regaining her composure, then crept to the mouth of the alley. The Crib leader and his man were gone. This far into the slums most of the lamps lights were neglected, throwing the street into mostly darkness. Daydream was chewed on her fingernails, breathing hard. She should get help. Warn somebody! But Manhattan was so far away now. Brooklyn , and Spot, was closer. This would be her chance to persuade Spot into joining the strike. Brooklynites always loved a good fight.