Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Newsies characters mentioned in this piece; I do, however, stake claim to Jess Kelly, Frankie Kelly, Reagan Malloy and a whole mess of other characters (such as Johnny Conlon and the Finn brothers) that will most likely pop up throughout this work.

--

Part Four

--

Jack reached forward and tapped his driver lightly on his arm. "Hey, Boots, we're here at the station. Pull over right there so I can get out. Keep the car running, too, I'll be right back," Jack said as he grabbed his briefcase and shut the car door. It was a small leather case, one he kept filled for emergencies; heading downtown to bail his wife out of jail was one such emergency.

"Of course, Boss. I'll be waiting for you," the young black man answered as he pulled the car he was driving over to the side and left it idling. He lifted up a newspaper to his eyes to use as a front in case any of the police officers wondered what he was doing; those dark eyes, however, were every moving, keeping watch as Jack walked into the police station.

Jack nodded to himself, his head high and his stride purposeful as he walked into the station. He had an authoritative air about him that made him formidable; he seemed to move as if he belonged in this place and, perhaps, it was true. This wasn't the first time he had to go down to the station to bail out one of his associates—but it was the first time it was his wife.

He had only taken a handful of steps into the hustling, bustling building before he was stopped. "Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?" sneered a scruffy looking policeman who sat leaning against a desk. Sir? Yeah, I don't think so. If it ain't the one, the only mister Jack Kelly standing in the middle of the damn station himself, Sherman thought as he watched Jack look down upon him, as if he were nothing more than scum on the bottom of his freshly polished cowboy boots.

"I don't know, officer. Can you?" Jack retorted, his temper already close enough to the breaking point. No one talked to Jack Kelly like that, whether they had a police badge or not.

Sherman heard the barely masked anger in Jack's strong voice and smirked. It was, admittedly, most unprofessional but, after all, this moment had been a long time coming; he'd been after the Manhattan Mob leader for nearly half his career. "What do you want, Kelly?"

Jack's eyebrows raised and, for a moment, there was a hint of amusement on his handsome face. It faded as quickly as it came; at once, he was all business. "Nothing you can offer, sir," he shot back, putting undue stress on the word 'sir', "unless you can tell me where the hell I can find the district attorney."

Scoffing, Sherman crossed his arms over his chest as he stepped away from the front of his desk, taking a few careless steps towards Jack. "What do you want the D.A. for?"

His only answer was to give his thin lips a simple twitch, just enough to let fly a hint of a smile. His brown eyes were twinkling under the dim police station's light, his temper forgotten, as he dared the older man to ask him another question.

And, just as Jack had known he would, Sherman took the bait. He dropped his hands to his side and barked, "I know what you're here for, Kelly, and, I'll tell ya, it ain't gonna work. You're pretty little wife is staying locked up."

Jack's anger flared at Sherman's flippant tone and his trigger finger itched to reach inside the nestled folds of his jacket lining. But he knew that it would be foolish to draw a weapon in sight of half of the NYPD so he restrained himself; he did, however, point his finger at the officer. "Listen, pal—"

That was as far as he got; just before a very real threat had the chance to be made, someone approached the two men and, with a voice that Jack was very familiar with, said, " Sherman! What in God's name is going on over here?"

As far as Jack was concerned, Calvin 'Swifty' Li had always had a knack for knowing when trouble was brewing. Back when they were kids, lodging together down at the old CAS-run lodging house on Duane Street, that sense had led him to hone the skill that gave him his nickname; whenever Swifty smelled trouble, he ran like the wind.

It was only fitting that now, all those years later, he was the Lower East Side's district attorney. Dressed in a suit and tie that was nearly as flashy and expensive as Jack's own, it was hard to tell that time had passed for the man, but one could tell. He was still thin, tall and lanky, with a shock of dark hair that was slicked back rather than shoved under a ratty cap; Swifty was also sporting a pencil thin mustache and there was a set of glasses poking out from the top of his suit jacket's pocket.

Ah, Swifty… so good to see you again, Jack thought to himself, working hard to fight the look of relief that threatened to cross his face. He tightened his grip on the suitcase he was carrying—this was going to work out perfectly for him and his plans of rescuing Jessa.

Jack straightened and Sherman slouched as Swifty continued to question the officer. "Are you… are you hassling this fine gentleman?"

There was a second of silence as the officer tried to find a way of weaseling out of this situation but there was none and he knew it. "District Attorney Li, of course not. I was just… just about to bring Mr. Kelly to see you."

It did not go by unnoticed how he emphasized Jack's name—it was just a pity that poor Sherman had no idea the history that existed between the two men. Swifty had recognized Jack's profile from across the room and had been on his way to greet his old friend—greet, not arrest—when he had heard the heated exchange between the Manhattan Mob leader and the veteran police officer.

Swifty's demeanor and stance did not change. He had folded his hands behind his back as he steely eyed Sherman. "Really? Well, if that's the case, Sherman, please show him to my office."

"It's right back there, Kelly," Sherman said, his teeth gritting in annoyance that the district attorney refused to acknowledge that the man standing with them was a criminal. He raised a grubby hand up to gesture towards the opposite side of the open, yet busy, lobby. "You can't miss it."

"I said show Mr. Kelly to my office not show him my office."

With a dirty look that Jack saw but Swifty missed, Sherman snapped, "Of course, sir. Right away, sir."

Feeling pretty smug, Jack nodded towards Swifty. "Thank you, District Attorney Li. I do look forward to speaking with you."

"Yes, Mr. Kelly, likewise. Please make yourself comfortable in my office," he said, and he paused when heard a snort coming from Sherman's direction, "I shall be there momentarily. I just have to have a word with Sherman here, first."

Sherman stiffened as he began to walk away from his desk, obviously intent on bringing Jack to an office that he had seen many times before; pretending that he was unaware where to find the D.A.'s office, Jack followed, all the while thinking, It's good to have friends in high places…

--

Once he entered the office, and Sherman left looking annoyed and wary, Jack placed his briefcase purposely onto the strong, sturdy mahogany desk. He then took a seat, content to waiting and watching Rick Sherman being scolded by the district attorney out through the office's window; Jack could not make out any sound but the way that Swifty jabbed his pointer finger at the older man told him all he needed to know and he allowed himself to enjoy a short snicker.

The entertainment did not last and, before long, Swifty left an obviously angered Sherman at his desk. After another moment or two, the door to the district attorney's office opened and Swifty entered, shutting the door and closing the blinds as he made his way inside. When he was positive that none of the other men in the station could see or hear any of what was going on inside the room, he walked right in front of Jack and held out his hand—after spitting into it once, of course.

Jack reciprocated the gesture and the two of them shook briefly until Jack pulled him into a quick embrace. "Ah, Swifty, how is my favorite district attorney today?"

Swifty laughed. "I'm good, Cowboy. Long time, no see, eh?" he asked as he walked around the desk and took a seat, gesturing to Jack to do the same. "It's been… what? Almost a year since the last time you showed your mug around here. Getting pretty brave, aren't ya?"

Jack nodded and sat down in the chair opposite of Swifty's desk. "Of course, of course. And it's been awhile. How've you been? How's Aki?" he asked, referencing Swifty's wife. Like most of the people that Jack knew personally, Swifty and Aki, both, worked as newsies on the Lower East Side at the turn of the century.

When the lure of the streets had faded, the two of them had decided to marry; Aki had gotten a simple job as a cashier at a local store while Swifty ran messages. The dual income, coupled with the fact that they never had children, helped to get Swifty into a shoddy law school; that cheap degree and Jack's early connections had landed him the gig as the district attorney. "Aki's doing great, I'm doing great. What about you, Cowboy? You and Jess doing alright?"

Jack reached up and scratched underneath his chin. "Well, Swift, that's kinda why I'm here to see you today. Seems that while I was… indisposed earlier, two of your officers visited my new bakery and arrested my wife. They said they were suspicious that we had some sort of illegal business going on in there—"

Swifty sat down at his desk before propping his shiny, leather shoes on the top of his desk. "Were you?"

"Yeah, well, that ain't the point, is it? I just want Jess out of that jail cell now."

Sighing, Swifty began to drum his manicured nails against the leg of his pants. "I don't know, Cowboy. Wasn't it only last month that I got Mush and Blink out of the slammer after they were caught smuggling moonshine over in Midtown?"

"I thought you might feel that way so I brought you a gift," Jack replied, pointing to the leather briefcase resting on the desk.

Swifty eyed it greedily before leaning over and unbuckling the case; his eyes glazed over as he eyed all of the crisp bills that were lying inside. "You know, Cowboy, I think there might just be something I can do for you. You're an old friend, after all. Here, let me just find Sherman's paperwork—"

Jack sneered. "Are you telling me that that… scum out there is the one who arrested my wife?"

Swifty nodded as he continued to rifle through stacks of paperwork. "Yes, Lt. Rick Sherman and some rookie from Santa Fe they just dumped on me… ah, here we are," he said, removing a handful of papers from the pile. He straightened the sheaves against the edge of the desk before murmuring, "'Name: Mrs. Jessa R. Kelly.' Yes, that would be her paperwork..."

Then, without another word, the newsboy-turned-attorney quickly began to scan the report to himself, dark beady eyes running through it. He nodded as he processed the dull form only smiling when he got about halfway down the first page. He tapped a finger against it. "I think I found a loophole, Cowboy. Listen: 'Suspect was arrested due to suspicion that she was withholding information about banned liquor at a nearby night club and other illegal business dealings of her husband.'" Swifty lifted his head. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jack looked thoughtful as he ran the words through his head. Hesitantly he said, "Wait… does that that mean they had no proof when they arrested her? No warrant? No photos? Nothing?"

The district attorney grinned. "Nope, just suspicion."

Jack thought about it for another second. "Then they have no reason to keep her locked up, right?"

"Exactly," affirmed Swifty as he dropped his feet from his desk and stood back up. Briskly, with that same air of authority about him, he stepped out from behind his desk and headed straight towards the door. "Come, Jack. Let's go get her."

Jack was only too pleased to follow the district attorney out of the office; he was ever more pleased when Swifty, who had paused within the middle of the cramped lobby, called over to Sherman. "Lieutenant Sherman? May I speak to you again?"

Sherman strutted over to where Jack and Swifty stood. "Yes?" Upon Swifty's glare, he added, "… sir?"

"What's this?" Swifty asked, waving the paperwork around.

Casting a quick eye over the fluttering pages, Sherman jerked his head, recognizing the sheets. "That? It's the paperwork on that broad me and the kid brought in this afternoon."

"Broad! What the fu—what do you mean by that?" exploded Jack, stepping forward to meet Sherman face-to-face. Not only had he not liked the wary old officer before, but now he was livid to know that it had been Sherman who was responsible for Jess's stint in the prison.

Luckily Swifty had the mind to throw out his arm, effectively stopping Jack in his tracks. "Please calm down, Mr. Kelly. I can handle this." Then, turning back to face Rick, Swifty glowered. "How long have you been on the force?"

Sherman screwed up his face as if the question was a difficult one. Finally, he answered, "About thirty-four years."

"And you still don't know on what grounds you can arrest a person?"

At those words Jack snorted to himself as he remembered something his once ally, now enemy, had said during the infamous newsies strike of '99:

"Your honor, I object," smirked the young orphan boy, standing in front of the "respected" Judge E.A. Monahan.

The elderly judge looked out upon the crowd of ragged newsboys that stood in front of his bench, his eyes lingering on the one boy who had had the nerve to speak in his court room. "On what grounds?"

There was a moment of quiet, as if the boy was making sure that everyone was waiting to hear his smartass answer. Only then did he give it: "On the grounds of Brooklyn."

Swifty and Sherman both shot a look in Jack's direction before Swifty shook his head and continued to question the police officer. "Listen, Sherman, I just went over your report and do you know what I found?"

"What? Sir?" It seemed as if it was very difficult for Rick Sherman to pay respect to anyone.

"This," Swifty snapped, pointing at the report, "'Suspect was arrested due to suspicion that she was...' Suspicion? Surely you know that you can not just arrest a poor woman on suspicion. You need proof, man. You need evidence. Not suspicion."

"But," Sherman began, trying to defend himself, "I got word from Chief Flannigan that a stoolie called in an—"

"And I'm sure the Chief wanted proof before you stormed in there and arrested the poor woman," interrupted Swifty. "Now, I want you to take Mr. Kelly to his wife and let her out of the holding cell while I go coun— I mean, try to fix the mess you made with this paperwork. Honestly."

"Yes, sir," Rick said in a low voice, as he gestured towards Jack, "Right this way, Mr. Kelly."

Jack waited until Rick was a few steps in front of him before turning around and winking at his old friend. "Thanks," he mouthed before following Rick to the holding cells.

--

"Jack, you came!"

It felt good to see his wife in one piece, even if there were prison bars separating them. "Don't worry, honey. I'm getting you out of here," he told her as Sherman instructed one of the guards to open the holding cell's door. The younger officer did before walking away to quiet some of the other prisoners.

"Good, because not only is this cell cramped and cold, it smells funny," she complained. She waited until the door had swung open before sticking her nose up in the air.

Sherman scowled a bit at her complaints. "Sorry about your arrest, ma'am. My mistake," he smirked sarcastically at her as he shut the cell door behind her. He watched as she began to walk towards her husband and… well, he couldn't help it; it was so frustrating to have the Manhattan Mob leader so close but still be so far. So, with a daring gesture, Sherman reached out and smacked her on her rear. "See ya later, toots. And you can hold me to that," he said before turning his back on her and walking away.

Jess whirled around and glared at him. "How dare you!" she retorted, fire in her eyes. All she had wanted to do was go home and wash the jail stink out of her clothing and this worn-down man had the nerve to place his hands on her?

She had half a mind to tell him exactly what he could do with that hand but, before she could, something she saw out of the corner of her eye caught her attention: Jack was reaching in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Jack, are you mad?" she hissed as he began to withdraw his gun from that pocket. "Put that away right now! Did you forget where you were? This is a police station!"

"But, Jess..."

Wrapping her fingers around his upper arm Jess shot him an annoyed look. "C'mon, you bum, let's get out of here. We can talk about this at home later."

"Whatever you say, honey," Jack sighed as he replaced his gun and led Jess out of the police station to where Boots was still waiting for them outside.

Rick Sherman didn't know just how lucky he was.