Author's Note: I just wanted to say that I tried to be as fair as I could while still being historically accurate. If anything comes across as racist or sexist, I just want you to know that it is not my personal stance. This is fiction. I just got a little paranoid that I might be offending people but this is rated M for a reason. So, now that I've gotten that out of the way, here's chapter six.

Disclaimer: These are always mandatory when dabbling in fan fiction. If there is anything at all that is reminiscent of the 1992 musical Newsies, then it probably belongs to Disney. The characters of Luke/Rip & his family, Caitlin/Spindle, and Jessa, specifically, are mine, as well as others that may work their way into this story. Any others belong to their respective authors and will be noted in individual disclaimers.

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A Virgin's Touch

06.21.06

They say that what men desire is a virgin who is a whore.
Maybe that's what I was looking for. It's what I made her, after all.

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PART VI

His attackers did not seem pleased when all Luke did was stare blankly back at them. The dark pigment of their skin made it difficult for him to see exactly how they reacted to his refusal to answer his question; all he could see was the yellow teeth of the larger boy bared in a silent snarl. The leader of the trio put more of his weight onto the foot that was resting on Luke's chest. His snarl reverted to a sadistic grin when he heard Luke groan under the added pressure. He tried not to move; he was in fear, now, that one of his ribs would crack. "I didn't know I was in Harlem," he said, finally, taking his time to say each word. He was having a hard time trying to breathe and speaking was even rougher.

The black boy took his eyes off of his captive and, while raving his knife around, he looked at his two lackeys. "Hey, boys, did you hear that? Whitey here didn't know he was in Harlem." His voice, as gruff as it was before, was eerily pleasant. Everyone present knew that he was humoring Luke. "Well, I guess that makes a big difference, then." He made to lift his foot off of Luke's chest but, just as Luke thought that maybe the boy would let him go, he put his foot back down, even harder than before. Luke had to work hard in order not to cry out. He wouldn't give the boy the satisfaction.

However, it seemed as if all the boy wanted was to hear his victim squeal out in pain. By not succumbing to the pain so far, Luke was angering his attacker all the more. He saw the boy gestured to his two boys and felt the increased pressure of their grip on his arms. They were making sure he couldn't move. Then, once he was satisfied that Luke was secure, he leaned in and brought his knife closer to Luke's throat. "Big man, are yo—"

His threats were cut off when he straightened up and, to the relief of Luke, stepped off of his chest. He whirled around as if he were searching the darkness for something. "Boys," he said, addressing his two lackeys, "we ain't alone anymore." His boys loosened their hold on Luke's arm just enough for them to be able to spin around and look at their surroundings.

That's when Luke heard the slap of something hitting the largest boy in his scarred cheek. The boy reached up the hand that held the knife and caressed his flesh. "Where are you?" he hollered and Luke felt for whoever it was that he was addressing. The boy looked even bigger and uglier now.

"Back off, darky," came the reply, a male voice thick with a New York accent. "Leave the white boy alone or else."

The large boy sneered again and glanced down at Luke. Luke tried not to let the fear show on his face. The dark boy just spit in his direction before addressing his unseen opponent. "Fuck you. Show your face!"

But it seemed like the new boy did not care to make his presence known. Instead, he yelled out one command. "Fire!"

The two boys at his side jumped up and covered their face, leaving Luke's arms free. The large boy, angered that his victim wasn't being attended to, nevertheless did the same. Little bits of glass, pellets, marbles and the like were being shot at the black boys. From his position on the ground, Luke could see that one of the smaller boys had been struck with something sharp. The dribble of blood that shimmered against his dark skin reminded Luke of the blood he had seen at Maria's murder scene. He closed his eyes. He did not like blood.

The next time he opened his eyes, a few minutes later, it was because a boy was shaking him. The boy, white skinned with fair hair and a toothy grin, leaned over him. "Are you alright, kid?"

Luke couldn't move right away. On top of everything that had happened so far that day, this was too much. Beside the short boy hovering over him, there were four others, all holding a worn slingshot. So that's where all the debris came from. "Yeah, I'm fine," he finally managed.

The boy nodded and leaned up. He approached his companions and, turning to the tallest of them all, he pointed back at Luke. "He's alright. Those brutes didn't get to do nothing more than knock him down, I'd wager."

The tallest boy nodded and walked over to look. He offered his hand down to Luke, who took it warily. He helped Luke to his feet. "What the hell were you doing in the Negro tenements, kid?" he asked with an expression that told Luke that everyone knew that this area was the Negro tenements.

Luke, adopting his emotionless demeanor, looked up to meet the boy in his eyes. "I didn't know where the hell I was. I had nowhere to go and I just found myself around here. Unfortunately for me, those boys didn't like a white boy wandering around their territory."

The boy nodded. "Hey, that's Harlem for you," he said and nodded to his boys. "Good job, Nickels, on getting us. I think he'll be alright. Now let's get back to the House." The other boys, in silent, began to walk away in the direction in which Luke had came, the smallest of the boys beaming at the praise the older boy had given.

Luke watched them go before the tallest boy turned back to him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get a move on."

Not knowing what else to do, Luke got a move on.

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Luke followed behind the five boys that had, in essence, rescued him from the three Negroes that had tried to fight him. He wasn't sure if it was the smartest thing to do but when the tallest of the newcomers told him to follow, he did. He lagged behind and, before he knew it, the same boy had walked back to walk beside him. "Hey, kid," he began and spit in his hand. He extended it to Luke. Luke looked at the wet hand before realizing that this must be some sort of custom the street kids did. He mimicked the gesture, his own spit more of a sprinkle compared to the phlegm his companion had produced, and the boys shook. "Should have been more friendly back there. Anyway, they call me Mack," he said in way of an introduction.

Luke nodded. "I'm—" he began but Mack held his hand to his lip. Luke paused.

Mack looked him up and down. Luke felt uncomfortable but the feeling was mild in comparison to the way Daisy had made him feel when she had done the same thing earlier that evening. "Are you gonna tell me your Christian name, kid?"

Luke was confused. "What?"

"Your Christian name? You know, the one your Pops gave you when you was born." Mack reached up and pushed his light brown hair out of his hazel eyes. Absent-mindedly, Luke remembered that his own raven hair was in need of a trim. However that was not to be worried about; right now he was in Harlem, accompanying five boys – one called Mack, one called Nickels – to God knows where. "Here in Harlem, we don't go by Christian names. Mack is my nickname. Do you got a nickname, kid?" Luke tried not to bristle at the way Mack kept referring to him as 'kid'. First Melody, now Mack. Yeah, Mack looks like he's about eighteen and is older than even Melody, but I ain't a kid. I'm a murderer, dammit. But Luke couldn't say that. He shook his head.

Mack shrugged. "I figured. You look too clean to be from the streets. But you ain't got nowhere to go, right? That's what you said back there, right?"

"No, I don't have anywhere to go," Luke said, his voice lower than normal. It was the truth, he realized. I have nowhere to go. "There was a death and—"

Mack held up his hand. "Say no more, kid. We all got our own tales. Just don't tell your around – the other fellas don't like to listen to them, I tell ya. In fact, the other guys ain't too happy that I'm bringing you back with us to the House. But I'm the boss around here, so they do what I say." Mack stopped. "You're going to listen to what I say, too, eh, kid?"

The familiar sense of anger was beginning to grow again. But Luke, now that he knew to what extent that anger could take him, tried to quell it. If this Mack was willing to take him in, he would do what he had to. After all, he really had nowhere else to go. He nodded.

"Good," Mack said and he pointed. They had arrived at a small building. The sign hanging above it said "Harlem Lodging House" and, below the sign, there was an open door. On the porch sat four people, two large bulky boys and two young girls. The four other boys that had been with Mack nodded their greetings to the two guards – that's what they are, I guess – before entering the House. "Now, come with me, kid. I'll set you up with a nice bunk here. The lodging house," he said, as he gestured towards the sign, "is where we boys sleep at night. There used to be a master of the House, ol' Man Dodges, but he died a couple weeks ago. For now we just do what we please until the mayor or someone realizes. So don't get used to visiting your Negro friends so late," Mack said, and Luke could see, by using the light of a nearby streetlamp, that he was grinning a crooked smile. Faintly, Luke began to like this boy.

Mack nodded at the two boys and called them by a set of odd names. "Night, Trace. Night, Bean. Come trade posts with Shady and Jay in an hour or two." The bulky boys nodded and, though they looked at Luke questioningly, they said nothing. Mack entered the House, Luke behind him. But, once they were in the lobby, Luke stopped and, when Mack didn't hear footsteps following him toward the steps, he paused as well.

Luke turned around and nodded at the pair of girls that were sitting on the stoop of the Lodging House, just outside the entrance. "Say, what are those girls doing here? Isn't this a boys' home?" Something about the taller of the two girls reminded him of Daisy; his stomach lurched and he had to fight the heaves that threatened to rise. I wonder if anyone has found her yet. It had only been about four hours since he left her, dead in her bed. He glanced down at his hands, briefly. All he saw was the blood that stained them. While waiting for Mack's answer, he wiped his palms against the sides of his black trousers. They were still dirty. He had a strange feeling that they would always be so.

Mack turned and looked to see exactly what sort of girls were talking to Trace and Bean out on the stoop. He used the light of the streetlamp to gather their identities before shrugging. "Those girls are some of the whores that like to talk it up with the guys. It's a change for them, you see, to come out here and spend some time with guys who are like them. They spend so much of their time on their backs, fucking big-shots and men who don't get any from their wives. On their off time, a couple of them like to talk to the boys here – we're the type of guys they think can marry them and get them off their backs. But," Mack continued, and Luke could see his heavy-lidded eyes gazing at the pair, lustily, "what they don't figure for is that all we want to do is get them on their backs, too."

With every word that Mack said, Luke felt even sicker. He had left a whore – had killed a whore – only to be rescued by a no-good kid who's only aim in life was to bed a prostitute. I should have taken my chances with the Negroes, he thought. He felt his face flushing and kept his eyes roaming over everything but the two girls sitting on the porch. When Mack fell silent, he could sense that the boy was waiting for his reaction. Luke knew he should give him one but, he also knew that if he did, he would throw up. The memory of Daisy's hot breath on his hands, her clammy skin under his fingers, was hitting him full-force at that moment.

Mack turned around and looked at Luke. From the sparse candlelight that lit the lobby, he could see that the normally olive-skinned Luke had gone frightfully pale. "Hey, kid? You alright?" he asked, looking almost concerned before his eyes lit up and he smirked. "I got it. You're a virgin, ain't ya? Wondering how you can get one of them girls to make you a real man?"

If he wasn't feeling so sick, Luke might have smiled at the irony of Mack's comment. "No, I'm not a virgin," he confessed, aware that the manner in which he made the confession told Mack that he was sad to admit to his indiscretions. "And I've had enough of whores, thank you," he added. He then swallowed twice, working down the nausea that he felt. Surprisingly, once he made his admissions, he felt much better. So much better that, when Mack clapped him on the shoulder, laughing, Luke was able to smile in response.

"That's a boy," Mack said, as he left his hand on Luke's shoulder. "How old are you? About fourteen or fifteen, right?" Luke nodded. "Man, I didn't get my first lay until I was near sixteen. Did you pay for it?" This time Luke shook his head; he had no way of knowing that Gabriel had slipped Daisy five dollars before the harlot brought her young client upstairs. Mack seemed impressed at his answer. "Wow, I had to pay three dollars for my first whore. Now, though, since I run my boys around here, Cecilia lets me have any of her girls for near nothing."

Luke nodded. He was more inclined to let Mack talk about his conquests; by listening to the older boy, it would take his mind off of his own ill-fated relations with Daisy. But, as he could tell by the pregnant pause that followed Mack's latest statement, he knew it was his turn to add to the conversation. Rather than say anything about Daisy, for fear of letting slip her murder, he focused on Mack. "Who's Cecilia?"

Mack walked past Luke and nodded at the taller girl. She was slim, like Daisy, and wore too much make-up. Her long ash-blonde hair was pulled back and braided; the plait rested down her back. She was smiling coyly at the dark-haired boy, Trace, though she seemed much older than him. She had to be over twenty, Luke thought and felt guilty again. Daisy wouldn't live to see twenty. He shook his head. He had to forget about the dead harlot. "That's Cecilia. She's the dame in charge of the girls around here. She's young to do it, but there's only the one brothel around here. Cecilia moved up here from a joint in Manhattan to run the place."

Luke nodded. "Oh," he said and, when Cecilia looked up and caught the two boys staring, she waved. He could feel himself paling again. Cecilia nudged her companion, a girl that seemed much younger than she; in fact, she looked to be around Luke's age. She was short and tiny, with red hair that hung down loosely to her shoulders. She looked up and blew a kiss in the boys' direction. Then the two girls began to laugh before placing their attention back on the guards.

There was something about the tiny girl that made Luke even more uncomfortable. Maybe it was her odd coloring – she was the first redhead he had ever seen, natural or colored – or her small stature – she was too young to be selling herself, if, indeed, she was one of Cecilia's girls – but Luke felt his heart begin to beat much faster. He must have made a strange face because Mack slapped him on his back and laughed. "Ah, I see that one's caught your eye. But I wouldn't bother with her," he said.

"Why not?"

Mack shrugged before pushing Luke in the direction of the stairs; it was long since time that Mack went to bed and he needed to show the new kid his bunk before he did so. It was the sort of thing the leader her did. "Because that's Spindle. And she don't fuck anybody unless they got money. Girl thinks she's the Queen of New York."

Spindle. His heart still beating, he dared a glance back at the redhead before following Mack up the steps. Something about the way her eyes had darted up to meet his for a brief moment told him that she might just make an exception for him.