"So what does 'e look like again?"
Peter rolled his eyes, aggravated. "The one in blue." Mace thumbed the newspaper again, peering closely at it as he tried to figure out which newsie was Jack. Peter sighed, and reached out to turn the paper right side up for his brother. Mace gave him a stupid grin as if to say thanks, but Peter just looked away. Sometimes he felt he was the only one who knew anything around here. The only one with common sense, maybe. But not enough nerve to challenge his uncle for their assignment. Peter thought it was stupid, picking fights with all his uncle's enemies. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it, anyways. Cromwell had said he'd throw him out into the streets if he ever disobeyed an order, and he meant it, too. Mentally, Peter threw his tumultuous thoughts into the approaching harbor. He quickly scanned the edge, seeing a few boys sitting at the dock, eyeing the twins as they walked by. Peter made no comment, but Mace grunted and stared at the newsboys. Brooklyn kids. One of them, a brown hair, shook off his shirt and jumped into the freezing water, as if to make a point. Peter blinked and took a step back at the loud splash, nearly hitting his twin. "Shove off," Mace muttered, giving Peter a push. He stopped short, noticing a very tall, very brutish Brooklyn boy block their way.
"Whaddaya want?" Mace asked, and Peter gave him a warning glance.
"Whaddaya doin' in Brooklyn territory?" the boy demanded, folding his arms over his chest.
"We don't want no trouble," Peter began, but Mace interrupted him with, "We's on our way tah find a kid named Jack Kelly."
"Jack Kelly, huh?" the boy narrowed his eyes, making a note to tell Spot Conlon about this later. After the strike, Manhattan and Brooklyn still owed something to each other. At least, that was the way Brooklyn saw it. "Whaddaya want with 'im?"
"We got business o' our own," Peter shot back before Mace could say anything disastrous. "Now shove off."
The boy moved out of their way, and Peter and Mace continued along the harbor. The dusky sunset as they soon crossed the Brooklyn bridge, feeling pairs of hostile eyes follow their progress. Mace and Peter gave each other anxious looks, fearing any one of the Brooklyn kids would attack them at any moment. The two brothers weren't exactly popular with the newsies; how could they be, with a rich uncle like Mr. Cromwell? Peter almost breathed a sigh of relief once they were into Manhattan, but here they would have a whole different set of problems to face. Where could they find Jack Kelly?
"Hey!" Mace yelled, taking the opportunity to harass a short, black haired, baby-faced newsie on the dusty cobblestone street corner. The boy's elven face glanced up, immediately cautious around the pair of irate twins. "Who are ya?" he asked, all charm.
"Don't matter," Mace growled. Peter stayed back a bit, letting his brother speak. When it came to fights, Mace was the best at negotiating information. "Do you know a kid named 'Jack Kelly'?"
"Sure I do," the freckle faced newsie responded. "Why?"
"Don't matter," Mace insisted, taking a step closer. "Where can we find 'im?"
The newsie shrugged. "'Round Manhattan," he said carefully, paying attention to Mace's growing wrath, "Or maybe over by Grand Central," he corrected himself quickly. "Or the World buildin'. Why?"
"It don't matter!" Mace yelled, and pushed the newsie into a mud puddle. Mace started stalking away, while Peter pulled him in the direction of Grand Central.
Romeo shook his head, standing up. He gave the retreating pair a sullen glance, but pushed them out of his mind. He would tell Jack about this later.
"Conlon. Somethin's up in Manhattan."
Spot nodded, standing up from the dock. He threw his red shirt on over his tanned, muscled arms, facing the messenger. "Ain't there always somethin'?"
The boy stayed silent.
"Well, Beefy?" Spot asked, impatient. "What is it?"
"These two brothers is lookin' fer Jack Kelly," Beefy explained. "They mean business."
"So? Manhattan can take care of it's own problems."
"We should at least warn 'em, chief."
"They passed the Brooklyn Bridge already, Beefy," Spot tugged on his grey cap over his messy hair. "The birds told me. Manhattan can take care of 'em."
"But what if-"
Spot held up a hand. "We're done 'ere."
"Yes chief."