Title: Never Enough

Summary: For every prohibition you create you also create an underground. SET IN 1921. The rivalry between the Manhattan Mob and the Brooklyn Boys, between Kelly & Conlon, is legendary in this business. What happens when two girls dance up to the line and cross it while sticking their tongue out?

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've decided that Never Enough is my piece that I allow myself to crank a chapter out for when I'm taking a break from Diabo and A Virgin's Touch. Those two stories take a lot out of me because they are longer and more intricate than my other works, as well as being set on a deadline. This story is more fun and gets done whenever I feel like parodying old mob movies. Anywho, though the only person I know who reads this is Rae (total luff to my Rae-zin), I am offering roles to anyone who wants in this thing. I need friends for Frankie and Reagan, teenagers of the '20's period. You want in, I need names, ages, looks and personalities. And Rae, my dear, I'm bringing you back, don't worry :)

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PART VIII

"It's me," he replied, an impatient yet authoritative tone finding its way to his voice. Straightening his shirt as he waited for someone to answer the door, Jack motioned for the two girls to wait a step behind him. Jess stopped and held onto Reagan's arm; the two watched as he impatiently rapped on the door a second time. "What is going on in there? Let me in."

There was a noise that came from inside that sounded like a brief crash followed by another bang, almost as if a chair had overturned. Jess's green eyes opened wide but she didn't say a word; she knew better to speak aloud in a situation like this. Reagan seemed to sense the urgency and didn't need the quiet gesture that Jess did to keep her mouth shut. Jess then exchanged a glance with her husband; Jack, who had turned to the women when he heard the noise, nodded once and turned back to the door but not before he had withdrawn his pistol from his pocket.

Reagan winced when the gun was within her sight. For one brief second she thought that, maybe, the Kelly's had brought her back to this secluded area just to dispose of her in private. That notion was proven false when Jack cocked the gun and raised it so that it would be eye-level to any man who opened the door.

To everyone's surprise, when the door finally swung inward, Jack's aim was nearly a foot off. The girl who opened the door was more than a head shorter than the man who held the gun out. Her face was split into a grin that only widened when she saw the threatening stance Jack had assumed. Reagan couldn't believe the nerve the girl had.

She was short for her age – she appeared to be about sixteen – but the way she carried herself, even when staring down the barrel of a gun, showed she was a girl who feared nothing. Reagan felt almost significant at once; while the girl appeared to have an attitude that Mrs. Malloy would have beaten her for if she were her daughter, she was dressed in a stylish white frock that must have cost more than Reagan's entire wardrobe. The pristine dress was offset by her slightly tanned skin. Her long light brown curls were, scandalously, loose and falling past her shoulders; while the style for young girls was to bob their hair as a sign of the changing times, like Reagan's chin-length straight blonde locks, this girl disregarded the fashion and wore her hair long and wild. Reagan was envious and fought the urge to pull on her own ends.

Reagan could see the girl's large green eyes twinkle mischievously as Jack lowered his gun and held his arms out. "Precious," he said as the girl ran into his arms and let him wrap them around her. Reagan turned her head slightly to her left to see how Jess was affected by her husband embracing a much younger woman. She was surprised to see that she was rolling her eyes but smiling at the same time. "Jack, you are going to spoil her."

The girl pulled back from Jack when she heard Jess speak. She ran past him and, ignoring Reagan entirely, pulled on Jess' arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Ma, what happened? You sent me down to get Daddy after the coppers left and, well, he went running right after you. I stayed behind with Mr. Blink and Mr. Mush – he was kinda upset about what happened earlier, by the way, so Mr. Blink told him to go home to see Mrs. Mush, Daddy," she said, glancing back at Jack for a second before continuing to ramble at Jess, "So me and Mr. Blink spent the last two hours waiting for you to come back from the station. He wouldn't let me go home at all, so we waited and then Mr. Boots came back alone. He said you stormed out of the car, Ma, and that Daddy went looking for you. He wanted to let the fellas down here know before he went back out to look for Ma in the car – and who the hell is this chick?" The girl stopped in her fast-paced narration and gestured towards Reagan with a gloveless hand.

Jack shook his head at his daughter, speaking before Jess had a chance to. Reagan couldn't help but notice that neither seemed surprised at the fast pace in which the girl spoke nor the unladylike language that she used. It must be normal for her, Reagan thought. And I wouldn't expect anything more from the daughter of a mobster. "Precious, why did you answer the door? Where is Blink?" Jack asked.

At the mention of his name, a blonde-haired man with a black patch covering his left eye appeared at the door, rubbing his right shin. "Boss, I—"

Jack held up his hand, gesturing for the man to stop talking. He looked at his daughter pointedly. Though she was still holding onto her mother's arm, and was currently trying to catch Reagan's eye, somehow she understood that the silence indicated that her father wanted her to answer the question before he allowed the other man to talk.

The girl shrugged. "Mr. Blink didn't believe that you would have walked all the way back here of your own free will while we're in the middle of that war with Brooklyn. He thought that maybe you'd been forced or something and he wanted to ask some more questions of you. But, me? I wanted to let you in and find out what happened to Ma. So I kicked him."

Blink looked ashamed that the girl had gotten the better of him and bowed his head. Jack paused a second, processing what she had said. The awkward silence that followed illustrated to Reagan that, truly, Jack must be the head of the organization. While Jess, still on her left, just seemed eager to go inside, and the girl was still trying to figure out who Reagan was and why she was there, Blink's anxiety was almost palpable. Reagan was not surprised to see that, when Jack started to laugh, the man called Blink smiled widely in relief.

Jess, on the other hand, looked sternly at her husband. "Jack, you're not going to let your daughter kick your associates, are you?" The way she said that showed that, maybe, Reagan was wrong in her assessment. Maybe Jess was the one who was the head of the organization; if she was the one who scolded Jack, than it followed that she held more sway over the set-up. When Jack smiled sheepishly, after ceasing his laughter, and told 'Precious' to apologize to Blink, Reagan thought that she might be right.

Rather than snicker at her silent thoughts, Reagan lowered her gaze, her blue eyes staring downward. She was aware that, after the girl had asked about her, Jack did not tell his daughter how she came to be in their company. She could feel the curious gaze coming from the girl and chose to avoid making eye contact with her. It was only when Blink began to stammer that the girl only did what Jack would have done in the same situation, that she tore her eyes away from Reagan.

"Yeah," she agreed and left her mother's side to approach Blink. "You're right, Mr. Blink. I wanted to let my Daddy back into the office and you were in my way. So all I did was bring you down long enough to get past you and open the door." She seemed proud at the fact that she had kicked the man – at least twenty years her senior – just to open the door.

Jess shook her head and, for the first time since the shooting, left Reagan's side. "Frankie, you shouldn't do that. What if your father, with his loose trigger finger, shot you?" She placed her hand over her daughter's and led the girl toward the office door. Reagan was stunned to hear her talk so cavalierly about earlier, if that's even what the words 'loose trigger finger' referred to. It appeared that Jack was a little miffed at her words as well. She was so surprised that she didn't even think about running away now that she wasn't being guarded. She was so surprised that she didn't even notice that the girl was finally given a name.

"Come on, Jess, that's not fair," he said, putting his gun back in his pocket. Blink looked like he wanted to back up Jack's words but stopped when Jess turned his way. Rather than say anything, he shut his mouth and gestured for the women to enter the office before him.

"Yeah, Ma," added Frankie. "Daddy would never shoot anyone without reason, especially me." She shot her father an adored look before following her mother inside.

Now, as soon as Jess was out of her sight, Reagan remembered that these were the sort of people that she didn't want to be around. If there was ever a time that she should make a run for it, it was now. She took a step away from the area. In one minute…

Jack shrugged. After what had happened earlier, he really didn't want to get involved in another fight with his wife. That thought in mind, he looked up and spied the frightened-looking blonde girl that Jess insisted came back with them to the office. He sighed and took a step forward her. Reagan flinched. Ignoring that, Jack pointed towards the office. "Come on in, kid," he said and didn't move.

Reagan looked from the man to the open door and back again. He still had the gun. She nodded and began to head towards to office. She may be able to outrun the man but there was no way she'd be able to outrun a bullet, even if she tried.