Author's note:
This is the chapter in which I abuse the setting of a fire escape.
But come on, that's literally all the set is.
Rooftops and fire escapes.
~CW
"Two cents says I can hit the guy in the fancy fedora," Albert bet, leaning over the railing of the Lodging House fire escape.
"Done deal," Elmer agreed, standing next to a sitting Specs. He came up from his position leaning against the brick wall to look down at the street with Albert. The latter boy chewed up a piece of tobacco he had in his pocket and released a spit ball. Specs heard a splat soon after.
"Got 'im?" He asked.
"Of course he didn't," Elmer answered. He held out a hand. "Come on, pay up."
"Two outta three. Double or nothin'," Albert proposed.
Specs got up himself and looked over the railing. "Fine." He scanned the passing families to find a challenge. "Girl in the white dress." He flashed a crooked "I-got-your-back" grin at Elmer.
"Aw, come on, a little goil?" Albert whined. "I can't do it to a kid. That's jus' mean."
"Oh, great," Elmer said. "So if ya forfeit I'd be glad ta take the money an'…"
"A'ight, smart ass, I'll give it a shot." He took another piece and spit down into the crowd. Specs watched carefully as it splattered down onto the sidewalk.
"Oh, perfect trajectory," Elmer congratulated.
"Wouldja shush?"
"I'll shush when ya cough up the cash," he answered.
"Come on, Elmer won fair and square," Specs said.
"Sure I will." He patted his pockets and scratched his head. Then, he widened his eyes in mock enlightenment. "Oh, right, I jus' remembered. I'm currently outta a job."
"You wouldn't remember your own skull if it weren't screwed on," Elmer joked. "Soon as this strike's over, Old Man Joe better give us some compensation or somethin'. You can pay me then."
"In ya dreams," Albert said.
"Honestly, Albert, how hard could it be?" Specs asked, watching the bustling streets below.
"If it's so easy, why don't you give it a try?" He challenged the youngest of the three.
Specs hesitated, but both the boys were looking at him. How could he not screw up? "A'ight. My call. The fire hydrant."
"That don't count," Albert complained. "It ain't movin'."
"It's his first go, Al," Elmer said, putting an arm around Specs' back. "Let's see what he can do."
Specs declared, "A'ight, here goes." He tentatively took a piece if tobacco from Albert and shot it down. It was quickly followed by a shout of "Hey!"
Albert looked down. A huge grin of horrible surprise spread onto his face. He covered it with his hand. Specs had just spit on the head of a mustached police officer.
Elmer cursed and grabbed Specs by the shoulder, pulling him back inside through the large window before they could be seen. Albert squeezed in with them, holding back hysterical laughter. He collapsed onto the floor wheezing, unable to make any audible sounds. Specs shut the window as fast as he could.
"If it's any consolation," Elmer offered, "He was about a foot away from the fire hydrant."
"Oh, thanks for that," Specs sarcastically replied. "I feel so much better."
…
"So, how was your reunion with Four-eyes?" Jules jokingly asked Smalls as the two of them strolled down the streets of Manhattan.
"It's Specs," she corrected.
Jules smiled and shrugged. "Whatever."
She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "It was great. We played chess just like old times, and today we nicked a couple cigarettes from that Racetrack fella-"
"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, Shortie." She slowed down and looked Smalls in the eye. "Did you actually smoke any?"
"Of course not," She replied. "I don't smoke, and neither does he. But man," she laughed. "Was Race mad."
Jules just shook her head and put her attention back to the concrete sidewalks.
"He never caught us, though," Smalls added in an attempt to put her friend at ease. "Besides, what's it matter? You smoke all the time."
"I'm seventeen. I can do whatever I want. But I don't wanna see you get breathin' problems or somethin' from smokin' when you're too young. I've told ya not to do it before."
"Yeah, yeah, and I've heard ya. Jeez, you can nag like a mother sometimes."
Jules shrugged. She wouldn't know.
There was a lull. Smalls felt two softly clacking figurines in her pocket - a pearly white knight and rook. She sneaked them from Specs when he wasn't looking, just for the sake of a bit of a laugh when he would throw the entire Lodging House upside-down looking for them. Then, she remembered something she meant to ask Jules.
"I noticed you talkin' to some tall boy yesterday and today," Smalls finally said. "But I'm lousy at rememberin' names and such. Ya know, black hair, tie…Who was he?"
"Name's David," she answered. "Naïve. He's gotta family."
"David…" Smalls thought for a moment. "Isn't he the one who started the strike?"
"Yeah. Kelly's partner."
Smalls stopped walking. "Jules!" She began to scold.
She kept walking. "What?"
Smalls ran to catch up. "Ya got in an argument with the organizer of the strike?"
Jules sighed and dropped her head back to the smog-stained sky. "Man, was it really that much of a scene?"
"Ah, yeah, it was," Smalls replied. "What did you guys manage to get so hung up on?"
"Nothin' specific. I simply let out a crack or two, and he was simply bein' an idiotic pansy."
"Aw, come on," Smalls wined. "You said that we could be in this strike together."
"Yeah, and we are."
"Then it wouldn't kill ya to be nice ta that boy!" Jules simply groaned as if the thought of the effort alone was laboring. "I know it's kinda hard with your... Well, ya know..."
Jules knew exactly where this was going, and she hated it. Some of the girls had "diagnosed" her with some form of social anxiety a while back.
"Look, I'll play his little reindeer games for the strike. It jus' doesn't hafta be anything more."
Jules just didn't like to become attached to people. She couldn't stand the happy, peppy, friendly facades that so many others masqueraded with only to find their second face later on. Most of the time, she observed in-genuine social rituals from afar rather than interacting, never letting herself be the vulnerable one. Obviously, there were clear exceptions, and she was pretty close with the girls at the Lodging House. And Smalls, with her reckless spunk and, in Jules' opinion, constant need of supervision, somehow wriggled her way to the top of the list. The two could bicker and joke and converse whenever either of them felt like it.
Smalls snapped with a grin at her new idea. "A gift."
Jules looked up from the ground. "What?"
"You should get 'im a gift. To say sorry, an' to show we's pledgin' loyalty an' stuff."
"You're kidding."
"Am not."
"Smalls, this is a strike. We're talkin' wild fightin' boys who thirst bloody vengeance, not a sad sack of orphans who want Christmas donations."
"Jus' promise me you'll think about it," Smalls requested.
"Fine, I will," Jules said, rolling her eyes.
"Come on, a real promise," Smalls begged. "The kind we do back home." Jules smirked.
"All right."
She stopped and spit in both of her hands. Smalls did the same. They held out their arms, right crossed over left, and grabbed each other's hands. Then, with a four-handed shake, the two firmly stated, "I swear."
Smalls smiled proudly as she dusted her hands. "Good."
The two began walking once more, watching the leaves of overhanging trees planted along the sidewalk slowly flutter down in a bronze shower. "What time is it?" Jules asked.
Smalls fished an old, stained watch out of her back pocket by the chain, one of the many treasures she had found abandoned in a dumpster a while ago that still worked. "Three twenty," she declared, tapping the face with the cracked glass. "Shoot, we need to get back."
"Okay," Jules agreed. "You sure you want to go through wid' all of this?"
"Of course I am," Smalls assured her. "We'll soak 'em real good. It's time to make our mark and seize the day."
"Oh dear God," she mumbled with a chuckle. "They've legitimately brainwashed you."
…
The team now stood together, a rowdy mess, around the gate of the World's circulation office. This was it. Grayish clouds began to streak the sky, providing some shade. The boys had to scatter some scabs in the morning, but none had shown their faces anywhere near Newsie Square for hours, which was a bit odd.
"This stakin' out sure is takin' a while," Specs commented anxiously to Crutchie, gazing past the bars of the gate and into the dark corridor where the wagon always came rolling through. It was completely empty. Nerves tickled his stomach.
"They hafta be out here any second now," Crutchie replied confidently.
Specs wanted them to just come out already. He could barely hold down his stale lunch.
He swallowed hard. "But… What if Weasel was lyin'?"
"He ain't lyin'," Crutchie replied. He seemed so positive, like instead of talking about the wagon they were about to attempt to hijack out on the streets (and probably get pursued by cops for), he was discussing the flavor of cake that he would prefer for his birthday. "They'll be out. Say, where's them Bronx girls?"
"Don't know," Specs answered honestly. He stood on tiptoe and tried to look out from the crowd to check for them. No sign of either of them. Maybe they chickened out, or Jules took Smalls home. Perhaps that'd be better, Specs thought. He knew Smalls was always more adventurous than him, but he would have a pretty difficult time living with himself if she got seriously beaten up, or worse.
A hand poked his shoulder. He twisted around to see the newsgirl herself standing in front of him.
"You ready?" She asked him.
"As I'll ever be," he said, clearly unsure. Smalls' eyes reshaped in concern.
"You're lookin' whiter than a sheet, Specs," she said. "Somethin' wrong?"
Specs began to shake his head, but the straight-on look in Smalls' bright little eyes demanded honesty.
"Yeah. Jus'… All of this. I wanna help out, really, I do, but this jus' seems kinda dangerous."
Chants of "Strike" started to roll through the crowd of boys, dying and flickering back again, like a flame.
"It's gonna be fine," Smalls tried to convince him. "Besides, weren't you the one who spoke up durin' that little rally this mornin'? I thought you'd changed your mind 'bout this whole thing."
The chants quickly grew louder and louder. Specs had to nearly yell over them.
"I guess I'm havin' second thoughts. An' I'm afraid you's…"
The declarations of defiance got way too loud. Smalls stared at Specs for a while in curiosity after he had given up trying to say whatever he meant. Soon he picked up the chant, and then, after a while, so did Smalls. A few of the more limber boys leaped up and clung to the gate. The fire quickly overwhelmed the young news carriers. David, at the front of the impending stampede, squeezed little Les by the shoulders. Elbows were linked. Arms were wrapped around necks. And somewhere amongst the close bodies of the inspired newsies, a skinny, short hand intertwined with a strong, ink-stained one.
The cry soon roared up to its climax. No turning back now.
"It's comin'! Be ready, fellas!" Jack shouted. The black wooden wagon sailed onto the pavement. It was one of a new style, drawn by a shining-coated horse. Newspapers were bundled and stacked upon the rolling platform, a short wall bordering the cargo.
Snyder appeared behind the gate out of seemingly nowhere, followed by a couple of his cronies who helped him out around the Refuge. Maybe a precautionary call from Pulitzer himself. Specs looked back at Smalls. Her hand dug into his with a grip that could kill. She could identify each of the six by name, footstep, and breath stench. But the action of intimidation only enraged most of the other newsboys, bringing their chants to screams and howls.
Oscar and Morris Delancey swaggered out of the World office to open the gate, more annoyed than startled by the racket. Morris jingled the keys out of his pocket and began working on the lock as Oscar slipped on his brass knuckles. The gate opened with a rusty screech.
That's when all hell broke loose.
A cluster of newsies, all moving as one, charged the wagon. With everyone struggling to the front lines, the wagon was rocked back two or three times, stubbornly refusing to tip. The horse trotted back, whining, pushing the cart back into a brick wall.
Some started fleeing from the back of the massive huddle. Smalls turned around. The Delanceys had started grabbing kids by the back of their collars. There was one pushing away and kicking on each hand. Mush slung a backwards punch into the side of the Morris's head, sending him into a daze just long enough for him to wriggle free of his iron grip.
Smalls had her attention caught a second too long. The next thing she new, her arm was being grabbed. She was yanked in by Big George, Snyder's bald and slightly-less-feared little brother. He held her by her front collar, his long nose almost a centimeter away from Smalls' tiny one.
"A little girl, huh? Not what I was expecting, but a troublemaker nonetheless." She coughed, choking on the strong smell of alcohol in his breath. Then, she stomped on his foot. It did barely any good, since she was too light against his firm black loafers to hurt him. He threw her down and she slammed hard into the hot cobblestone, chin first. She groaned in pain as she slowly dragged herself up. She heard boys cry out, but when she looked up, she found many still fighting back. The horse kicked up its front hooves at the commotion.
She scrambled to her feet before George could snag her again and ducked and weaved through the battlefield to return to the wagon. A handful of newsboys still remained there, insistent on its tipping. Smalls flew in and threw her whole weight into it.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back. The wagon whined and came crashing down. Finch ran over and unhooked the horse's reins. The horse quickly clopped back down the corridor. The noise caught the attention of Toby and Rudolf, two more of Snyder's lackeys. They were thin and older but tough and much more agile than some of the other Refuge "caretakers." The newsies scattered. As Smalls sprinted away, a hand caught her back collar once more. She jabbed her elbow back at the person but missed.
"Calm down, Shortie, it's me," Jules hissed. "Keep your head down. Whatever you do, don't look back."
Of course, the first thought that came to Smalls' mind upon hearing that was to look back. About a half a dozen men in blue uniform stood at the mouth of the gate. Law enforcement had showed up already. Jules flicked Smalls' head.
"Ow!"
"Shut up! Don't call attention to yourself." She pushed Smalls toward the corridor the horse just exited through moments ago. It took her a while to get close enough to realize that gate was closed and securely locked. "Damn it. They got us surrounded. We gotta wait for the cops to disperse."
Just then, Smalls heard a wordless yell. The voice made her whip right around. Right under the fire escape of the World office, one of the cops had Specs pinned against the wall.
Smalls didn't have a single thought. She just bolted away from Jules' grip.
"Smalls!" Jules roared with maximum urgency. "Get your ass back here right now!"
Smalls got into the man's face, tearing the officer's hands away from Specs' back. "You ain't takin' him away!"
Specs peeled off of the wall and backed away, not wanting to abandon the girl completely. "Smalls, don't."
"Look here, Kiddies," he said gruffly, grabbing her wrist. "Both of you children are causing this unlawful disturbance. Both of you belong in juvenile detention, and that's just where you'll go."
"Make me," she taunted as she started up the stairs of the fire escape. "Come and get it."
"Little Lady, you're playing around in very dangerous waters," he warned, stomping up after her. She was too fast. First story. Second story. Smalls didn't worry much. She knew she could outrun him easily, but she had to be just slow enough to keep him interested in following her trail.
Specs stood at the bottom, looking up. What would happen when they got to the top? The windows, no doubt, were locked, and the roof heights were dramatically distanced. There'd be nowhere for her to turn.
An image flashed in front of him - a dirty little girl, legs wrapped tightly in newspaper, being dragged up and away by a mysterious man who spoke of a place called the Refuge.
He knew had to do something now. He wouldn't be the coward this time. He wasn't going to be the reason this girl he so deeply cared about ended up in jail.
When she got close to the fourth floor landing, she looked down for a brief moment to see Specs right behind the cop. She stopped running in surprise.
"Hey, Big Guy!" He shouted. When the cop's head turned to face him, heavy eyebrows pushed down over his cold brown eyes, he stepped back a bit in intimidation. The mustache looked familiar…
Crap, Specs thought, that must've been him on the streets.
"Got somethin' you wanna get off your chest, Boy?" He demanded before continuing his chase of Smalls. The girl stayed standing there for a second or two before realizing the cop was on her tail again. She turned and flashed back up the steps.
Just trust me, she yelled at him in her thoughts. I can outrun 'im. Stay outta this, Specs.
The pair continued up the metal stairs.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
He regained his courage and followed, slowly at first.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Smalls made it up to the fourth floor landing. She knew she had this in the bag.
Specs was hot in pursuit, never more than two footfalls away.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
All of a sudden, he saw the officer snag the girl by her vest and throw her down to the floor hard. Her face scraped the rusted metal and her head hit the railing with a loud, vibrating "Clang" as she collapsed. The whole world convulsed around her. She moaned, struggling to leap back up as quickly as she could but failing miserably, the pain weighing her down.
Something reached a boiling point in Specs. He grabbed the cop's shoulder, yanked him around to face him with force he didn't know he could have, and slugged him right up the jaw. The cop's head slung back and he grabbed his cheek, not expecting the blow.
Well, that was illegal, was the first dumb thought that went through Specs' head.
The second one was I don't care.
He tossed another punch to his face, but the cop caught his arm, twisted it, and pushed him back by it. Specs caught his weight by the railing and propelled himself back up only to be hit right in his forehead. Smalls tried again to yank herself to her feet as the boy staggered back.
"Specs…" She tried to call out but was slowed down by her throbbing head. She brought a hand to her forehead. She wasn't about to go under at a time like this.
"Let this be a lesson for you, boy," The cop said. Specs dabbed two fingers around his eye. Was that blood?
The cop slid a pair of shining handcuffs out of his pocket.
"No!" Smalls yelped. She grabbed a rail and began pulling herself back up with what meek means of energy she still had.
Hearing her voice was good enough of a reminder for him. He dodged the officer when he lunged for him and made an attempt to shove him down the stairs. The officer held onto the rails, resisting the boy's strength. Specs swiveled his head to the side for a split second and barked, "Go!"
Smalls was just barely balanced on her feet. She made her way over, putting a majority of her weight on the railing. The the boy in front of her seemed blurred, but she knew him anywhere.
"No," she said.
"Smalls-" Specs continued pushing against the man, pressing on both of his arms and leaning in.
"Can't you trust me?" She asked in a more hushed tone, pushing off of the railing to regain her balance. She was sure she could still lead the cop pretty far away. "Let go. Lemme take care of 'im."
He squinted, giving as much effort as he physically could to holding the cop back. The cop was pushing back more now, finding his footing back up on the step. "Run. Please."
"I'm not gonna leave you," she said.
Specs opened his eyes for a moment and looked at Smalls. Her face clearly had some bad gashes, and she wobbled where she stood, clutching the railing with one hand. Cakes of dirt and small points of red dyed her clothes.
But the scariest part was her eyes. So often he'd take for granted the blinding light that shone through her brightly colored irises. And now he looked into them to find them strained. Misted. Like all the life had been forcefully drained from her struggling eyelids.
He was suddenly thrust forward almost to the floor when the cop shook him off. Smalls conked the railing to get his attention.
"Hey, Fattie! Where'd ya get the shoes, 1850?"
She gave Specs a glance before hobbling up a step, sticking out her tongue at the cop, and blowing a taunting, staccato "Pbbt!"
"I'm just about through with your games, Little Lady," he said. He shoved Specs down onto the ground before reassuming pursuit mode and climbing the steps after a speeding Smalls. He turned for a brief moment to lock the fourth floor landing gate up with one of the many keys he had on an enormous ring in his pocket. "Don't worry. I'll be back. You're both going in tonight." Then he soon disappeared up the stairs and onto the rooftop following a slowly sprinting Smalls.
He sat leaning against the railing, sliding his hands down his face. Traces of blood slashed his palm. Pressing a green bruise on his jaw stabbed at him, but no physical pain bit at him quite as hard as the fact that the officer and Smalls were out of his reach. It clawed at the inside of his chest. She was going to jail. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. No more second chances. No more redemption.
He lifted his head and looked down at the streets below. His friends were being beaten on every concrete square. Snyder's goons yelled. Cops broke out batons. Torn papers fluttered across the battlefield. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Les shrieked. Albert had a black eye visible from the fourth floor. Crutchie was being dragged away by his leg. In that moment, Specs went numb.
They weren't dying out there. In that moment, they were already dead.
…
Smalls ran across the vast roof of the World office building as the sun began to set in the west. She dove left to the fire escape down the side of the building, hopping down the steps as fast as she could. She panted as she descended, hearing the cop only a few steps behind. She was down at the second floor, hidden in an alley of shadows between buildings. The small, white-trimmed window with floral curtains at her side was wide open. So Smalls did what any petite newsgirl would've done. She leaped inside and slammed the window shut behind her, closing the golden latch.
She sprinted down the hall. It was carpeted with purple and had offices lining both white walls. Nobody seemed to inhabit it, until Smalls slammed into a woman who toppled over.
She looked down to see a near orange-haired secretary in wireframe glasses and a pinstripe dress on the floor in front of her. The woman screamed.
Smalls snapped a "Shh" that probably surprised the secretary more than it intimidated her. Either way, she shut up. Smalls looked through the open door of the nearest office. She saw the window to the fire escape just beyond the empty desk. It would empty her out on the open street, far away from the chaos. She burst through the doorway and out through the window, springing down the steps.
When she was finally at the bottom, she felt all air escaping her lungs. The delayed concussion demanded to happen, and the darkness closed in. She grabbed the bottom of the railing with both hands, fighting as hard as she could. She couldn't win. She gave in to the pain, melted to the ground, and blacked out.