Title: Never Enough

Summary: Set during Prohibition, two rival gangs – one in Manhattan and one in Brooklyn – duke it out in a battle over the booze. Which side will win the right to provide all of New York with their moonshine? How far will the fight go? And what about Les?

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 that will most likely pop up throughout this work.

Author's Note: I was bored and didn't feel like updating one of my longer stories, so, instead, I thought I would add onto this before turning my brain back to Picture's Worth and Mythos. I really do want to finish most of my older stories – or, at least, the stories where I know what the plan was. There are some times that I just write for the heck of it and there really is no plot ;) Anywho, I know no one reads this but, oh well. I like it.

---

Part VII

Huddling the distraught girl between them, the Kelly's began to usher her out of the wooded area. They had to get as far away from the dead body as was possible; they had precious few minutes before a squad car would pull up, investigating the gunshot. If either one of them was present – not too mention an innocent – it could spell big trouble for the Manhattan Mob. It was better not to take those chances.

Reagan did not say a single word as she followed the older couple on. Once they were out on the street, the man had let go of her arm. He used both his free hands to run his hands anxiously through his thick brown hair, unbelievably protected from all signs of grey despite his age. Despite her earlier attempts to get a good look at him, she was still blissfully unaware of who this man was. Every time she tried to get a good glance at his face, she met his eyes and she dropped her gaze downward. But, now that he seemed to be preoccupied, this could be her chance.

She dared a longer peek at his facial features; this was the closest to the man she had been and she wanted to get a good look at him. She had already seen his wife and, if it came down to it, would be able to identify her in an instant.

Now to learn the face of Mickey's murderer, she thought and slid her blue eyes over and looked at him quickly. He was a handsome man, with deep brown eyes that always looked like they were planning his next move. His skin was tan and she found herself curious as to how he managed that, living in the City; it looked like he spent some time out West. He wore an expensively tailored suit which was offset by the ratty red bandana he kept knotted around his neck.

It was when she spied the bandana that she understood just who she was dealing with. The names the pair had used when addressing each other – Jack, Jess – coupled with his overbearing action and the strange attire… She was dealing with the Manhattan Mob leader, Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly.

She felt faint and wondered how far she could run before he withdrew his pistol and shot her as mercilessly as he had done to Mickey. And he didn't even know that Mick was a Brooklyn Boy at the time. What would he do if he found out she had ties to the rival gang?

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, he moved her head slightly so that it was facing forward. She had no other choice. She had to run.

- - -

This is not how I imagined this day would turn out, Jack thought as he glanced over at the blonde girl again. She kept making eyes at him and it was beginning to make him a bit uncomfortable. I'm old enough to be your father, he smirked but kept that fact to himself. It made him feel desirable for girls to want him – as long as he kept to himself. It was a rule he lived by when it came to the dames: look but don't touch. His wife would kill him if he did. She wasn't afraid of him at all. Jess had proven them to him with her actions earlier than evening. And he wouldn't have her any other way.

He looked over the young girl so that his attention was on his wife. Her golden eyes were darting back and forth as they entered out onto the street. He was glad that she was being cautious now though he would have preferred that she had exercised caution before she went running off like that. They wouldn't be stuck with this girl if she had just listened to him in the first place. He, at least, knew it was a bad idea to leave the car and go into the woods.

Frustrated, Jack took his attention off of the two women he was accompanying, while patting the pockets of his suit. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled the cigarette out and went searching for a pack of matches now. He couldn't find them and, stubbornly, paused on the street side to look.

- - -

As she walked in between the two of them, Reagan waited for the opportune moment to make a break for it. She didn't know where exactly she was going to go; she couldn't go back to Brooklyn and face Boss Conlon nor could she stay in the company of the Kelly's.

She found her moment when the man stopped to light his cigarette. Out of the corner of her eye, as she continued to walk beside the man's wife, she saw him stick a cigarette in his mouth before pausing to find his matches. His eyes were, finally, off of his companions. If she hurried she could probably get far enough way and find help before he could draw his gun out.

She took a deep breathe and briskly exhaled, all of a sudden feeling much more nervous than she had before, when she came up with her escape plan. Without even meaning to, she glanced to the side and looked at the woman. Jess met her gaze and smiled warmly over at Reagan.

It was that smile – it just looked so sincere – that caused her to stay. She just couldn't run. Instead, she resigned herself to never mention Brooklyn to these Manhattanites. Never.

- - -

Jack, after getting his cigarette to light, took a deep drag and shook the hand that held the match. Once the flame had gone out, he tossed the spent wood to the ground before taking large strides. Within a few steps he had caught up to Jess and the girl.

It was when he had stopped for a moment that he noticed in which direction she was headed. Both the penthouse that they shared, as well as the new joint – the Bakery, he thought with a slight smirk – were in the opposite direction. Where is she going?

"Hey, Jess honey? Where are we heading to," he asked her, almost sideways. It was better for the girl if she didn't know exactly what she had gotten herself into. Though, after watching Jack gun her friend down, she probably had a pretty good idea as to what.

Jess, fortunately for Jack, seemed to catch his meaning. "I figured that it would be safest right now, while we work out exactly what happened back in that clearing, if we headed down to your office, dear," she added, her voice going a little flat on the last word. After the excitement of the evening she was remembering just how mad she had been at him.

He nodded and knew that she was right. It hadn't been that long since he had rescued her from the prison; Blink and the other boys were probably still waiting for him to return before heading down the speakeasy. He did feel slightly uneasy, though, with the way she finished her sentence. She had been relieved to see him when he followed her out of the car but now she seemed angry again. He would have to apologize – but that would have to, of course, wait until the girl was not around.

- - -

Reagan began to get even more nervous now. Not only had she lost her nerve earlier and remained in between the Kelly's but now she was being taken to the man's office. If that's even what the woman meant; for all she knew, that could have been a code phrase for "shoot the girl and hide her in a closet."

The very thought caused chills to run up her spine and, inwardly, she began to curse her mother. It's strange how – when you think you are facing near death – you begin blaming everyone else for your fate rather than yourself. And in her case, she felt the blame belonged to Sophie Malloy. If only her mother hadn't convinced her to get involved with mobsters. If only her mother hadn't pressured her to accept the invitation from Mickey Finn. If only…

Reagan did share in some of the blame, though. She knew she was almost as much at fault as her mother. She was the one who felt safe surrounding by Brookyln's biggest. She was the one who was slightly flattered by Mickey's continual advances. And she was the one who hadn't ran away from these two people who had shown their cold-heartedness by leaving Mickey to rot in the park.

She had just made the decision that she would, indeed, run away given the moment when Jack surged forward. He approached a side door of a, seemingly, abandoned building and performed an intricate knock upon it. Reagan was just about to suggest that the man was mad when a guff voice answered. "Who is it?"

Reagan could feel herself go pale. She had lost the opportunity for escape.

They had arrived at the office.