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. But money and infamy wasn't enough for them. It never is.

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: Well, here's chapter 13, lucky number 13. And look who popped again. Yay, Les. You see, I didn't forget about him :) And, yay for the introduction of our first original character. Charli O'Rourke is the property of Betchya O'Connor. Other OC's will be entering soon.

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Part XII

Les was feeling a bit nervous as the squad car made its way towards the Park. One of the cops, out on his beat, had stumbled across a dead boy just on the outside of the wooded area. Though the district attorney was wary of letting the lieutenant check out the body before the coroner came for it, the police chief had remarked that it was good to let the rookie sergeant work his first murder scene. So, without another word, Rick Sherman and the new sergeant, Les Jacobs, were on their way.

He wasn't sure why the idea of seeing a dead body unnerved him so. Back out West, Les had dealt with more than his fair share of murder victims. Sighing, he just stared ahead as Rick drove. The older man was blathering on about the woman the pair had brought into the station earlier that afternoon and Les kept trying to drown out his nasally voice. He didn't want to remember that either. Jack Kelly is a mob leader, he thought and shook his head slightly. He just couldn't believe it. Cowboy, a crook. Well, that part was not that hard to believe – but a mob leader?

"And then Kelly his self showed up and—"

Hearing Jack's name at the exact moment that the former Cowboy flashed through his mind seemed to bring Les out of his reverie. His head snapped to his left. "What was that, Sherman? Huh?"

Sherman did not miss a beat. While he kept his eyes on the road in front of him, Les could see, from the man's sharp profile, he was smirking. "So nice of you to join in on the conversation, kid."

He ignored the sarcasm. "Did you just mention Kelly?"

"Yeah. That ass had the nerve to come down and pick up his broad, his self. Walked right into the station like he owned the joint and basically did a number on the DA. She was let out on a damn technicality." Then the old man snorted through his nose and Les knew he was not happy in which the case had been handled.

Les couldn't help but have mixed feelings at that news. He was glad, though he would never admit it to his partner, that Jess Kelly had gotten out of the jail cell that Rick had thrown her in. However, why couldn't he have been at the station when Jack came in? Despite hearing all these negative things about Jack Kelly, Les couldn't help but harbor his old hero worship toward the man; he wanted to see Jack again.

Stillness permeated the air and it became awkward in the squad car. Rick was obviously waiting for Les to comment on his opinion; Les had nothing he wanted to say.

The silence was broken a few minutes later when the pair arrived at the address given to them by the Chief of Police. Rick maneuvered the car so that it was parked at the side of the road, at the entrance to the wooded area.

Les looked confused. He didn't see any other police officers or a crowd that informed him that a corpse was nearby. Back out West, there was always an uproar when a man was found dead; the police often had to fight their way through a crowd of ruffians to get to the victim.

Rick, using the light of a streetlamp, made out the expression on Les' weathered face. He chuckled; he really did enjoy having the upper hand on any of the younger officers. Usually wary of a partner that was almost half his age, he had taken a liking to this kid from Santa Fe. However, that didn't mean he wasn't going to tease him when he got the chance. "What's the matter, Jacobs?"

Les shrugged slightly. "I was just trying to find the body. You don't think that the coroner already came for the boy, do you?"

"Didn't you hear McHenry's report? The body was found inside the woods, not on the side of the street."

"Oh." I should have known that. I did know that, I heard the report. He sighed almost inaudibly. This whole Jack Kelly-Manhattan Mob thing has gotten me more rattled that I thought.

"Oh," mimicked Rick. He smiled but it was short-lived; it's no fun to tease a rookie officer if he's not going to rise to the bait. He opened his door and gestured for Les to do the same. "Come on, kid. Let's go take care of that dead body."

--

Faced with Frankie's expression, a mixture of suspicion, surprise and awe, Reagan nodded shyly. "Well, I can't say he didn't have it coming," she said finally, almost cautiously. Frankie had seemed so upset that she had not known the entire story. Now, however, that Reagan had told her the truth, she seemed almost amazed that her mother would strike a member of the Brooklyn Boys.

But was it amazement? Or sadness? The emotions that Frankie displayed were almost conflicting and Reagan could see that the brunette struggled to keep herself in control.

"So, Mickey Finn is dead," Frankie said finally and Reagan nodded a few times. "I never liked that brute, I always thought that Johnny could do much better than have friends like the Finn brothers, but I didn't want to see him dead."

Reagan, understandably, was quite confused at Frankie's confession but Frankie paid no mind. She patted the back of her curls absently; there was no longer a trace of a smile on her pale face. "It's one thing for the stiff to be a Brooklyn Boy but to be one of the Finn's? This is getting more complicated than I thought." She paused and, as her green eyes met Reagan's nervous blue ones, she remembered what her intent had been before Reagan's revelation. She reached out and took Reagan's arm. "Come on."

Frankie began to lead Reagan down the street. After they had gone three blocks in an awkward silence, Reagan felt the need to say something. "Umm…Frankie? Didn't you tell that man that we were going to your apartment? Cause I think we might have missed it if it was only a block away."

The Kelly girl looked confused for a second before waving her hand around aimlessly. "I just told Mr. Blink that we were going to the apartment so that he'd leave us alone. We're going to see a friend of mine."

Reagan swallowed. "Is this a person going to be a friend to me, too?" she asked in a small voice. At this point in the evening's discoveries, Reagan did not want to leave the girl alone; she knew the Finn brothers, for God's sake, and Reagan wanted to know how. But a friend? That did not sound too promising.

The seriousness that had seemed to overtake Frankie at the mention of Mickey Finn being the murdered boy almost evaporated. She grinned and Reagan felt childish for even asking her question. "Don't worry. Charli O'Rourke is a friend of anyone as long as they got dough. You'll be fine."

Reagan nodded and let herself be led forward. She really didn't have any other choice.

--

The home of Charli O'Rourke was not that much father away, as Reagan found out. It was, however, in a whole different neighborhood than the one where the Kelly apartment was. There seemed to be almost a thin, invisible line that separated parts of Manhattan; with one cross of a single street, the large, expensive-looking buildings were behind the pair of girls. Overcrowded tenements lay ahead.

Once that line was crossed, it was Reagan who was holding tightly onto Frankie. Frankie had let go of Reagan's arm a few blocks back but, once Reagan saw the area in which they were delving into, she grabbed at the other girl. She was not used to slumming it.

Frankie, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable walking through these streets in the darkness. There were only a handful of street lamps illuminating the way and Reagan flinched every time they approached one. She did not like the light shining down on them; all it did was to point out the position of two nicely dressed young girls. She couldn't help but think that they were asking for trouble.

But, surprisingly, none of the bums that were resting along the gutter, illegal moonshine clasped tightly in brown paper bags, paid them any attention. Frankie, likewise, kept her face straight, her eyes focused as she sought out a particular tenement. Not for the first time, Reagan wondered how often she had been down this way.

It was the building at the end of a block, almost hidden in the darkness. It was placed directly between a set of lamps and the light from neither could touch it. Whatever their purpose for finding this place, it seemed to suit it perfectly.

Frankie led the way with Reagan following close behind. Despite the lateness of the evening, the front door to the building was still wide open. No one was present in the front but Frankie did not seem surprised. She just continued going on.

There was a flight of stairs just inside the building. It was hard for the girls to navigate their way over there; the lobby was illuminated by a single oil lamp whose light did not extend that far. But, luckily, Frankie knew the way even through darkness.

There was another lamp at the top of the first flight of stairs and every flight that followed. Reagan was even more frightened, walking around this seemingly vacant building, than she was when they were walking about on the street. At least the street had electric lights, she though, trying to huddle as close to Frankie as possible. She wasn't used to any place that still trusted lamps rather than the new invention of electric light.

The girls only had to go up three flights of stairs before Frankie led Reagan out of the stairwell and onto a floor. There was no light once they stepped out onto the floor and Reagan felt herself shaking slightly in the pitch darkness. Frankie whispered 'Shh' to her once before taking deliberate steps and counting out each step under her breath. "One…two…three…four…five…six," she said and paused. She felt around in the dark until her slender hand found the doorknob. Rather than turn the knob, Frankie formed her hand into a fist and knocked twice on the door.

As she waited for the door to be answered, she strained her eyes to make out Reagan in the darkness. She thought she saw the pale dress and fair hair of the girl, waiting near the edge of the hallway. "Reagan," she hissed.

Reagan jumped – she was still waiting back at the end of the hallway – and hurried forward. Her eyes still had not adapted to the darkness and, in her nervous state, she rushed forward until she had collided with Frankie. The pair of girls ended up in a heap at the foot of the door.

And that's when the door decided to open. From her place on the floor, Reagan could see that a girl, around their age, had opened the door. The light from her apartment flooded out into the hallway and showed the girls, lying down on the dirty floor. The girl just looked them both over before grinning widely. "Frankie," she said, and Reagan knew this was the Charli they had come to see, "I've seen you brought me some company."

Not for the first time that night, Reagan wished she could got disappear. Frankie, on the other hand, just laughed. For the first time that night, she thought things might just be going her way.