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, Johnny Conlon and a whole mess of other characters that will most likely pop up throughout this work.

Author's Note: Now that was some writer's block. I must have sat in front of my laptop for hours trying to work on this chapter. Seriously, it did not want to come. But, finally, I got it done. And, because I am sorry for the wait, this is the longest chapter for this story to date. I was going to put the Frankie/Johnny reunion scene in here but that will be next chapter. At least I know what's going to happen then, eh?

---

Part XVI

He strode into the room, removing the dark brown jacket of his suit as he went. He folded it and placed it over his right arm before approaching Rae. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Hello, love," he repeated.

"Good evening, Spot," she said, distractedly, stepping away from him. She crossed her arms over her black dress, rubbing her upper arms with her hands. Just how do I tell him? When they were younger, and she had something of importance to tell him, she would just blurt it out and deal with the repercussions as they came. But they were grown now and she was dealing with much more delicate matters. Like telling Spot that one of his boys had been killed… by Jack Kelly, no less.

Spot noticed her nerves and looked as her questioningly. The Rae he knew was never one to look so apprehensive. "Is everything all right, Rae?"

She shook her head slowly. He sounded so concerned and she just felt bad about telling him – especially when she did not know anything more than Blink Moore's perspective on the ordeal. But, maybe, her earlier thought would prove true; maybe it would be better if she told him before anyone else did. "Spot, there was an accident."

Before she could continue, he jerked up straight. "Was it Kenzie? Or one of the other kids?"

"No, no," she answered, hurriedly, as she uncrossed her arms and placed her hands calmingly on his chest. "Our family is fine. But…"

"But what, Rae?"

She sighed. "I was in Manhattan this afternoon—"

"Why?"

She tensed; the suspicious way he said that one word put her on guard. She knew he did not approve of her flitting between boroughs by herself but she felt the need to do it anyway. "Because, Spot. Where else am I going to put down the flowers I bought for Jason's grave, hmm?"

For a moment, Spot had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, Rae. You know I didn't mean to come across like that." After all, he knew what it was like to lose a loved one. He visited Tess's burial site almost weekly, before Rae came back to Brooklyn; he used to ask the slab of marble what he should do with various ventures as if his dead first wife could really hear him. If Rae felt that she had to place a bouquet of flowers at the head of Snitch's grave on the monthly anniversary of his death, he understood and accepted it. If only she would bring one of the boys with her, he thought but knew she could not. How would it look if a Brooklyn Boy was escorting Rae around? One of the deals the pair had made when she began to stay with him was that no one would ever know that she was from Manhattan; likewise, rumors of their coupling would not be known on the other side of the Bridge.

"I know," she sighed as she closed her eyes. "I know. It's my fault for snapping at you. You see, when I was in Manhattan, I stopped to talk to Hayden Moore—"

"Who?"

She sighed again, and this time she re-opened her eyes. He could see through their grey depths; Rae was upset. "Please stop interrupting me, Spot. I have something important to tell you."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, Hayden – you may remember him as Blink," she said and Spot nodded. He longed to begin a new round of questioning: Why were you talking to someone from the Manhattan Mob? What did you talk about? Are you crazy? But he did not. He could see she was struggling to tell him what had happened so, for one of the first times in Spot Conlon's life, he remained silent. "I saw him on the street, walking, and I figured that I'd say 'hello' to him. It's nice to see some of my old pals, you know."

She was baiting him now. He bit his tongue to keep quiet. He knew she was just trying to goad him into another argument; she was losing her nerve and did not want to tell him whatever it was she knew.

He was right; she had been stalling. As quickly as she could, Rae told him the truth: "Spot, Blink told me that there was an accident in Manhattan this evening. Jack Kelly shot one of the Finn brothers and killed him."

Spot was silent as he processed her last statement. He could see that Rae was already shrinking away from him in expectation of his reaction. He did not surprise her. "You've got to be kidding me, Rae! Cowboy took out one of my boys? And one of the Finn's at that? I'll kill him! I'll fucking shoot him dead!" he exploded, dropping his coat jacket to the ground as he threw his hands up, any semblance of dignity lost in his outburst.

"No, no, Spot. I'm not done. There's more to it," she added hurriedly. She could already see him drawing his pistol out. She did not want any of the children to see this and, considering the volume at which he was yelling, she was sure that one of them would be coming downstairs to check up on them soon. "It was in defense, Spot. Blink said that the kid tried to do his wife in – remember Jess? Well, he was going to crack her skull in with a rock when Jack chanced upon them. Before anyone knew it, Jack plugged him and he went down. Think about it, Spot," she added, almost pleading now, "what would you do if someone was trying to get me? Wouldn't you shoot them? I would for you."

And that seemed to hit home. The wild-eyed stare he had adopted upon hearing the news faded until his eyelids all but hid his cyan eyes. He was breathing heavily but he placed his pistol back into the holster he kept on him at all times. Finally, when he could speak again, he said, "Which one, Rae? Was it Matt or Mickey?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Blink was hurrying about and didn't really get to tell me much."

"Alright," he said, his hand now rubbing his forehead. He had one hell of a headache coming. His very being was screaming that he should cross that Bridge and go after Kelly but he could not. Not yet. He needed more information first. Like who the dead boy was. "Alright, Rae. We won't go after Jacky Boy yet. But you do know what we have to do, right?"

Rae nodded. "Let me get my purse and I'll go with you. I mean, someone has to tell Johnny."

--

It had been about an hour or so since Johnny and Whistler left him alone in the hide-away shack and it was Matthew Finn's turn to suffer from dreadful boredom. As soon as his two comrades had left, he had put his and Whistler's chairs together and spread himself out, relaxing.

Before long that relaxation turned to curiosity. He wondered how far his younger (by one year) had gotten with his blonde friend and just what were Whistler and Johnny up to?

Over the course of that time, Matt went on to play three rounds of solitaire with the deck of cards that Whistler left behind, he did a round of jumping jacks before he became too sweaty, came up with a few plausible excuses for Boss Conlon's son's absence – because, when Boss Conlon came by for his nightly visit, he would want to know where his son was – and, after all that, he found himself back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, legs propped up on the card table.

Knock! Knock!

Matt almost fell off of the chair he was so surprised. He did not think that Johnny and Whistler had returned from their journey into Manhattan yet and it was still too early for his brother to be home from his date – he had said he planned on spending the entire day with that blondie, beginning early in the morning until he finally was able to get her into his bed that night. Matt had laughed at Mickey's plan early that morning. He had bet his brother a whole week of pay from Boss Conlon that the girl spent the entire day with him but, as soon as it went dark, she would want to go home to her Mama. Mickey took him on and Matt knew that his brother would not finish his date a minute before midnight; he would want as much time as possible.

That left one possible person, really. None of the other Brooklyn Boys were allowed in this hide-away. It was designed specifically for Johnny Conlon and his three friends/bodyguards and Boss Conlon was careful not to let any of the other Boys know about it in case they got any ideas and wanted to take out his son.

Matt gulped. As he got up to open the front door, he was nervous to see who it was on the other end. He had locked the door behind them after the other two boys had left, just in case. In other words, Whistler's paranoia was beginning to rub off on him.

He was not surprised (though mildly relieve) to find Boss Conlon waiting for him on the other side of the door. He was, however, surprised to see that, after the Boss strode into the small room, his mistress, Rae Kelly-Phillips, followed him in. His small, beady eyes took her in before looking downward. She was an attractive woman and the Boss grew very mad when anyone ogled her.

But Spot Conlon was too distracted to notice. He looked at Matt and knew – if Blink was telling the truth – that Mickey Finn was dead. And, most likely, Mickey's older brother had no idea. If he had, he would not have been lazing about the hide-away. "Matt," he said in his 'power' voice, "where is everyone?"

A quick glimpse around the room showed Spot that no one was there but Matt. Whistler Connolly and Johnny should have been there, too. Unless they were with Mickey when he got shot… Spot's heart tightened at the thought but his face did not betray any emotions. He just stared expectantly at the boy in front of him.

Under the intense gaze of the Boss, any and all excuses he had flew out of his head. Matt Finn had not been hired by Boss Conlon for his brains – he had been hired for his brute strength and his ability to follow all sorts of orders. But, as Johnny had ordered him to lie, he tried. "Well, you see, Mickey went on a date with some girl and, uh, then there was just me, Whis and Johnny. Then some, uh, lead came in and, well, Whis and Johnny went to check it out. And, um, I'm the only one left."

Spot looked at the boy in disbelief now. He believed the first half of the statement; vaguely, he remember Mickey Finn asking for the day off so that he could go get laid. But he could tell that Matt was lying about his son. He shook his head. "Alright, Finn. I'm sorry to have to tell you this in such a way but I know that you're lying to me and, well, maybe if I'm honest with you, you'll be honest with me."

"Spot. I don't think—"

"Rae. Keep out of it," he said. Rae knew better than to question him in front of the Boys. He could not have her questioning his business; it would make him look weak in front of the Boys and he could not have that. Once she had stopped, he turned back to Matt. The boy, he could see, was damn near shaking. Good. "I'll go first, Finn. Your brother was shot and killed today in Manhattan. Your turn."

It took a second for Matt to understand the words. He knew the definition of each one separately but, when combined in such a way, he was incapable of understanding them. Mickey…dead? He was so dumbfounded but one thing stuck out. Manhattan. "Who did it?" he finally asked. It was a dumb question, really.

Spot looked at him, a bit of pity in his eyes. Maybe I was a bit harsh… He sighed. "Jack Kelly, the head of the Mob," he said. When Matt nodded, he held out his hands. "Alright. It's your turn. I was honest with you, you be honest with me. Where is Johnny?"

Matt was so concerned with what the Boss had just told him that he spoke without thinking. "Him and Whis went to Manhattan. He's going to see his girlfriend."

" Manhattan? Girlfriend?" Spot repeated. This was news to him. As far as he knew, Johnny did not have a girlfriend. Especially not one in Manhattan.

"Yeah," Matt replied. There seemed to be sudden recognition in his dark eyes. If Spot did not know Matt to be a bit on the dumb side, he would have thought that the Finn boy was making some kind of plan. But the look was gone and only hurt remained. However, Spot's preoccupation with Matthew Finn's feelings lasted only long enough for the boy to give her name. Then all hell seemed to break loose.

"He's seeing Frankie Kelly."

--

"Jack, calm down," Jess said pleadingly as she followed her husband into the elevator lift. His quiet acceptance of the night's events had slowly given way to a fiery anger. Rather than wait for Boots to come back round to the office, Jack led the way, instead, to the apartment building where they lived. His head had swiveled back and forth – he was not sure if any of Spot's boys had learned about the earlier murder but he was not taking chances – as he muttered curses under his breath.

She knew what he was thinking. This time it had been his fault. If anyone else dies, he has no one to blame but himself, she thought before reaching her hand out to him. She placed it comfortingly on his upper arm and squeezed.

Jack shook his head. He turned to face the young man, clad in a simple knickers suit, who occupied the corner of the lift. "The top floor," he said.

The boy nodded and began to operate the machinery. Jack's instruction was unnecessary; all of the doormen knew who lived on that top floor.

Neither of the Kelly's said anything more as they rode up. It was quiet and tense – and that was not only the environment in the small room. Under her tight grip, Jess felt Jack's muscles tense and tighten. She gave him another squeeze but did not say anything. She knew better; her husband would not speak about anything important in front of anyone but Mobpersonnel.

The door to the lift opened and the boy bowed his head in respect. "Evening, Sir. Ma'am."

Jack ignored his pleasantness, choosing to exit the elevator and storm right over to the door of his apartment. Jess smiled apologetically. "Good night."

The boy nodded and, after she delicately stepped out of the elevator, he closed the door and was gone.

Once they were alone again, Jess tried to speak to her husband again. "Jack, listen to me. We're home. We'll go inside, chat with the girl from Brooklyn and tell Frankie that she's going to be confined to the house until this all gets sorted out. How does that sound?"

"That sounds… alright, dear," he said, sounding tired all of a sudden. To look at the man, it was hard to tell – based on his broad frame and thick brown hair – that he was turning forty years old on his next birthday. It was only at times like these, when issues got out of his control, that his eyes lost their shine and he seemed to age.

Jess calmly patted his back as he reached out and turned the door handle. It was locked. "Well, at least Frankie listened to me. For once," he added with a snort. The sadness that had just permeated the small room between the front door and the elevator seemed to fade.

She watched as Jack shook his head and patted his coat pockets for the key to the door. When he found it, he pulled it out triumphantly, and Jess had to cover a smile. I think everything will be fine. Maybe we're just overreacting.

Jack placed the key into the keyhole and jiggled it until he heard the distinct click of the lock being undone. He put the key back into his right side pocket and made to open the door.

Utter darkness greeted the pair. He groped for the switch that would turn the fancy electric light on and illuminate the apartment. Jack found it and flipped it on. "Precious, your mother and I are home," he called. He waited and tried again. "We would like to talk to you and your little friend, honey."

There came no reply. Frankie – and, with her, Reagan – was not in the apartment.